#is sensory sparks a thing?

[itsaspectrumcomic]

What are your sensory sparks? ✨

[mentalvacation]

Too many noise. Like 100+ distinct sounds all at once making each and every one totally uninterpretable. Like how an I-spy book makes things hard to not just by making it small and a similar color to the surrounding but by making the page so cluttered you cant easily tell what a lot of it is at a glance, except audibly all the time and you can't not process all of it at the same time making nothing make sense

It’s definitely sound for me. As always reblog for a bigger sample size please!

[monstersholygrail]

In The Darkness

Shadow demon x fem!reader— sensory deprivation, multiple orgasms, bondage (cuffs), groping, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex, finger sucking, aftercare

Your shadow demon bf had opened your eyes and welcomed you into a whole new world of pleasure that was just waiting to you both to explore. And you have. You’ve done things you never thought you’d enjoy due to the love and trust you have in your bf. In return you’ve gained so many new experiences that you’d never want to take back.

At this point you’ve pretty much stopped asking questions whenever your shadow demon bf proposes that he wants to try something new with you. But this time you think you have to ask some questions.

Because when your shadow demon bf tells you that he wants to fuck you in complete darkness, you’re insanely confused. Sure, you two have never done that before. Always having on at least a candle so that you can see each other as your bf fucks your brains out. But this is far from the craziest thing you two have ever done and it’s left you having no clue what’s going on.

Still, you trust your bf. You follow his exact instructions and you relish in the submission of it. Of letting go of all thought and action, your bf’s voice being your only guiding light. Especially as the darkness surrounds you and it’s the only true thing you can grasp onto.

Tingles shoot up your spine. A smirk begins to play on your lips as you realize the possible appeal. A eery chuckle shifts through the darkness and you jump as a moment later two clawed hands firmly grip onto the waist of your bare form. The prickly tips of sharpened claws caress up and down the curve of your stomach, leaving sparks in their wake.

“What a vision you are in the darkness, my heart. Now do you see mine?” Your bf’s haunting yet alluring voice whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise along your skin and your smile widens, getting a sense of his intentions with this newest request.

His touch as gentle as the wind, coursing through the pathway of your body till he reaches your breasts and the caress turns firm and purposeful. Groping you and pulling you tightly into his large chest. Your grasp rings out through the dark silent space. It’s echos vibrating and increasing the tension between you.

Leaning back into the comfort of his embrace, you moan. Nothing else to turn to, to focus on, besides his touch. Bringing the sensations to a new height till you’re writhing against him before he’s even done anything to you.

“Near total sensory deprivation, the only real thing being my voice. All of your senses now completely at my mercy,” Shadow demon bf rasps darkly, finally giving you some of his reasoning behind all this.

You have to admit that the idea of it is arousing and your body agrees as your pussy floods with your essence. Always so nice and wet for him, you can’t help it. Everything he says has your nerves standing on edge and your cunt fluttering and begging to be filled.

Careful claws tease and tweak at your nipples, whimpers escaping you as you tremble in his secure hold. You cry out, rubbing your thighs together to gain any semblance of friction you can get. Yet it’s not enough, your hole so achingly empty and needing to be stuffed full. Your mind grows foggy and centers in on this one desperate thought.

“Lost in the void and who is the only thing that can ground you?” Shadow demon bf whispers into your ear again, his forked tongue slithering out and licking along the smooth curve of your ear.

The sensation is quick, tantalizing, and gone far too soon. You whimper, leaning back into him. Your body, floating as if on cloud nine, seeking out that skilled tongue of his. Knowing with every fiber in what’s left of your present being that you’ll get it. So long as you’re good for him.

“You are,” you croak out, voice weak and wanting.

A low rumbles moves through your bf’s chest in agreement, clearly pleased with your willing and eager response. The loss of his touch on your breasts, on your hard nipples, is a hit your floating mind can barely handle. A loud whine escaping you until his cool touch returns, moving along your curves. The further down he goes the less you can breathe, simply waiting.

“That’s right, my starlight,” he says as his deft fingers dip into your folds, spreading them and spearing themselves along your slit. Your breath knocks out of you, exhaling heavily as he ignites the nerves of your pussy lips. They clench and contort around him, mindlessly guiding the digits to delve inside your hole.

Shadow demon bf chuckles at the feeling, causing your cheeks to tinge with red. Thankful that even if he can feel you, he won’t be able to see you in your lewdness. Another thing the darkness around you provides. Another thing you’re looking forward to. Your bfs voice and the slow glide of his fingers snaps you out of your thoughts.

“You overwhelm me, sweet one. You are all I feel and all that grounds me to this plane. I believe it’s time I repay the favor.”

Shadow demon bf’s fingers don’t leave you as his other hand guides you to bend down at the waist. Your own arms reach out, carelessly searching through the darkness until you find it. Fingers curl around the metal cuffs suspended in front of you. The click of each lock as they enclose around your wrists has your back arching, bracing yourself for what’s to come.

“Look at you, so good and ready for me,” Shadow demon bf mumbles, drawing lazy circle against your clit as he kneels down on the ground behind you. You whimper and push back, though his free hand is quick to grab at your plush thigh. Keeping you in place.

His keen eyes reflect in the darkness, giving him access to view everything in front of him. Yet you remain completely clueless. Just how he wants you. Your legs spread further as his fingers slide back down your slit, giving him the sight of your beautiful dripping pussy. Your essence dribbling down your thighs and making such a mess. A mess he’s more than ready to clean up.

In an instant that tongue you’ve been waiting for is back and it’s back with a vengeance. Your body jolts, cuffs clanging and ringing in your ears, surprised by the sudden slick texture of his forked tongued sliding along your thigh and pushing through your folds. Not having expected more than his touch at the moment. The darkness riding you of knowing what’ll happen next.

Though your anticipation doesn’t have time to build as shadow demon bf glides his tongue through your folds, swirling around your clit in a mind-numbing manner. You moan, body rolling into the sensations but not knowing where exactly to move. Leaving you to squirm in search of your bf.

Shadow demon bf grins viciously and you can feel it against your cunt, knowing his enjoying this. Loving how you struggle and silently beg for more of him. His hands shift to your hips, both keeping you in place and letting you know where he’ll be.

All you get in warning is a growl before your bf begins ravaging your pussy, sloppily lapping up your cunt. His hands spread your ass cheeks, widening the entrance for his tongue to slide deep inside your weeping pussy. Pressure weighs down in your belly as your pleasure builds, rising onto your toes and giving him better access.

He grunts his thanks and repeats his rhythm with precise precision and never ending stamina. He doesn’t stop fucking his tongue into your cunt until you explode around it. Your walls clenching around his tongue, your essence gushing onto his tastebuds. Shadow demon bf growls and unhinges his jaw, taking in every last damn drop and working you through it.

Both of you are breathing heavily as your orgasm begins to fade and your bf leans back. You still can’t see, hear, or feel anything beside the cold metal around your wrists. The only noise your breaths. Aside from that the silence stretches on and it has the hair on the back of your neck standing up straight.

“Ready for more?” Your bfs voice suddenly growls in your ear and you shout. Body jerking back and you immediately bump into his broad frame and right into his huge girth. His erection nestling against your ass.

Your eyes scatter and search the surroundings over the shoulder you hear him from but you can’t see anything. Only darkness. Before you can respond your bf crashes his lips against yours and you let out another muffled shout. But you respond without a beat of hesitation, opening your mouth and welcoming his tongue back inside your body. Both of you moaning into it as your cum tickles your own tastebuds.

Shadow demon bf’s cock slowly starts grinding into you, neither of you breaking your kiss. You stay perfectly still for him, keeping yourself wide open and needy for his length. Still not getting your fill of wanting to be split in two.

With your body all prepped for him, your bf guides his dick through your folds. Whimpers leaving you as his tip bumps into your sensitive clit. Your bf nips at your tongue affectionately before you feel his big mushroom tip, leaking heavily with pre-cum, push at your entrance.

With a simply push forward, your bf breaks past your entrance, sinking down into your eager sopping cunt. Your jaw drops, a loud moan lights the room up with noise as his cock stretches your walls for all their worth. Forcing its way in and demanding you submit to its sheer girth and the pleasure it’ll bring. You relax as much as you can, practically sucking him inside of you.

Shadow demon bf growls, your walls nearly suffocating him you’re so fucking tight. When he bottoms out his tip nudges at your cervix. The pain sharp and aching but so delicious. You close your eyes, basking in it all. You feel so full and so complete with him inside you.

Your breaths mingle and mix in the space between your mouths. Eyes open you continue trying to search for your bf in the dark, even knowing it’s useless. Wanting to see how much of a mess you make him and even maybe wanting him to see just how thoroughly he destroys you.

By the way he draws you, making you feel every thick and bulging vein along his cock against your walls before roughly snapping his hips back inside you, you almost swear he can see you. That he knows how much of a mess you truly make him. But that’s impossible right?

All worries and thoughts leave you in the blink of an eye as Shadow Demon bf starts up his demolishing pace. Claws carefully sinking into you to keep you steady. A loud roar rumbles through the room and you jump in your bones, which only serves to push your body back into his intense thrusts.

Your bf grunts, clearly approving and you cry out as he starts moving your body back into his cock, having you meet the rough rolls of his hips. Your body tenses, cunt clenching down around him and having you feel even more full.

Tossing your head back, your teeth clench, pleasure crashing through you in waves you can’t even think to stop as there’s nothing else for you to ground yourself with. Your lost in the sea of pleasure, tingling sensations of arousal pulsing within your body and spreading out over and over again.

Your bf watches your body twist and contort in order to take his giant cock and everything it’s making you feel. A twisted satisfaction burns through him at how much of a beautiful mess you look. The sight has him picking up his pace, slamming his length inside you, molding your perfect pussy to his shape. Making his home here and showing you he’ll never leave.

Moans and cries of pleasure are no longer enough as you release a fierce scream. You can faintly hear your bfs low groan, his voice feeling so far away. Lost in the abyss your hands try and reach for something— anything. But the clang of the cuffs is all that rings true. Sparking an idea in your mind you try and reach forward, hoping you can ground yourself by placing the chain of the cuffs in your mouth.

But just as you reach it, Shadow demon bf pulls you back and burys his cock back inside your crying and begging cunt. Emotion wells up inside your chest and you sob, tears coming to your eyes. Your body moves back into your bfs chest and his voice comes back down to your ear.

“Sh, sh, sh, my love. It’s alright, you’re alright,” he whispers soothingly, hand coming up to stuff a few of his large fingers into your mouth. You whimper, sucking eagerly, letting the sturdy size of his digits ground you back down to earth and help calm you down.

His other hand soothingly caresses your stomach as he continues to fuck into you, his pace not slowing down for a second. Making sure to take care of all your needs at once. Small whimpers continue to leave you, feeling better as his presence surrounds you and stays in your mouth and pussy. You move back into his thrusts again, all on your own.

Tendrils of darkness creep up from the deep and curl around your body. Having been used to them they only provide further comfort to you. One long tentacle wraps up and strokes at your clit, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. With a firm press of his hand on your stomach and a few more snaps of his hips, you scream once more, this time around his fingers as your orgasm bursts through you.

Your cum paints Shadow demon bf’s cock, your walls spasming and clenching down on his length. Sparks shoot up his spine and his teeth sink into your shoulder as he follows right after you into climax, his heavy load splashing deeply against your womb and filling your pussy even more than you thought was possible. His hips still rocking into you until you both sag into each other.

Shadow demon bf slides out of you gently but you still hiss at the slight sting. As your combined release spills out of you, you shiver and clench down to keep it inside of you. Your bf lights the room with a snap of his fingers and you breathe a sigh of relief as your senses come back to you. As gently as always, he unlocks you from the cuffs. Massaging your wrists and kissing them adoringly.

He guides you to bed, whispering praises, recounting every moment of what just happened through his eyes. Letting you know how good you did, how perfect you were for him, how absolutely gorgeous you looked then and now, and asking how you feel to make sure you’re alright.

Pouring endless praise and love onto you as he cleans up the mess between your thighs before he sweeps you up into his arms the moment you two get into bed. Pressing soft kisses all of your face and sore body. It’s only as you finally relax do you register all his words.

“Could you see me in the dark?” You ask incredulously, voice slightly raspy as you connect the dots. Your bf chuckles and you squeeze your eyes shut, dreading his response and forcing your own laughter down.

“‘Course I could, sweetheart. I’m a shadow demon,” he responds with amusement but your loud groan quickly overshadows his laughter. Red blooming across your chest and up your neck till it spreads all across your face. Your bf merely laughs louder, his hands caressing your back. Wanting to comfort you some before the inevitable teasing begins.

[daryltwdixon]

this is my fic for @pedgito's Spring Fever writing challenge with these prompts: Slasher, Camp, & Sensory Deprivation (sorry, took camp pretty loosely here)

|| nsfw 18+, DDDNE, DARK!JOEL, slasher!joel, cnc!!! dubious consent!!! if it aint for you scroll tf on by!!! stalker vibes, fingering, sensory deprivation, fear play, mask kink, predator/prey, forced orgasm || a/n: alright fam I was gonna wait to post this but that anon this morning pmo. sooooo enjoy!!! the pic of joel is mine I took from the game. this fic is not for everyone!! heeeeed the warningsssss

You’ve never known darkness like this.

A darkness so thick, so absolute. There was no moon, no stars, no relief from the smothering, blinding darkness. It was just…black. The kind that makes your head swim, makes your ears strain for sounds that aren’t there. Or ones that are. You don’t know what’s worse.

You’ve been running for what feels like forever.

Your lungs burn, your legs are lead, each step feeling heavier than the last. The underbrush fights against you like mangled hands—branches clawing at the flesh of your arms, brambles catching on the exposed skin of your thighs. The uneven ground is a cruel thing, tripping you up again and again, sending you crashing into tree trunks, the bark scraping into your palms as you barely catch yourself before hitting the dirt.

But you don’t stop.

Because something or someone is behind you.

You don’t know how far. You don’t know how close. But the sound of it has been chasing you, steady and relentless—the snap of branches, the dull thud of heavy footsteps somewhere just out of reach.

You’ve completely lost track of time. Your one and only source of light was left behind what feels like a lifetime but was only a matter of days ago. There was simply no time to think of your flashlight back in your tent when you had to run. But you don’t know how long it’s been since then. Everything past survival has blurred together.

You don’t know where you are.

But you have to stop.

You have to stop.

You won’t make it much farther if you don’t. Your legs are giving out beneath you, every step turning into a stumble, every breath dragging too hard, too deep, too loud. Your hands shake as you catch yourself crashing down between the thick, twisted roots of a tree, ignoring the ache in your knees, the sharp edges of the bark biting into your spine as you press yourself against it.

It’s quiet now.

The first real silence you’ve had in hours. Maybe it’s over. Maybe you ran far enough.

You think of your only saving grace, stashed deep in your pocket, and you dig your fingers past fabric and grit, searching for the thin slip of cardboard. When you finally pinch the matchbook between your fingers, pulling it from the confines of your shorts, you blindly flick it open. Your hands are clumsy, stiff and shaking.

Five matches left.

You hesitate. It’s not safe here, but the dark is worse. You can’t even see your hands in front of you. Can’t see anything. It’s like your eyes are stretching, playing tricks on you as they try to pull something—anything—out of the blackness.

You pull out a match, feel for the strip, and strike it fast.

The spark flares bright, too bright, your pupils contracting hard. The flame wavers between your fingers, small and flickering, but enough to push the dark back. Enough to let you see—

Movement.

No. Not movement. Reflection.

A quick, sharp gleam across the clearing. Faint, almost nothing, but there. Something smooth catching the light and throwing it back at you in a thin, distorted line.

You squint, trying to make sense of it. Not water, but almost like glass—warped, uneven.

Then you see it. A round, fogged-over lens, slightly misshapen, reflecting the weak glow of the match. Another next to it. Not eyes, but something meant to mimic them.

And metal. A hard, curved surface, dark but slick enough to catch the light, the shape of it unmistakable now.

A gas mask.

Your stomach turns violently, bile rising in your throat.

The figure doesn’t move—if it even is a person, you can’t be sure. The lenses catch the weak light, blank and unblinking. It could be a trick of the dark, your eyes playing games with the shapes between the trees. You feel like you can hardly trust them anymore.

Your match goes out.

Your breath catches, sitting too high in your chest, refusing to move. Reaching for another match, your fingers stiff, you fumble for another. Four left. 

You strike it fast. The flame bursts to life, searing bright for just a second—just long enough for you to see—

Nothing.

No reflection. No mask. No shape standing where it had been before.

But the night is no longer still. And beyond anything else, you know for certain that you are no longer alone in the darkness.

There’s something else now, shifting in the brush, the dry snap of twigs underfoot. Not the wind or an animal. The sound is deliberate, heavy in a way that makes your skin crawl. You push yourself back into the tree, feeling the rough bark dig in, grounding yourself in pain, in something real. Your eyes dart, straining past the reach of the weak light, desperate to find what you know is there.

You hear him before you see him.

"Hey, kiddo."

Something presses against your face before you can scream. Cloth, warm from body heat. Your hands shoot up too late, fingers grasping uselessly at a grip too strong. The scent floods in fast, thick and sickly sweet, curling through your lungs as you gasp.

The match drops from your fingers, the light immediately snuffing out as it hits the dirt. Your limbs go weak, your thoughts stutter, tilt, and a numbness spreads through you like ink in water.

And then, like the night around you, your vision goes black.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re in the same place or not.

The last thing you remember is the scrape of his voice in your ear, low and thick as the cloth smothering your mouth. The sickly-sweet scent still clings to the back of your throat, coating your nostrils like tar. Your throat burns for water as your stomach churns, but the instinct to stay still, to stay quiet, keeps you from gagging.

Rough bark digs into your skin, so you make up your mind that you must still be up against a tree. The rope pulling your arms behind the trunk is tight, thick and coarse around your wrists. It bites into the skin like it was tied with purpose, meant to hold. You tug once—useless. The knots don’t budge.

You try to move your feet, to stand, to kick free, but it's no use. They’re like dead weight, sore and leaden from your exhaustive hike through the unknown. The dirt is dry beneath your bare legs, your denim shorts beginning to ride up your thighs as you squirm around. 

You haven’t opened your eyes yet. You don’t want to.

You force your breath to steady despite the cotton mouth dryness behind your lips. Inhale. Exhale. You tell yourself you’ll open them on the next count of three. Or the next.

You’re busy willing yourself not to cry when you hear the heaving footsteps around you, no other sound joining them. No crackling fire, no sound of any nocturnal creatures. You wonder just how far from any nearby camp you are anymore. 

You open your eyes the first time to the sound of a match being struck. The bright orange light flickers against the back of your eyelids before they flash open, the sight of the gas mask is so close now that you flinch as it crowds your vision. If it wasn’t for the flame flickering against the glass, you might be able to see the eyes behind it. The lenses are fogged up, catching the firelight in warped, fractured shapes. The filter hisses slightly as he breathes in slow, deep inhales.

Thick, calloused fingertips press against your jaw. You flinch, trying to pull away, but his grip is firm, pressing your head back against the rough bark behind you. The flame flickers between you, throwing long, shifting shadows.

The match burns out, the darkness swallowing you again.

Only two left now.

You can still hear him, like without your vision your other senses suddenly come alive. The dull, mechanical sound of air pushing through the filter. The rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body so close that the space between you feels like it’s shrinking.

“Hello, darlin’,” he whispers, all southern warmth stretched over something sharp, like velvet hiding a blade. His finger swipes against your bottom lip, and you realize it’s cold and wet with water. Your mouth opens without meaning to, your body responding before your mind can catch up. The moment the moisture touches your skin, something inside you claws forward, desperate.

Before you even realize it, your tongue dips out to taste it.

His low laughter makes you feel filthy.

His fingers leave your mouth, tracing along the lines of your face instead. The way he holds you is rough and unyielding.

"You know," he says, his voice curling low, slow like molasses, "I didn’t mean for it to be like this."

Your body goes rigid.

"I’m sure they were real nice folks."

The memories you’ve kept locked away, stuffed deep in the pit of your mind, tear their way to the surface. Images, voices, flashes of what you lost to the masked man with a crowbar.

“But you…” he continues despite how hard you squirm in his hold, “I just couldn't resist.”

His left hand presses against your bare calf, and slides upwards- until his fingertips graze the hem of your shorts. Goosebumps rise under his wide palm, you try to ignore the heat that's beginning to pool between your thighs– there’s a part of you that realizes that you shouldn't be enjoying this, but your body is already starting to want it.

His thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles over your thigh. Sightless in the dark, every other sense sharpens. His skin on yours, the heat of it, the grit of his callouses, like you can feel him more clearly than you’ve ever seen him.

And his scent. He smells like sweat, leather, something burnt. It clings to the air between you.

His hand rests wide and heavy against your leg, fingers splayed like he owns the ground you’re sitting on. 

And he’s humming under his breath.

It’s soft at first, barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears. But after a moment, it clicks. He’s matching the rhythm of your heartbeat. The steady, frantic pulse trapped in your throat, the way your chest rises and falls unevenly, he’s humming along to it like a song only he can hear.

Then, his hand lifts from your face, and absence of touch should be a relief. It’s not.

The sharp crack of a match striking fills your ears. Another flare of light floods your vision, pupils shrinking fast as they try to adjust. 

Your eyes squint against the burst of light. It sears into your vision, blinding for a moment before adjusting, and in those few seconds, you see him clearly. The flickering glow dances across the fogged-up glass of his mask, catches on the curve of the lenses, and for the first time, you see his eyes behind them.

Brows furrowed over hazel irises, pupils blown wide. That wicked glint has nothing to do with the matchlight. He’s looking at you with an intensity, like a predator watches something cornered.

He’s taking you in.

“What a pretty little thing. My girl.”

Ah.

The words land like a brand, something final and irreversible. Your breath snags, your body going stiff, muscles locking against the weight of ownership in his voice.

"C’mon now," his voice is soft again, deceptively gentle. The matchlight flickers between you, glowing bright as his hand moves from your leg to press into your jaw again, holding you steady, keeping your lips just slightly parted. His eyes track from your mouth back to your own wide stare, pupils swallowing whatever color was left.

"You were doing so well a moment ago."

He lets his hand fall back to your knee, nails scraping light, teasing lines up the inside of your thigh. Your breath stutters, body trembling against your will, and when his fingers dig in just slightly, a soft gasp slips past your lips.

“Oh, there we go,” he says quietly.

The match goes out.

Only one left.

You expect him to strike it immediately, but he doesn’t. The air feels thicker now, the kind of silence that’s only there when someone wants you to feel it. The realization makes your skin crawl—he’s waiting. He knew how many you had left. He’s drawing it out, pulling the tension tight, making sure you feel just how little control you ever had.

The sudden click of his mask clangs in the dark night as the vision of him burned into your retinas starts to fade. You hear the thud of it on the forest floor, and suddenly his breathing is quieter, though closer.

Your ears strain, waiting for the next move.

And then you realize just how close he is when something wet and muscled presses against the underside of your top lip. 

A sharp, obscene sound leaves his throat at the first taste of you. His tongue drags along the inseam of your lip, slow and savoring, his free hand tightening back around your jaw, keeping you still. You should turn away. You should pull back. But the sudden flush of heat rolling through your body keeps you rooted in place, keeps you from moving at all.

His lips press against yours—not applying pressure, just there, ghosting over your mouth, the barest contact. He breathes into you, slow and controlled, and when you exhale, he inhales sharply—like he’s drinking it in. Like he’s stealing the very breath from you.

It’s too intimate. It makes your stomach twist, makes your skin prickle with something ugly and deep and wanting.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip, and the moan that escapes you is involuntary, slipping free before you can stop it. His mouth curls into a smile against yours, slow and knowing, before he presses deeper, taking. Your tongue meets his, a slick, tentative slide, and the moment you respond, his fingers push further up your thigh. The movement makes your hips shift forward slightly, an instinct you don’t want to acknowledge.

You’re almost ashamed of how much your body responds to him.

He pulls back, just enough to catch your lower lip between his teeth, teasing, testing. His hand on your thigh moves, fingers trailing higher, just below the thin barrier of your shorts, pressing against the soft fabric stretched over your core.

“I knew you’d want this,” he murmurs, voice rasping against your skin as his lips trace up your jawline. His middle finger slides beneath the hem of your shorts, pressing into the damp heat of you, and your body jerks hard in response.

A breathless moan pushes out of your throat. You can’t stop it.

“That’s what made you so different from them, sweetheart.”

His words coil through your spine, wrapping tight and unrelenting. Your hips stutter, rocking forward into his palm before you even realize you’re doing it. His breathless laugh is pure satisfaction, curling against your throat as he pushes his middle finger under your panties and against you, teasing, taunting.

He groans quietly at the feeling of your pooling slick, his finger rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, coaxing another trembling sound from your lips before he presses into your clenched entrance. Another finger joins the first, stretching you open, and the sensation forces a choked cry out of you as your body arches against the restraints.

“Oh, you love this, don’t you, sweetheart?” he says, voice dripping with certainty, "Just like I knew you would."

You do. And you hate him for it.

His fingers move inside you, curling just right, pressing into the spot that has your stomach tensing, your thighs trembling. You can feel the slick heat between your legs, against your own skin of your thighs, the way your body responds faster than your mind can catch up.

His other hand lifts from your face. The snap of a match striking cuts through the dark.

The firelight licks across his bare face, and he’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes your stomach drop, that makes you forget to be afraid of him. Gleaming eyes catch the flame, and his beard, salt-and-pepper and close-cut, frames full lips slick with your spit.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he murmurs. His fingers don’t stop moving. “Been watchin’ you for a long time. Even before I killed your little gang back there.”

But before you can react, his mouth is crashing against yours, tongue and teeth and heat, swallowing the choked noise you make as his fingers push deeper, thrusting slow and controlled, forcing you higher, closer. The pressure coils in the pit of your stomach, tightening, unbearable, the tension building so fast it almost hurts.

His voice is still against your mouth, words pressing into your lips like a brand.

"You know my name," he says. His thumb circles just right, pressing against your clit with devastating precision. His fingers curl inside of you, and your entire body locks up, legs trembling, muscles pulling tight.

"I wanna hear it when you come around my fingers." he growls, “Say it.”

Your body breaks open around him, a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. A sound between a prayer and a plea.

"Joel."

The match burns out.

And the night swallows you whole.

[ditzyrafe]

— dom!rafe edging you

warnings — oral (fem!rec), fingering, orgasm denial, lewd language

you were trembling, sprawled naked on rafe's bed, sheets already damp beneath you. every nerve ending felt hypersensitive, tingling with a desperate energy that had nowhere to go. rafe knelt between your spread thighs, his expression a mask of intense concentration, dark eyes missing nothing. he hadn't brought you close just once or twice. this was a meticulous, agonising torture session, each near-climax more intense, each denial sharper than the last.

"stay still," he commanded softly, his voice a low anchor in the storm raging inside of you. his fingers, slick with your wetness, were currently tormenting your clit with agonisingly slow circles, pressure building steadily, promisingly. your hips twitched, trying to push up against his hand, chasing the friction. "ah-ah," he chided, pinning your hip with his free hand, stopping the movement. "be patient. you cum when i allow it, understand?"

"y-yes," you gasped, the word strained, barely audible over your ragged breathing. heat coiled low and tight in your belly, a familiar ache that screamed for release. you could fee the orgasm building again, the suggestive tingling starting deep inside you. your toes curled, legs tensing involuntarily. it was close. so close.

"such a needy little thing, aren't 'ya?" he taunted, leaning closer, his gaze burning into yours like an inferno. his fingers didn't falter, maintaining that maddeningly perfect rhythm.

"p-please… rafe. i can't-" you whimpered, tears pricking the corners of your eyes — not from pain, but from sheer, unbearable need. your inner muscles clenched desperately, trying to pull the orgasm out.

"i know, baby," he murmured, a cruel little smirk playing on his lips. he watched as you writhed in the sheets of your shared bed, the flush spreading across your face and chest. he saw the exact moment you were close enough, and right then, just as you sucked in a breath to cry out, his hand completely stopped. completely still, but not moving an inch away from you just yet. leaving you hanging, suspended on that agonising peak, body shuddering with the force of the denied climax.

a choked sob escaped you, raw frustration mixing with the lingering sparks of pleasure. "why'd you stop again?"

"because i love watching my baby unravel," he stated simply before he leaned down, replacing his fingers with his mouth. the hot, wet suction was a shock to your system, instantly reigniting the fire within you. his tongue flicked, teased, then latched onto your clit, sucking hard, driving you right back towards that edge with breathtaking speed. you cried out, bucking helplessly beneath him this time, the denied pleasure making this new ascent almost unbearably intense. faster, harder, his mouth worked relentlessly, fingers plunging inside you, stretching you, adding another layer to the sensory overload.

you were screaming his name now, begging, pleading, lost in the haze. the orgasm almost slammed into you again, closer, bigger than before, about to shatter your control completely. and again, just milliseconds before you would have broken apart, he pulled away. the abrupt absence of contact was like a physical blow. you collapsed back onto the sheets, panting, body trembling violently, tears of sheer frustration now streaming down your face.

rafe watched you, chest rising and falling heavily, his own control evident but strained. he reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "not yet," he whispered, his voice thick with his own arousal, his eyes promising more denial, more exquisite torture.

"we're not finished. not even close."

taglist ; @13hischiers @rafesprecious @mayanqueenxx @dreewsepj @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @onxlyemery @yncoded @millie--billie @laniirackssss @slut4you (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[pandacherryblossoms]

𐙚 Enhypen Kinks 𐙚

Genre: Smut MDNI 18+

Heeseung

• Praise Kink – Heeseung thrives on being praised, especially during intimate moments. Hearing you tell him how good he is and how much you want him makes him feel adored and powerful, making him eager to please.

• Breeding Kink – He has a deep desire for intimacy and connection, with the thought of making you feel completely filled and cared for sparking something inside him. The idea of making you his in that way is a huge turn-on.

• Overstimulation – Heeseung loves when the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. Pushing both his and your limits with multiple orgasms or teasing for too long makes everything more intense.

• Voice Kink – Whether it’s hearing his name moaned or soft, seductive whispers, Heeseung’s drawn to how vocal you get when he’s in the moment. He loves the way your voice sounds when you’re at your most vulnerable.

Jay

• Dominance & Control – Jay is in his element when he’s in charge. The feeling of controlling every aspect of the situation, whether it’s telling you what to do or making sure you’re exactly where he wants you, is what turns him on the most.

• Bondage – Restricting your movements just enough to make you helpless but not too much to hurt you gets him going. He loves the power that comes with tying you up and having you at his mercy, completely under his control.

• Spanking – Jay enjoys seeing you squirm when he spanks you. Whether it’s playful or punishing, the physical impact combined with your reaction makes it irresistible for him.

• Dirty Talk – When Jay speaks dirty to you, it’s like he knows exactly what to say to make your body react. He uses words to break you down, making you feel completely his with every word that leaves his lips.

Jake

• Body Worship – Jake can’t get enough of showing you how much he loves you. He’ll worship your body, caressing every inch and taking his time to appreciate all the little things that make you perfect to him.

• Marking (Biting & Hickeys) – Leaving marks on your skin, like biting your neck or giving you hickeys, is Jake’s way of claiming you. He loves the idea that everyone can see you’re his, and he feels satisfied knowing he left a physical reminder of their connection.

• Begging – Jake has a thing for seeing you desperate for him. The way you beg for his touch or his attention makes him feel powerful and adored. It turns him on even more, knowing he has you exactly where he wants you.

• Cockwarming – Jake enjoys the closeness of cockwarming, having you stay seated on him while he takes his time, ensuring you’re close but not yet fully indulged. He loves the intimacy and knowing you’re his, even without moving.

Sunghoon

• Teasing & Edging – Sunghoon is a master of teasing, knowing how to make you desperate for release. He’ll push you to the brink, getting you close to climax, only to pull back and make you wait. This drive him crazy as much as it does you.

• Possessiveness – The idea of having you all to himself, knowing you’re his, makes Sunghoon feel powerful and secure in the relationship. He enjoys being the only one who can give you pleasure and make you feel safe.

• Sex Toys – Sunghoon loves exploring new ways to pleasure you using toys. Whether it’s a vibrator, dildo, or something more intense, he enjoys watching how your body responds to the added stimulation and teasing you with it.

• Thigh Riding – He loves watching you ride his thighs, seeing your pleasure unfold as you use his body in this intimate, sensual way. It’s a delicate, intense way for him to feel needed and admired at the same time.

Sunoo

• Sensory Play – Sunoo loves heightening every moment with sensory play. Blindfolding you or running different textures over your skin intensifies your sensitivity, making every touch feel electric.

• Brat & Brat-Taming – He can be just as bratty as you, teasing and being playful, but he also loves putting you back in your place when you act up. There’s something exciting about balancing the push and pull of dominance and submission.

• Soft Dom Tendencies – Sunoo loves being a gentle, sweet dominant, making sure every move is slow, soft, and affectionate. He may take control, but his sweetness makes everything feel comforting and loving.

• Playful Power Struggles – Sunoo enjoys a playful back-and-forth, where neither of you is fully in control. He loves the challenge of you pushing back, but he enjoys the fun of letting you win sometimes, keeping the balance exciting.

Jungwon

• Power Play – Jungwon has a soft, innocent look, but he loves being in charge behind closed doors. He feels empowered when he’s calling the shots and enjoys watching you submit to his control.

• Degradation & Praise Mix – He loves the dynamic between degrading you a bit and then praising you for how good you are for him. The quick switch between rough and sweet drives him crazy and keeps you on your toes.

• Choking – Jungwon has a thing for choking. It’s not about violence, but the control it gives him over your pleasure makes it a huge turn-on. He likes knowing he has the power to control your body’s reactions.

• Mirror Play – Jungwon gets turned on by making you watch yourself as he’s pleasing you. The visual aspect drives him crazy, and he loves seeing you in the moment, fully indulging in the pleasure he’s giving you.

Ni-ki

• Size Kink – Ni-ki is confident in his size, and he loves reminding you how big and strong he is. He gets a thrill from seeing your reaction when he’s inside you, knowing how well he fits you.

• Manhandling – Ni-ki doesn’t shy away from being rough; he loves picking you up, throwing you around, and claiming your body however he wants. The control he exerts is part of the thrill for him.

• Risky/Public Play – The thought of getting caught excites him. Ni-ki loves the adrenaline of risky play, knowing there’s a chance someone could walk in on you two adds an extra layer of thrill to the experience.

. Grinding – Ni-ki loves the slow tease of grinding against you. The way he can feel you getting wetter with each roll of his hips gets him going, building up the pleasure until he can’t take it anymore.

[takami-takami]

Cute things Hawks does:

Asks, "what was that for?" With a lopsided smirk every time you give him a surprise kiss, even if he knows the reason.

Doesn't even bother to look with his eyes when he catches things, given the sensory prowess of his feathers; except when you trip. In that circumstance, he uses both arms to catch you.

Picks you up and carries you at every available oppurtunity. You're light as a feather to a pro hero's strength, and he'll make sure you know it and thoroughly internalize that. As a man, as your protector, it's kind of important to flaunt that for you a little.

Collects funky looking socks. Fuzzy ones. He starts buying two pairs and gifting you a set matching his. It's a well-kept secret, until you move in together and catch a glimpse at his oddly familiar-looking sock drawer.

Absentmindedly fidgets with items, especially those that have some sort of sensory element to them. He clutches his fluffy coat to his face to self soothe, runs his fingers along the nearest soft object to keep his focus centered on work.

Hawks tries really hard to pick up on your hobbies. At first it's curiosity from one side of the windowpane; hesitancy as he watches you, an unspoken rule barring him from joining in. The moment you extend an invitation for him to join you, coaxing him, he lights up and nods. You catch him practicing on his own some nights, a spark in his eye and pride in his chest.

Never lets sleep take him without telling you he loves you first. His sleepy, gruffy voice has woken you up more times than you can count. "Babe. Love you," he slurs, clutching you close to his chest as he passes out from exhaustion the moment he hits the bed.

[myfictionaldreams]

Edge of Glory // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Defiance is something you are not accustomed to, but when the love of your life is in danger, there is no stopping you. Now, the repercussions of your actions have you contemplating the decisions that you've made.

Requested by: My bestie, thank you for giving me the spark and motivation to continue writing!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, fluff, threesome (F/M/M), BDSM, punishment, sensory deprivation, crying, overstimulation, begging, edging (!), subspace, restraints, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, praise kink, degradation, aftercare

Words: 6.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Masochist: someone who enjoys pain. That word echoed in the forefront of your mind as your muscles strained and ached from the exertion. Deep breath in and out, shoulder joints rolling to ease the stiffness in your neck as your arms are raised in defence once more.

It’s not that you were averse to pain; in the right circumstance, pain could be mixed with pleasure or have a reward such as a tattoo or piercing. However, the pain that came with working out, forcing your muscles to move to their limits, and lungs burning with the movements were things you were not used to or could say you were enjoying at the present moment. Hence why, the woman in front of you, with stunning red hair and a bright, taunting grin, was being labelled a masochist because there was no way you could fathom that she was enjoying any moment of this, but the sharp laugh she released had you shaking your head in concern.

“Again,” she ordered breathily, her arms remaining at her side as she carefully stepped around the thin mat positioned in the centre of the office. The chairs and table are pushed against the wall, giving you more space.

Taking an exaggerated deep breath, ignoring that fire that coated the inside of your lungs, you lunged towards Natasha, looking as if you were going to grab her by the shoulders, but in the last second, you dropped to your knees. With surety and remembering the instructions of your mentor, who watched from the sidelines, you tackled your friend to the floor.

With the rush of air that escaped her lungs, you knew you’d taken her by surprise and couldn’t help the shit-eating grin across your face as you stared triumphantly down at Natasha.

Within a single blink, an unnatural grunt was forced from your no longer smiling lips as Nat was quick to swap the positions, causing your body to roll and her now hovering over you with both of your arms pinned on either side of your head.

“What now, Sugar? Try and get out of this one”, she taunted as her flaming hair framed her beautiful face. With a surge of adrenaline, you were able to swing your hips up, pushing her body away enough to kick your knee up. Natasha, the ever-professional bodyguard and part-time assassin, knew your next move and could twist both of your legs together until you were thoroughly held down with no hopes of escape. “Come on, you know how to get out of this hold, just think”, Natasha continued to tease, holding onto your limbs tightly.

The panic of being held down with the pain pulsing through your muscles, you couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even think of another way out, let alone the right way. Turning your head to the side to look towards your mentor, you were suddenly turned as Natasha forced your body onto its side as she tuts, “No cheating, don’t look for Wilson for the answers, use your head!”

“I can’t; I give up,” you grumbled as your face smushed into the cool mat, finding some relief in the lower temperature. Relief instantly eased into your limbs as Natasha released her hold on you, and you flopped face-first on the floor. “Thank you.”

“You did well today. You finally got me onto my back, which most can’t say. Good job!” Natasha praised you as she moved to grab a drink. You’d intended to raise a thumbs-up in her general direction, but all you could manage was flop an open palm onto the mat and continue to lay there.

The next voice that praised was Sam, your mentor and personal bodyguard, as he reprimanded Nat, “You didn’t have to play dirty; the hold was for next month's teaching, Romanoff”.

“Whoever said I played fair”, she teased, her voice sultry and low as she gently pushed against Sam’s shoulder. 

Not that you were particularly listening as you breathed deeply in the middle of the floor, becoming so relaxed that you contemplated having a nap. Except someone had other ideas as large, firm hands scooped beneath your body, causing you to groan dramatically as you’re lifted until sitting sideways in his lap, your face resting carefully against his shoulder as warm arms wrapped around you.

Steve held you closely, gently kissing the top of your head as you breathed him in, finding comfort in his cologne and warmth. For a moment, you admired the parts you were touching, from the firmness of her muscular body to the coarse, dark blond facial hair that rested against your temple. Lifting your heavy head, your lips pressed against the thick column of his neck, you asked, “Did I do good today, or is she just saying that because she has to?”

The brief grunt of a laugh that Steve released had your insides warming, especially as the vast chest you were resting on vibrated, nothing to you was more attractive than being the reason for your partner laughing. Once again, Steve kissed the top of your head gently before answering, “You did do good today, baby. Even though I don’t see the point in you having to learn all of these moves. There’s a reason why I hire all of my friends and colleagues to be your bodyguards you know”. 

You sigh into his neck, reaching up to play with the curling blonde wisps of hair at the nape of his neck, “I know but it still can’t hurt to know some self-defence, especially when, oh I don’t know, two of the most wanted and dangerous men in all of Brooklyn are my boyfriends”.

Steve hums against your forehead but you can feel him smiling. It’s not that you wanted to become as highly trained as either of your boyfriends or your bodyguards but with the way the company and job roles that everyone was playing, it was probably for the best that you had some skillset for defending yourself.

“Anyway,” you continue, leaning back slightly in his hold so you can look up into his bright sky-blue eyes. Maybe I’ll be good enough to get you or Bucky onto your backs one day. “The brightness in Steve’s eyes seemed to darken as his eyelids lowered. His gaze sharpened down to your lips, and you knew the hunger in his eyes wasn’t for food.

“Baby girl, if you wanted me on my back, all you had to do was ask”, as he spoke, he dragged you down as he led, your body now covering over his chest, legs shifting until you’re straddling over his waist. Pushing up against his firm chest, you grinned down at him, already feeling the warmth radiating from between your legs as you clenched in arousal.

“Hey! No fornicating on the gym mat!” Natasha shouts, interrupting the heated exchange for a second.

Not that this at all differed, Steve as his hands skimmed over your legging-covered thighs, massaging the muscles as he then settled over your hips, pushing your lower body down so that you could feel all of him, hard and pulsing between your legs.

As a moan of need slipped past your lips, a multitude of events happened. Every phone in the room, except yours, pinged with a single notification and all warmth, happiness and lust ceased to exist as this was never a positive text. Steve reached beneath your thigh to retrieve his phone from his trouser pocket. Reading it briefly before beginning to sit up.

Staring around the room, you could feel the energy was anything but positive from the frown now marring Natasha’s face.

Bucky, the tightness in the centre of your chest became unbearable as your eyes darted back to Stee, who was now carefully trying to stand between you. No words were spoken, but they weren’t needed. Just from Steve’s exterior, you knew it was something regarding Bucky. He was supposed to confirm a deal—no action, just papers and signing.

“Please,” your voice was barely heard over a whisper as you took a shaky step toward Steve, who began clipping his guns back into the leather holster hidden behind his suit jacket. You weren’t entirely sure what you were begging for—some reassurance? To come with them? But Steve hardly even paused to look at you as he rushed past, his hand cupping your cheek before moving towards the door with Natasha in tow.

On instinct, you followed his steps as the thumping of your pulse in your chest tempted you drastically with the spike of adrenaline.

“Hold up, Boss Lady. We’re staying here,” Sam calmly reminded you as he carefully stepped into your line of sight. For a moment, you relaxed under his gentle gaze as you examined him, from his buzzed short hair to his black polo top and jeans.

“There’s no way I’m staying here, I know it’s Bucky. I’m going”, you spoke with all the authority you could muster whilst stepping around him. However now, it was Steve blocking your exit as he stood to his full height, staring down at you with pity in his eyes.

“You’re going to stay here where it’s safe with Sam. I’m not risking you”.

Shaking your head, you try to push past his towering body, but he doesn’t budge a single step. Grunting in frustration, your eyes ablaze, you stare up at him again. “Please, Steve, don’t leave me behind when Bucky’s hurt! I know it’s him; I can feel it.” You press your hand over your heart for emphasis. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll sit in the car. Please let me come with you!”

Steve opens his mouth but a shout from lower down the corridor interrupts him as Natasha informs him that the car is ready. Rough fingers cup your cheeks, tilting your face towards him further as he leans down to kiss the tip of your nose and then your forehead, “I will call as soon as I can, but you need to stay here”.

Steve leaves without any time for argument. It takes a total of ten seconds before you rush back into the office, collect a hoodie, phone, and car keys, and plan to ignore Steve completely and rush after them, following the GPS on his phone.

One small, or rather tall interruption came in the shape of one frowning bodyguard as he held onto the front of your shoulders. “No”. Simple, authoritative, and mostly effective. But not today.

Pushing past him, you made it another step before he grasped your inner elbow and pulled you back. “No, you aren’t following them. If Boss’s orders are to stay here, we are staying here. I’m sorry I know that’s not what you want-”.

“What did the message say?” Sam’s jaw muscles tighten as he closes his mouth, saying nothing and everything simultaneously. “Exactly. Bucky is in trouble, and I’m not staying here waiting for a phone call to say whether he's okay or not. At least if I follow and stay in the car, I can have immediate answers. So it’s up to you. You can stay here or do your job and protect me in the car.” 

You were never firm like this with Sam, who was not only your bodyguard but also your best friend. However, right now, with adrenaline pulsing through your veins, there was no way you were going to act rationally. Sam took a moment to battle himself internally before cursing lowly under his breath.

“Fuck. They are so going to fire me but fine but you listen to everything I say. You must stay near the car; if there’s any sign of danger and we need to leave, you go without question. Understand?”

“Yes, I promise. Now let’s go!”

On the way to wherever Sam was driving you, your nerves seemed uncontrollable. Your legs bounced, and your fingers wrung together in an attempt to calm down. “They won’t fire you, you know, " you said to try to distract yourself as the scenery became one of vast landscapes, greenery, and nothingness.

“Oh yeah? And how do you work that one out then?” 

“Because you’re still protecting me, no matter where we go. I have full trust in you, Sam, and I know they do, too. They’d be as lost without you as I would be.”

His face seemed to ease slightly as he reached across the centre console and gripped your fingers tightly, stopping your movements and reassuring you.

Entering into a derelict area, Sam reminds you again of your promise to stay close to the car as he parks, where you recognise Steve and a couple of other SUVs who have haphazardly parked outside of a warehouse. Stepping out of the vehicle, you remained close as promised, but Sam stood directly before you, his gun raised and prepared to be used.

It was silent. Entirely and utterly silent. There weren’t even birds singing in the trees nearby; only the wind rushing over your face as the hood flapping in the breeze kept you company. You wanted to talk, to replace the silence, but knew that would earn you a one-way ticket to being placed back into the car and removed from the area because what’s one way of announcing yourself to the enemies? Talking, that's for damn sure.

Your knuckles ached as you clenched your fist tightly, waiting and waiting. At one point, you had to lean onto Sam's back, rest your forehead against his back and take a few steady breaths to prevent hyperventilation as the worst thoughts came to mind.

A loud bang, you at first mistaken for a gunshot and therefore had Sam pushing you to the ground, but soon realised that it was the metal door slamming open. Voices then echoed into the open area. You searched over Sam’s shoulder, and men and women dressed in black began to exit the building. 

You recognise them as part of your team, and the muscles in your and Sam’s bodies relax as you shoot to stand up. However, once again, your bodyguard forces you back: “Easy, Boss Lady, give them a second.”

You knew what he was referring to, as neither of your boyfriends had yet to follow the team out of the building. Just as you were about to push past the protection in front of you and storm the warehouse, the loud door slammed again to allow Natasha, Bucky and Steve to exit.

The brunette man was being supported by the blonde and red-haired, limping on a foot that barely scraped along the floor. The relief that rushed through you was overwhelming as you slumped against the side of the car, sucking in easy breaths as all tension and tightness in your chest eased.

“Hang on, let me call her,” came Steve's distant voice. Before you could react, your phone began to ring loudly, filling the quiet within the area. The two of you had previously been concealed by the multiple vehicles, but there was no hiding that you’d gone directly against Steve’s orders now. The ringing instantly stopped, and you were suddenly face to face with your fuming boyfriend.

Before he could react or speak, you were darting around him and racing towards Bucky, who Natasha was holding up. A whoosh of air burst from his lips as he wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders, holding your body close to his as you breathed him in, gripping the back of his crisp, button-up shirt. He mostly looked the same as when he’d left you hours ago: a black suit, buzzed hair, and clean-shaven hair.

“You let her come?” Bucky asked with indifference and concern, directing the question to Steve, now a step away. You would have been sheepish and embarrassed, but the relief that Bucky was alive was overwhelming as you held him tighter.

“Do you really think I would let her come when you send a text like that?” Steve retorts back with frustration, lacing his words.

Bucky’s hold seemed to loosen slightly as he tried to defend himself: “I asked for SOME backup; I didn’t expect all of this to come! Especially not you.” At first, you assume he’s referring to Steve, but as Bucky gently pushes back against your shoulders, you realise he’s talking to you. Now, the full extent of your embarrassment flushes your cheeks with warmth as you refuse to meet his eye.

Staring down, Bucky is now resting some weight on his foot, which had previously appeared injured. “What happened to your foot? Are you okay? Where else are you injured? I need to see!”

As you spoke, your fingers ran over different body parts, ignoring the burning stare from Steve as you did so. Not happy with being ignored, he stepped forward, standing between Bucky and yourself as Steve cupped your cheeks as he did before leaving, forcing you to look and meet his stare.

Even though you could tell he was angry and frustrated, he was only ever soft and gentle with his touches as he demanded, “What are you doing here? I explicitly told you to stay behind and not to follow!”

Licking your dry lips, you emphasised, “I couldn’t stay at the office knowing Bucky was hurt! Sam was with me the entire time; I was completely safe!”

This was an entirely wrong thing to say to him. His glare turned to your bodyguard, who had remained by the car, leaning against it casually and holding his hands up in defence. “I couldn’t say no to her, alright? She was going to follow whether I liked it or not.”

“The command was to keep her at the office, where it’s safer than standing directly outside the conflict, Wilson.” You flinched at using his surname, something Steve tended not to do when it came to his longtime friend. “It should be fairly simple to read behind the lines and keep her there by any means necessary.”

Now it was your turn to have the fiery rage of anger in your glare as you snapped, “Excuse me? Stop talking about me like I’m not here. What would you have had him do? Tie me to a chair? I don’t think so-”

“That’s exactly what I would have expected him to do”, Steve cuts you off as he leans down so the tips of your noses rub together. “You know what? We aren’t discussing this out here, so get in the car. Please”, he added for good measure. Following his instructions, you climbed into the back of the SUV that you’d arrived with, Bucky following closely behind, sliding in beside you, Steve in the front with Sam driving.

The drive was tense and silent as you thoroughly checked Bucky. He had only slipped on blood and twisted his ankle, which was already nearly back to normal thanks to his healing abilities. You could see Steve’s jaw clenching from the front of the car as he shook his head in disappointment. “Why didn’t you listen to me?” he asked, turning in his seat to look at you directly.

Leaning into Bucky’s side, you didn’t back down from your reasoning, “I’ve already told you why.”

“I never give you orders, not in our personal lives or on the job, but this was important, and I needed you to listen to me.”

“What, so you expect me to just sit pretty at home and wait around all day for you both to come home? What’s the point in me training with Natasha if you don’t even give me the chance to help?”

Bucky's hand squeezed your thigh as he reprimanded, “That’s not what he meant, and you know it”.

 “I don’t think you understand how important your safety is to me. You never come to where the danger is, not out by the warehouse where something could have happened to you, too. You made a stupid decision by not listening to me.

 I can’t lose you, Bucky. I want a life where I know you are safe at home and can protect you or trust the people I pay to look after you. Anything I do now is to ensure I can provide for my family and keep them safe, which means keeping you safe. So, next time I ask you to please remain where there is no danger, I expect you to do so. Do I make myself clear?

“So I’m supposed to stay behind knowing you AND Bucky are in danger? Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that,” Steve answers like it's the simplest thing in the world. It wasn’t; it never was, and you struggled more and more with it every time either of them left to do anything related to the mafia.

There were a thousand things you wanted to say, to argue back to him, but through the fogginess of red, you couldn’t see and feel the urgency with which he spoke. He was scared. As scared as you were for Bucky and Steve, he liked to bottle this emotion up more than anyone you knew. As much as he craved the control of being the leader, you knew he was close to breaking.

Reaching forward, you cupped his face, not wanting to argue anymore. You knew he was saying these things and being firm because he was scared. “I will try, Steve. I’m sorry I scared you, and I’m sorry for not doing as you asked.” Thankfully, he nodded, the tension easing tenfold as he kissed the inside of your palm before turning around in his seat.

Returning to your home, you quickly had Bucky undressed and checked for any further injuries, knowing he liked to downplay them. His ankle, now only a slight yellow hue to the skin, could be moved without any flinching or pain voiced by him, but you sat with his ankle in your lap so that you could hold some ice to the area as he sat in his boxers. 

Steve had gone to shower but had yet to speak to you since being in the car. Guilt lay heavy in your stomach. It wasn’t an argument, but there was still a bitter taste in your mouth as you continued to think about him. Following Steve to the location was more an instinct than a logical thought. These two men meant the world to you.

A cool finger curling around the top of your ear had you pulling out of your thoughts, “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours, Doll?”

“I think I upset Steve”, you say, stating the obvious and leaning heavily into the back of the couch.

“You’ve upset us both”, Bucky reminds you, causing your head to snap in his direction, the unease making you feel queasy. “Woah, I didn’t mean it like that, Sweetheart. We aren’t angry with you; we just never want you to be in danger, you know that”. You nod your head in understanding. 

“I’m worried I’ve broken his trust in me. I should have just stayed back like he said”, you admit sadly. Bucky sits up hearing this, his muscles flexing, working as a quick distraction from your happiness as he moves closer, his metal arm working between your back and the couch so you’re being pulled into his side.

“I can understand why you wanted to come along and check on me, but we know what’s best in these situations. We’ve been doing this a long time, Doll. Everything will be fine. I’ll go and speak to him, and I know he still trusts you; he just needed to clear his head a little bit.” 

Bucky stands, testing his weight on the foot that looks practically healed, before leaning down, kissing your temple, and jogging up the stairs. A few minutes pass before he returns with a grin on his handsome face. 

“He’s fine, exactly like I’d told you. Come on, it’s getting late; let’s go to bed.” Taking his warm hand in your own, you followed willingly. Not realising how exhausted you were from the high emotions of the day and the previous workout at lunchtime, you now thoroughly looked forward to falling into your soft bed with both your partners wrapped around you. 

Bucky stepped into your bedroom first, followed closely by you as you automatically moved towards the en-suite to prepare for bed. In your haste, you did not notice the tall, muscular man waiting for you until his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling your body back against his hard. Squeaking in shock, you soon melted into the hold, especially as Steve’s other hand cradled the front of your throat.

“I’m sorry-“ you’re forced to stop talking as his hand covers your mouth. It was only then that you realised that he was utterly naked, as evidenced by the hardness stabbing into your lower back as you leaned into his hold.

“No talking now, baby girl. Bucky told me what you said downstairs, and let me start this by saying there’s no one I trust more than you, so I never want you to think negatively about that ever again. Next, as much as I’m over the day, I think some repercussions need to happen, don’t you agree, Bucky?”

Stepping so he was standing in front, you watched as Bucky began to slowly remove his boxers until the thick length of his hardened cock sprang up and pointed in your direction. Thankfully, Steve continued to hold you up as your knees began to feel weak with the need to drop to them and please your boyfriend as he licked his lips, nodding his head. “Yeah, I’d say someone has earned a punishment after not listening to orders today”.

Punishment. That one word has you snapping out of the lustful gaze as you try to pull away from Steve. “Shh, easy, Sweetheart. It’s not going to be a painful punishment. I need you to trust me; you trust me, right?”

The fingers covering your lips move enough for you to agree, “Yes, I trust you both quickly”.

“Good,” Steve proudly responds before forcing your legs to move with him. You’re facing the bed now and see that the quilt and pillows have been removed and restraints attached to each corner. “Arms up,” your boyfriend asks, and you comply.

Carefully, the two men begin to strip your clothes until you’re as nude as they are. A shiver runs up your spine as you’re led down to the centre of the bed. Steve begins to remind you of the rules as Bucky tightens the straps around your wrists and ankles until you’re completely tied down.

“We won’t cover your mouth, so you can tell us to stop at any time or red and amber as usual. You can also shake your head, and we will stop, do you understand?”

“Yes”.

“Yes, what?” he says with his eyebrow raised expectantly.

Swallowing audibly, you wished at that moment that you could reach out to touch him as you all fall into the role perfectly. “Yes, sir”.

“Good. Do you have the blindfold, Bucky?”

A black satin eye mask is carefully placed over your eyes until all you can see is darkness. This is followed quickly by headphones that begin to play classical music.

Sensory punishment was their plan, and you couldn’t help but feel trepidation build in your core. You couldn’t touch either man, only the softness of the bed sheet beneath. You couldn’t hear them talk, moan, or specifically praise, which you always worshipped when with the two of them. Without sight, there was no way you’d know when or where they would touch you.

It was a vulnerability that you’d learned to have complete trust in Steve and Bucky.

There was one more twist as leather began to stroke down the centre of your chest in a gentle caress—gloves. Whoever was touching you had put on leather gloves, which meant there was no determining who was touching you. Usually, Bucky’s metal hand would then indicate who was who.

With a heavy breath, you tried to calm your nerves as you focused on the touch as whoever it was explored your chest. Delicate strokes of the gloved palm ran over your breasts, pressing into the softness of your chest and then pinching your already hardened nipple. 

The anticipation and thrill of the situation meant that your upper thighs were already sticky with your arousal. Moreover, there was no covering this with how your legs were spread, and you knew that Steve and Bucky were probably staring right at it.

The mattress dipped between your spread legs as someone crawled between them. The deep breath you were drawing in stilted as firm hands cupped each of your ankles, exploring the skin as they ever so steadily moved to your inner thighs. Trembling was an understatement with how much the anticipation was pulsing through you. The image of a naked Steve and Bucky flicked in your imagination, feeling utterly vulnerable under both of their eye.

Your clit pulsed with desire, awaiting a touch, flick, lick, anything; you were desperate for any sort of touch to ease the ache that was burning through your cunt.

It wasn’t any of these touches, though, that greeted you. It was a raw, penetrating cock stretching you to your limits as it inched in. Your back arched with the intrusion, arms and legs pulling on the restraints with the movement as you tried to adjust to the intrusion.

The words ‘Bucky’ and ‘Steve’ continuously begged from your lips as inch after inch pushed further inside. It hurt to be stretched, but it was a burn that you needed and craved, the blinding pleasure that came with it almost acting as a drug to cover the pain. Maybe you did like pain after all.

Heaving in a breath as the weight of the mysterious hips fitted perfectly in with yours, spreading your thighs further apart. The sensation of the cock being completely inside felt almost like it was too much, and you were sure you had spoken those words out loud, but the noise was muffled with the music continuing to play in your ears.

A sharp sting across your breast had you almost biting the tip of your tongue as you clenched tighter around the hardness inside your walls. Teeth. Sharp teeth nipping at the soft tissue surrounding your nipple came as a welcome distraction.

The first thrust was driven with power, deep and blinding with pleasure, as whoever it was did not hold back, and it was just what you needed. Fast and hard seemed to be the theme of the night as your body moved with the fucking, your hips attempting to roll with the movements, but heavy hands pushed down on your waist, keeping you thoroughly pinned in the centre of the bed.

You were at their mercy. The punishment aspect seemed to be more a reward than anything negative as you accepted every ounce of pleasure both men were willing to give you. The pulsing of your walls increased with the thrusts until that beautiful sensation built, tightened and ready to explode into a sympathy of bliss.

Except, just as your orgasm was about to peak, all hands and cock disappeared from your body, leaving your body cold and empty. Whining and pulling against the restraint, you could do nothing but feel the squeezing of your cunt in the attempts to chase the orgasm fades to nothing.

It truly dawned on you now. The sensory restraints weren’t the punishment. The lack of an orgasm was. Regret already was writhed with the begging coming from your mouth, but it was ignored as the hands resumed their wondering of your breasts and a cock fucked back into you.

With the overwhelming sensations, you were unsure if it was a different cock or the same. You were so thoroughly turned on that the wetness that was coating your cunt and upper thighs aided with them fucking inside of you.

On and on, the pleasure continued, fucking and pausing until finally, whoever it was that was inside of you had reached its limit and quickly pulled out, and a warm, wetness began to coat your stomach.

Steve or Bucky had just come over you instead of inside as you’d preferred. It felt dirty. Degrading and once more added to the punishment as you continued to try and wiggle your hips to continue chasing your pleasure that never peaked. However, there wasn’t even a moment to contemplate this as you’re being fucked once more, presumably by the other boyfriend.

It was an endless cycle. Edged to the point of orgasm before it all comes to a stop, just to have cum sprayed over your abdomen. Usually, Steve and Bucky’s heightened libido was a blessing, but tonight, as they fucked on and on, cumming again and again, you were quickly losing your mind.

The caressing over your nipples thankfully lessened as you could feel the blindfold over your eyes dampen with tears of overstimulation and frustration. Yes, you could scream yellow or red, you could stop this all, but somewhere at the forefront of your mind, you wanted to take this punishment, and there was no one you trusted more than Steve and Bucky; once you had hit your limit, they always stopped. 

The layers of cum coating your stomach began to dry, causing your skin to feel irritated and tight. All the sensations going over your body became disorientating, leaving you feeling spaced and like you were lying on a cloud, suspended in the air, floating with no chance of returning to earth. Your hands were numb from the restraints, your lungs aching from crying and pleading to please orgasm.

Each breath only heightened that sensation until you were close to hyperventilating. A firm gloved hand rested in the centre of your chest, and the pressure helped to remind your spinning mind to slow your breathing as you sucked in a wet, heavy breath.

The fucking continued. It felt like hours had passed. Your cunt was swollen, drenched and sore. From the edging, fucking and touching of the leather-covered fingers. You were sure if this went on for much longer, you’d pass out, so you attempted to hide your face in your shoulder, but the large headphones stopped the movement.

More cum coated your middle, and as your body tensed with the anticipation of being fucked again, you couldn’t help but sob further when it never came. Instead, the headphones are removed from your ears, and the momentary silence causes you to shake your head with disorientation. 

“Easy, Doll. Slow your breathing for us; you did so fucking good; you did so well for us”, Bucky gently praised as he removed the damp blindfold. However, your eyes remained clamped shut as you stayed in that subspace.

Warm hands massaged your arms and legs, working the muscles until they tingled as the sensation returned to them as you were released from the restraints. “Careful, Baby, move slowly. That’s it, good girl”. Steve’s voice was calming and yet distant as your sobs echoed in your ears.

“Can you open your eyes for us? Let’s see those pretty eyes come on,” Bucky coaxed as his cool metal fingers stroked against your wet cheek. The touch was soothing and grounding, like the praising words and comfort. However, you couldn’t muster the energy to open your eyes, so instead, you nuzzled into his palm and concentrated on slowing your breath enough that the tears finally stopped.

What followed was utter exhaustion, physically and mentally. Thankfully, this is where your boyfriends shine as you’re quickly scooped into Steve’s arms, your head feeling heavy against his muscular shoulder, leaning further into his natural body heat as he carried you into the bathroom.

You were half asleep as he waited for Bucky to fill the bath with warm water, but as he carefully eased the two of you into the tub, did you wake enough to hiss through your teeth as the heat of the water surrounded your aching body. Even as the warmth soothed your cunt, as you naturally clenched, the soreness throbbing caused a pathetic whine to come from you.

Steve’s arms held you more firmly as he settled back in the tub, Bucky joining behind with his chest pressing against your side. After a couple of breaths, the water's warmth helped you relax until you were blissed out, the punishment long forgotten as you nearly fell into a deep sleep in their arms.

Aftercare was always something they did very well. Both men were so attentive and caring that you would have shed a tear with love and affection if you weren't already mentally numb. Bucky carefully washed your hair and then your body with his body wash, pine and citrus scent that gave you further comfort in these moments. Also, you secretly thought that Bucky used it as a possessive touch, loving it when you smelled like him and no one else.

Steve continued to whisper words of affirmation, helping to bring you out of the submissive headspace and back to reality whilst also trying to check in on your well-being. “Shake or nod your head for answers. Are you in any pain?”

Shaking your head no, you could feel the tenseness in Steves's posture relax as he kisses your temple reassuringly. “You took your punishment so well tonight. I’m so proud of you”. This particular praise had you smiling and leaning further into their touches. “I think that’s the longest you’ve been edged for as well. Do you want to cum? You aren’t being punished anymore, and I think you’ve more than earned a reward”.

You could hear the smile in his tone as you contemplated his offer. You were sore and aching, that was for sure, and you’d been begging for so long to have an orgasm all night, so with some uncertainty, you nodded against his chest.

With gentle touches, Steve turns your body so you’re now facing Bucky, your back pressed against the blonde’s sturdy chest. Carefully, Steve eases your thighs apart, and just as you anticipate the pain that is sure to come with being fucked by fingers or a cock, you’re crying out in pleasure as Bucky lowers his face and dives right in. 

Your eyes open in shock as your body jolts with the sensation of his warm, soft tongue circling your clit as you look down at Bucky, the lower part of his face beneath the water. You were so sensitive and so desperate to orgasm that he didn’t even need to come up for air before you were tightening and throbbing with bliss.

You’re left feeling sated, and your body turns to mush as you collapse back against Steve. You’re only half aware when lifted out of the water and carefully dried. An oversized, soft t-shirt is pulled over your head before you return to the bed.

With your face pressed to Bucky’s chest as Steve spooned you from behind, legs completely tangled with your own, your last thoughts lingered on the day's events. It seemed so did both of your boyfriends as they held you tighter, and an echoing of “I love you” was shared before darkness finally consumed you all. 

[revelboo]

Transformers x Reader Headcannons- problems

Pretty much how I write and overthink their personalities, actions, and motives. Soundwave, Starscream, Megatron, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Jazz.

Starscream

• Can’t stop self sabotaging. As much as he hates Megatron, he’s his own worst enemy. Fueled by self-loathing, ambition, and spite. If every good thing is just going to be taken away, he might as well destroy it himself and take some petty satisfaction in watching it burn.

• You, though? He wants to protect this feeling you kindle in him. Even if he doesn’t truly trust that it’s real, he wants to pretend it is. Needs you to play along with him. Fiercely possessive because you’re his.

Megatron

• Exhausted all the time. With all that’s been lost, he can’t just stop at this point. There’s no peaceful end even if he almost wishes there was. The Decepticons look to him, believe that he’ll bring them home. To a better world. That guilt and responsibility fuels his hatred, keeping it going. If he fails, it’s all for nothing.

• They’re always watching. Looking for weakness to exploit. There’s always machinations among his officers, plots and schemes. You have no ulterior motives beyond survival and he can respect that. Even so, you’re willing to meet his optics even though you know who he is and what he’s capable of. Brave, foolish little thing.

Wheeljack

• Absentmindedly creating problems in the name of science. Is genuinely surprised when something blows right up in his face no matter how many times it happens. Forgets to refuel and recharge until someone says something or he just crashes. Generally avoided by everyone because of how often his experiments spectacularly fail.

• Even if he’s engrossed in an experiment, if you’re around, his attention is divided. You crash a lot faster than he does and guilt prompts him to take a break, because you definitely don’t look comfortable cheek propped up on a hand, sound asleep. He’s awful at taking care of himself, but surprisingly attentive toward you. Constantly worried because you’re just so fragile compared to Cybertronians.

Jazz

• Smiling through the stress. Seriously, he’s on a knife’s edge of anxiety all the time even as he plays it off. Everything’s a joke. Everything’s fine. Even if he wants to just scream, he keeps that easy going smile in place. It’s his armor and he needs it to convince himself as much as everyone else.

• Somehow you see right through him. You can lay a tiny hand on his plating and he just unravels. And you don’t expect him to just keep smiling through the pain. He doesn’t have to keep the act up, he can vent to you, bleed all the anger and frustration out instead of pretending it away. And he needs this more than you know.

Ratchet

• Gruff and caustic, that angry exasperation is all defense, pushing others away with sarcasm. No matter how quickly he works after a battle, the wounded just keep coming. Sometimes he’s not fast enough. A spark gutters out while his hands are wrist deep in another patient. He’s not enough. If he loses someone, it’s his fault. His burden and his blame to the point where sometimes his servos just won’t stop trembling.

• Somehow you understand that if you try to comfort him, he’ll fall apart. There’ll be time to grieve later, but right now the two of you work to save who you can, your little hands able to reach things he can’t. You don’t complain, just do what’s necessary. Later, he’ll cup you to his chassis, silent as you break.

Soundwave

• The worst part of being able to hear other’s thoughts? They never stop. It’s a constant sensory barrage threatening to overwhelm him unless he makes a conscious effort of block them out, so he’s always on guard. Can never relax or that tide of voices crashes over him. Finding out he can’t even block out human thoughts is a shock. You’re there in the back of his processor all the time.

• It’s why he needs you to sing for him. Doesn’t matter what it is, he just needs that one thing to focus on so everything else fades into background noise. The more you lose yourself in the song, the more he can relax, because you relax. Your thoughts calm.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I would die for some more rambles on the trio and Fowler and June trying to understand the bots culture like a misunderstanding on something that’s completely normal for the bots.

Pssssst also love your new angsty writing on emergency protocols! Fully satisfying my dark soul! Keep up the great work

There is an unspoken understanding that when a bot is undergoing a reboot, one is to follow a particular set of procedures.

Normally when a bot goes to recharge, they can be treated as if asleep. Smaller and speed based frame types only require an hour or two every cycle to be up and ready to move. Larger or more cognitively engaged frames need a few cycles every stellar cycle to get their frames in order. But even with their differences, recharge is still recharge. A bot can be woken with enough sensory data.

However, when it comes to full reboots things are quite different. As such, there are different rules to follow.

Once every few stellar cycles, or vorns in larger frames, it is recommended that a bot undergo a reboot to allow their systems to recalibrate and for protocols usually active while in recharge to temporarily shut down. It is the closest most bots come to death outside of war since, for a short period, rebooting leaves a bot all but totally lost to reality save for the continued burning of their spark. They are perfectly fine so long as they are in a safe location and can spend the necessary Earth week to a month resetting and getting everything in order internally. But other are still required to be careful while their comrade remains unavailable.

Generally, the bot who is undergoing a reboot is quietly placed somewhere out of the way but still able to be overseen. A friend or trusted individual will then be sure to clean them up as their frame expels any used oils, substances, or fluids. Energon then has to be injected into the rebooting bot's frame at select times so as to not interrupt their frame's natural functions. And most importantly, those watching over the bot undergoing a reboot have to nearby to make sure everything is secure as a bot starts to come out of their reboot and their frame runs through all normal functions one at a time before waking entirely. To organics, this process might come across as frightening. But for Cybertronians, it is normal. In fact, those who fail to undergo regular reboots tend to suffer from increased chances of coming down with anything and everything. So for them, it is the same as getting a spa day and REM sleep all at once.

Of course, with this said, the kids, Fowler, and June were not at all prepared when Ratchet dropped like a box of rocks at the console.

Reboots are almost always scheduled, especially with the war. But Ratchet, ever a loyal medic, refused to reboot since arriving on Earth. He watched over Optimus and the others when they had theirs, but he never took the chance for himself. Thus, his frame took matters into its own servos and opted to shut him down for a reboot without warning. He went slack against his console, his optics going dark and his entire body giving out as he fell to the floor soon after. His vents slowed and fluttered closed, his armor loosened, and he lay there, the very embodiment of deceased by any human standard.

Rafael rightfully bolted to the ground with a shriek, trying to help Ratchet and screeching about heart, or spark attacks. Jack bolted to get one of the bots with Fowler while Miko and June tried in vain to assess the situation. The message conveyed to the team frightened them to their cores as they frantically turned tail on their scouting mission, rushing back to base. From what Jack and Fowler conveyed, Ratchet was unresponsive and to their knowledge, seemingly dead. That was enough for the team to skid into the base the moment the ground bridge opened. Optimus all but chucked Arcee out of the way in his haste.

But the moment they saw what was going on and gathered around Ratchet and a very distraught Rafael, the team sagged in relief. The gathered humans could be seen gawking as Optimus smiled fondly, gently nudged Rafael away, and gathered Ratchet up like a sack of potatoes to lay him on the medical berth. June, Fowler, and the children had questions aplenty but were silenced with reassurance that Ratchet was undergoing something normal.

They were soothed, but they were certainly left confused when Ratchet just... laid there. He looked dead. He acted dead. And after about a day, he started leaking fluids that made him smell very dead. For a while, Miko and Rafael were convinced that the team legitimately were just fine with Ratchet having died and must have expected it or something. Despite all of Optimus's reassurance, they may or may not have sobbed quietly after watching Bumblebee wipe Ratchet down and polish his armor. There was talk between June and Fowler of strange funeral rites. Only Jack seemed alright. He looked at the situation and chalked it up to bots being odd. After all, he'd seen real grief in them through Arcee's lamentations regarding Cliffjumper. Whatever was going on with Ratchet was fine, if more than a little assaulting to the nose.

Just as the humans were beginning to accept Ratchet's 'death' and offer condolences to the team, Ratchet twitched. Rafael nearly passed out the moment Ratchet's frame began to reset, rhythmic tapping and the odd sound or two escaping his vocalizer between frantic kicking only stilled when Optimus held Ratchet down for a bit. There was momentary worry that maybe the corpse was infected with dark energon. But the moment Rafael finally got around to messing with the console and reading spark signatures, he eased dramatically. Ratchet was in fact alive, just... asleep?

The humans, save for Jack, were befuddled. But when Ratchet woke up a few days later looking and acting exceptionally better, they opted to not make a huge fuss. It was explained that what Ratchet underwent was normal, but it didn't stop them from freaking out again when Bumblebee dropped a few weeks later.

[tfwbluu]

・ SESSION #2 ・

pairing ni-ki & f!reader 2782 words warnings bdsm; bondage & sensory (ice) play raw sex (stay safe!) oral (f rec.) degradation/praise squirting one pussy slap overstimulation dacryphilia straight up filth

“Why hello there, princess,” Riki greets you with a smirk as you finally step into the room, his tone smooth and teasing.

“Hi… R-Riki,” you stammer, your eyes instinctively lowering toward the loose robe he’s wearing—barely covering anything, leaving his toned chest and defined stomach on display.

“Oh please, come closer. I don’t bite,” he says, reaching out to pull you in. The warmth of his touch makes you shiver, and your thighs press together reflexively—an action he notices immediately.

“Hmm? You’re already excited, angel?” he coos, his voice dripping with amusement as his fingers stroke through your hair in slow, deliberate motions.

“N-no…” you manage to mumble, though the heat radiating off your body and the way your legs shift betray your words entirely.

Riki isn’t buying it. He tilts your chin up with gentle but firm fingers, forcing you to meet his piercing gaze. The intensity in his eyes makes your knees weak, and before you can react, his lips crash against yours in a deep, languid kiss. The pressure of his lips drives you backward until your legs hit the bed, and you fall onto the mattress, melting beneath him.

Your soft moans are muffled by his mouth as his hands roam your body, exploring every curve. His fingers slip beneath your skirt, tugging down your panties with ease, leaving your glistening folds completely exposed to him. Flipping up your skirt, Riki lets out a low groan at the sight before him, his gaze dark and hungry.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with desire. His fingers trace teasingly along your inner thighs, purposefully avoiding where you need him most, the slow torment making you tremble beneath him.

Your breath hitches in shallow gasps as his hands continue their maddening pace, the smirk on his lips growing wider at your desperation. Leaning closer, Riki lets a bead of his spit drip down onto your cunt, the cool sensation making you shiver. His fingers follow quickly, massaging the slick warmth into your skin in slow, careful circles.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he mutters, his voice low and teasing, your soft moans filling the room as his touch sends sparks of pleasure through your body.

You let him touch you, his hands roaming your body, leaving your core dripping with need. He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear.

“You have such dirty fantasies, angel. I didn’t know you liked things like that,” he teased, his tone dripping with mischief, referring to your filthy requests for this session.

“Shut up,” you mumbled timidly, your cheeks burning.

“I’m not judging, pretty, just pointing out the obvious,” he replied, brushing your hair away from your face with a smirk.

“We’ll use the color system, okay? Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green if everything’s good. Understand?” His voice was gentle yet firm, grounding you despite the tension building in your body.

You nodded quickly, your eyes locking with his. “Mhm, okay.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before pulling back slightly. “Let me take these off first.”

Riki’s hands moved to your top, deftly unbuttoning it to reveal the delicate lace bra underneath. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the shirt was tossed aside. His nimble fingers unclasped the bra effortlessly, freeing it from your body before discarding it with the same ease.

“Now, angel, what should we do first?” he mused, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl as his gaze swept the room. His eyes settled on something in the corner, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to brush his fingers along your jaw.

“Ah, I know,” he said, lifting you into his arms effortlessly. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, though your breath hitched when he carried you across the room.

He placed you in front of a large X-shaped frame, the sturdy metal structure lined with padded restraints. Gently but firmly, he guided your back against the soft cushion. With careful precision, he raised your arms above your head, cuffing your wrists to the top corners of the frame. He moved downward, his hands gliding along your skin, spreading your legs as he secured your ankles with matching cuffs at the bottom. You were completely immobilized, spread open for him in the most vulnerable position.

Your heart raced as you tested the restraints, your body barely able to shift against the firm hold. The sheer helplessness of the situation sent a thrill rushing through you, your senses heightened as you became acutely aware of your exposed state. Riki tilted your chin up with firm fingers, his dark eyes drinking in every inch of you. His thumb brushed over your lips as he smirked.

“Aren’t you the prettiest thing… All spread open for me to play with,” he sang, his voice dripping with teasing delight. His free hand trailed down your body, ghosting over your sensitive skin, stopping just short of where you needed him most. “Color?”

“G-green,” you breathed out, the anticipation and vulnerability overwhelming your senses. A fresh wave of arousal coursed through you, and you could feel your core clench against the cool air brushing over your folds.

Riki’s smirk deepened. “Good girl.”

He stepped closer and cupping your jaw in his firm but gentle grip. His lips claimed yours in a deep, consuming kiss, swallowing the soft moan that escaped your throat. Instinctively, you tugged against the cuffs, your body responding eagerly to his every touch.

His lips traveled to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses down to your collarbone. He continued his descent slowly, purposefully—across your chest, over your stomach—until he sank to his knees before your dripping core. Riki’s sharp gaze flickered downward, noticing the glistening evidence of your arousal pooling beneath you.

“Fuck, you’re already dripping so much, baby,” he mused, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. With a swift motion, his hands tore through the waistband of your skirt, leaving you fully bare for him. Without hesitation, his lips latched onto your folds, his tongue diving into your heat with greedy hunger.

“Ngh~! R-Riki!” you cried, your voice trembling with need as the overwhelming sensation washed over you.

Suddenly, he pulled back, smirking as he delivered a sharp slap to your soaked core. The sound echoed in the room, and you gasped sharply, your hips jerking against the restraints.

“So needy,” he taunted, his fingers brushing lazily along your quivering folds before leaning in to kiss your clit, suckling gently.

“Ah~! F-fuck… ha, so good… hmph—!” you mewled, your hips grinding against his skilled tongue.

He devoured you with deliberate intensity, alternating between slow, teasing licks and relentless pressure that had your head spinning. Sliding his fingers against your slick entrance, Riki slipped one inside with ease, his gaze locked onto your trembling body. He added another, the stretch making you cry out as your walls clenched tightly around his fingers. The cuffs jingled above you as your body writhed in desperation.

“Feels good, pretty? Your tight little cunt’s just sucking my fingers in like it’s begging for more,” he teased, a devilish grin spreading across his face. His lips found your swollen clit again, wrapping around it as his fingers curled inside you, hitting the perfect spot.

Your back arched as the coil in your stomach tightened, the tension building with every stroke of his fingers and every flick of his tongue. “K-Ki… ‘m gonna c-cum,” you whimpered, trembling as your body strained against the binds.

“Then cum for me,” he commanded, his voice low as his movements quickened.

With a scream, the knot inside you unraveled, sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Your release poured out in spurts, drenching his mouth and dripping onto the floor as your body shuddered violently.

“That’s it, cum in my mouth, angel,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he lapped up every drop of your essence. He placed one final kiss on your oversensitive clit, savoring the way your body twitched beneath him.

Rising to his feet, his lips glistening from your release, Riki admired the sight of you—bound, trembling, and utterly wrecked. “So beautiful,” he mused, brushing his thumb over your flushed cheek.

With a smirk, he turned back to the nearby table, retrieving a small bag of ice he had taken from the freezer earlier. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked at you. “We’re just getting started, angel,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Ha… it’s getting so hot,” he muttered to himself, biting his lip as his eyes roamed over your body. The way your flushed skin glistened under the dim light, combined with the soft, breathless moans escaping your lips, only made his cock ache with desire.

Riki took his time, peeling off his clothes slowly. As his bare skin met the cool air, his cock slapped against his toned stomach, hard and glistening with precum. But he didn’t rush. Instead, he leaned over you, brushing his fingers along your jaw before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t you think it’s a bit hot? Do you want to cool down, angel?”

You barely managed to nod, your body trembling under his touch. The intensity of his gaze alone made heat pool between your legs.

Grabbing an ice cube, he held it between his fingers, letting it slowly melt in the warmth of his hand. Then, without warning, he pressed the icy tip to your nipple. Your body jolted at the sudden cold, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

“F-Fuck, Riki! Ngh… ‘ts cold!” you babbled, your words breaking into incoherent cries as the contrast of cold against your overheated body sent a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Riki chuckled darkly, watching with satisfaction as your body squirmed helplessly against the binds. He dragged the ice cube along your flushed skin, leaving a cool trail down your chest, over your stomach, and closer to your dripping core. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire.

When the ice reached your clit, you let out a loud, desperate moan, the sensation of cold against your throbbing heat sending your body into overdrive. “How does this feel, angel?” he asked, pressing the ice gently against your swollen bud before teasing it in slow, gentle circles.

You cried out, your hips bucking instinctively against the icy pressure. “R-Riki, p-please… I can’t—’m too much!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body shuddered uncontrollably.

“You can take it, baby,” he said, his free hand gripping your hips to keep you still. Without warning, he pushed the melting ice inside you, the sensation of cold meeting your slick warmth making your back arch violently. Leaning over, he pressed heated kisses along your sweat-slicked skin, his lips lingering on your collarbone.

“See? You’re doing so well for me,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing even as his actions left you trembling and gasping for air.

Riki continued to press the cold ice against your skin, letting it melt and drip onto the floor, mixing with your arousal to form a small pool beneath you. The combination of the cool sensation inside you and his warm hands teasing your body had every muscle in you tightening. A loud, guttural moan tore from your lips as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your juices gushed down your trembling thighs, pooling on the floor, your legs barely able to support you as you hung from the cuffs securing your wrists above you. Gasping for breath, your head lolled forward, your body utterly spent.

He gave you a moment to catch your breath, watching as the remaining ice melted away inside you. Your body trembled, relief washing over you. But the reprieve was short-lived. Soon, you felt the hard, warm length of his cock tapping against your clit, twitching with need.

“N-no… too much… ngh… p-please,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes.

Riki smirked, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “We both know that’s a lie, angel.” With that, he pushed himself inside you, stretching you out and filling you completely.

“Fuck… still so tight even after all that?” he groaned, his voice tinged with amusement as he began thrusting into you.

The sound of metal restraints chiming filled the room as your body tugged against the binds. Completely immobilized, all you could do was cry out and take every inch he gave you.

“You like being used like this, angel?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just a little slut for my cock, huh?” He chuckled darkly, his pace unrelenting as he thrust deeper, groaning at the way your walls clenched around him.

“Oh, you like that?” he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Like it when I call you my slut? Your pussy’s gripping me so tight.” His hands moved to your chest, fingers expertly tugging and teasing your sensitive nipples, pulling louder cries from you.

“P-please, please—too much!” you sobbed, your body arching helplessly against the restraints.

“But you’re dripping so much, baby,” he cooed, glancing down at the slick mess coating his cock and pooling on the floor. “Making such a filthy mess. You can take one more, can’t you? Be a good cockslut for me.”

His thrusts grew harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. The overstimulation pushed you to your breaking point as another orgasm tore through you, your body writhing and shaking as your walls spasmed uncontrollably around him, milking his cock.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groaned, gripping your hips tightly as he buried himself to the hilt. With a low growl, his cock twitched, spilling thick ropes of cum deep inside you, the warmth pushing you into another wave of pleasure as you sobbed his name.

Riki pulled out slowly, watching in fascination as his release mixed with yours, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

“Look at you, such a messy little slut,” he murmured, his voice full of satisfaction. “So perfect for me.”

Riki leaned against the cross, still catching his breath as he took in the sight of you—your wrists still bound, trembling from exhaustion, your thighs soaked with both of your releases. His cock twitched at the mess he’d made of you, already stirring with the desire to take you again.

You could barely lift your head, your body slack and spent, but Riki wasn’t done. He cupped your cheek, tilting your face toward him, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks staining your flushed cheeks.

“You look so pretty when you cry, angel,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your parted lips.

Your body jerked weakly as his hands traveled to your thighs, spreading you further to watch his cum drip from your swollen, abused pussy.

“What a mess,” he said, his voice low and teasing, his dark eyes fixed on the glistening evidence of your release dripping down your thighs.

Before you could catch your breath, Riki reached for another ice cube from the nearby table, his smirk widening as he held it up. Slowly pressing it against your swollen entrance, the icy chill sending a jolt through your overstimulated body.

Your back arched instinctively, a desperate whimper escaping your lips. “R-Riki… n-no, I—ahh!” you stammered, your voice dissolving into a cry as the ice cube began to melt against your heat, the cold biting into your sensitive core.

“Shh, stay still,” he murmured, his tone soft but firm, one hand gripping your hip to hold you steady while the other guided the melting ice along your slick folds. “Shit… you’re dripping all over.”

The contrast of the icy chill and your own warmth made your entire body shiver, your thighs quaking as you tugged weakly against the restraints. His gaze never left your face, soaking in every gasp, every moan, every tear that escaped.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your trembling lips. The cube melted completely, the water trailing down your thighs to mix with the mess on the floor.

Riki pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he stroked your cheek. “Rest for now, angel,” he said, his voice warm but still dripping with mischief. “I’m far from done with you.”

Your protests dissolved into soft, incoherent pleas as his lips captured yours again, his hands already exploring your trembling body. There was no escape—not that you wanted one. You were completely his. And as the night stretched on, he made sure to remind you of it again and again.

author’s note the only reason why this one is long as FUCK is bc the request for this fic, i had written smth similar and had in my drafts so all i had to do was tweak it a bit and add on more stuff which may have gotten carried away … anywho this is straight up filthy i think u can tell i’m downbad for him (—///—) lmk if i need to add anything in the warnings~

taglist @kikidoul @rikiives @contyynishimura @ziiao @lilmarsh-t @bxcndd @laylasbunbunny @d-dilemma

[hobivore]

Transient | LMH

— Lee Minho x reader (f)

Growing up in the casino business, you—now standing at the head of your family’s imperium—know all the tricks of the trade. Rule number one: don’t gamble. It would be such an easy rule to follow if it weren’t for your company’s most trusted lawyer, Minho Lee, who loves nothing more than to raise the stakes.

AU/Trope: lawyer!au, smut (minors DNI)

Warnings: sub!minho, rope bondage, sensory deprivation (blindfolding), impact play (face slapping), wax play, knife play, one small drop of blood, choking, spitting, light cockstepping, no aftercare, power dynamics, complicated ‘relationship’ (two people using each other because they’re bad at feelings)

WC: 4.8k

A/N: This piece was originally uploaded to my old sideblog linoguistics and written for the s! week sub!skz event by @skzseasons​, check them out for more. Many thanks to the wonderful @hesperantha for beta reading. ILY!

© hobivore Reposts, translations and modifications are not allowed. All events and characters are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

— SKZ masterlist | Ask box

“Will that be all, boss?” 

Boss. The word ricochets against his teeth and rolls off his tongue like a caged bird set free. Only Minho Lee could make a title sound like that: like a prayer, a taunt, a pet name, a challenge.

The tilt of his head tells you he already knows this isn’t all. Of course he knows; it’s nearing 1 a.m. on a Tuesday, and you wouldn’t have him come over to your apartment only to deliver you the most recent news on the acquisition of Full House Entertainment. Sure, it’s an important step for your company, but acting the herald is way below his pay grade.

No—Minho is here for something else entirely, and his feigned innocence is all part of this cat and mouse game the two of you have been playing for years now. 

He waits for your answer, shoulders straight, something subversive to the set of his mouth. You let your gaze travel down his figure, stretching out the silence until it thickens the air with tension. Your fingers play with the silver necklace around your neck, lingering on the edge of your collarbone, and he swallows. 

You suppress a chuckle at the familiar, telltale sign betraying him. In a way, you and Minho have grown into your roles in the company alongside each other. It had been your father who had hired him—although he probably wouldn’t have, had he known the man would end up in his daughter’s bed—when Minho was fresh out of law school, stiff-collared, hungry, ready to take on the world. 

To Minho’s credit, he remains still, and when your eyes meet his again you see a hint of that same fervour behind them. But rather than a spark of wildfire, it’s the burning of a furnace; calculated and controlled, white-hot. 

“Drink?” you inquire, more command than question, walking towards the cabinet and opening a whiskey decanter. He follows your movements, watching closely. Even when you turn around to pick up a glass you know his gaze never travels below your shoulders. His self-restraint is admirable. 

“Tell me,” you hand him his drink and he takes it, clinking the edge of the glass against yours. “What do you think of Nick Blake?” 

Minho narrows his eyes. “He’s a fool.”

Nick Blake is the current chief financial officer of Full House Entertainment. You’ve been told that although he may be new to the position, he shows promise, so you tilt your head in interest at Minho’s response.

“I’ve heard other things.” 

Minho swirls the liquor around in his glass and shrugs. “Whoever you heard that from is wrong. You should’ve asked me.”

You raise an eyebrow at his brusque tone. Few men would have the guts to say something like that to your face—or behind your back, for that matter. But Minho has never been anything but forthright with you, quickly becoming one of your most trusted employees. And he knows it; knows he can get away with a lot more than the average member of your staff. 

You decide to challenge him, to push back a little and see if he stands his ground. “Last time I checked, this was my company. I’m perfectly capable of deciding who to seek out for counsel.”

“It is. You are. But none of us benefit from mistakes. I don’t trust him.” 

You sigh. Ever since you took over from your father the company has grown explosively. The profits are great, but with diverse lines of business comes an increased difficulty in oversight. You find yourself needing to rely on others more and more—something you don’t particularly like. 

“So you think I should fire him?”

Minho takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes meeting yours. “I don’t know, aren’t you the boss?” he retorts, defiant, one brow raised. 

You snort—an ungraceful sound—and he grins. You put your glass down on the cabinet and give him a small nod. “Thank you for your honesty. I will reconsider Blake’s position.”

A silence falls between the two of you, not unwelcome, some of the earlier tension permeating the air again as your eyes fix on the curve of his cupid’s bow. The anticipation feels familiar in a way that puts you at ease, makes you relax. 

Minho is not the type for small talk and useless chatter. It's one of the things you like about him; he's astute and straight to the point. He doesn't waste your time. 

And unlike most others he doesn't try to flatter you. It's a welcome change from the sycophants that come with your position. Instead, Minho has always relied on his wits and his sharp tongue. Navigated his way through the muddy water of rules and regulations until he knew them like the back of his hand. Knew how to bend them and how to break them. 

There was a certain softness to him at first, back then; but much like you, he’s always been quick to adapt, quick to change. 

You don’t pry into his personal life. You don’t ask and you don’t care. Just like you don’t care how he gets things done as long as he does them—because you know he always delivers, one way or another. He doesn’t keep to his luxurious office, preferring the grimy underbellies of your casinos instead, not afraid of getting his hands dirty. 

Still, it’s all too easy to picture him as a deer-eyed, grubby-kneed kid, growing up watching the same programs on TV as you did. Fast-paced animations, colourful heroes saving people and serving justice. And then, later, the hours spent behind stacks of books, in courtrooms, for a good cause, only to end up here—

But Minho isn’t innocent. Every move and every choice he makes is deliberate. He, like no other, knows the world isn’t black and white. He wades through the grey fog, always mindful of the lines he should not cross.

It seems you are his only exception.

There’s an irony to it, its taste bittersweet on his tongue every time you kiss. An acidity to the both of you circling each other as you take his glass, your fingertips brushing against his skin. 

“What do you want?” you ask, putting his drink down next to yours. You wait for him to say the word, confirming that he wants this as much as you do.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, and it’s out of line, teetering on the edge of mockery if it wasn’t for the honesty in his eyes. His long lashes caress his cheeks when he blinks, twice. “Venom.”

There’s a beat of silence as the word hangs in the air between you, followed by his look of surprise when the flat of your hand connects with his cheek. The expression lasts only a second, quickly overtaken by something darker as his skin flushes pink. 

“I asked you a question.” You step closer, grabbing his jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of his cheeks, distorting his grin. “Answer me.”

It’s a deflection, an attempt to steer away from his admission, and it works: the immediate effect it has on him, how it makes his pupils dilate and his breath hitch in his throat. 

“Please,” he says, barely audible, mouth forced into a pout by your hold on him, “make it hurt.”

His words trickle down your skin like molasses and settle deep in your belly. You press your lips against his, tasting the rich, smoky flavour of the alcohol you’ve been raised on, coupled with that sweet taste that’s so unmistakably him— 

Minho lets out a sudden moan as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and you swallow the sound, letting go of his face, not missing the way he sways into you as you lean back and tap one finger on his suit jacket. “Follow me.”

There’s a shift in the air as you enter your bedroom, a place he’s seen countless of times—a privilege reserved to only a handful of your lovers. You can feel his presence behind you, heat radiating off him in waves, feeding your own excitement. 

“Take off your clothes,” you instruct, walking towards a large wooden chest beside the bed, “and get on your knees.”

When you turn back around, a long piece of red rope in your hands, you’re surprised to see him kneeling on the thick rug already. His eyes are trained on the floor and his clothes lay next to him, neatly folded.  

“Someone’s eager tonight,” you smile and grab a fistful of his dark hair, tilting his face upwards. 

“Just making it easy for you,” he grins, “for now.” 

You tighten your grip and he shivers at the pinpricks of pain tickling his scalp. “You’ve always liked to play with fire.”  

He tilts his head, as much as your hand allows. “A man can hope.” 

You crouch down in front of him, noses almost touching, catching his half-lidded stare. “Show me you deserve it.” 

Rising to your feet again, you instruct: “Arms in position.” He puts them behind his back, forearms parallel to each other, fingers grazing his elbows. 

You carefully wrap the rope around his forearms, then twice around his chest, right above the pectoral muscle. Putting your hand in his, you ask him to squeeze it. “Good?” 

He confirms, voice low, and you bring the rope together at the back to tie it to the loop on his wrists, locking the box tie with a sturdy knot so his upper arms are confined against his body. Your fingers adjust the hemp where needed, your own body remembering the familiar motions. You wrap the leftover rope around his torso, this time just below his pectorals, across the sternum, and fasten it at the back. 

You check his range of motion one more time before stepping in front of him, admiring your handiwork. His arms are pulled back, chest rising and falling steadily, pushed forward by the rope. The red hemp forms a striking contrast to his skin and when your fingers skim the side of his shoulder he shivers, the muscles in his thighs tensing. 

With a pleased hum you notice his responsiveness to your touch. Your gaze drops down to where his cock hangs between his legs, already half-hard. The sight of him on his knees, wrapped up and presented to you like an offering, sends a lick of heat down your spine and you fight the urge to reach out and touch him again—there’s a time and place for your own desire, and it will have to wait for now. 

You walk back to the chest and take out a bottle of massage oil and a silk sash, sifting through the chest’s contents until you find a small white box holding a collection of candles: massage candles, coloured soy flakes, and plain white paraffin candles. You know Minho prefers the latter, their heat more intense, the hot wax contrasting the colder air in the room. For a moment you consider starting with the massage candles just to rile him up, to have him writhing in his restraints and begging for more—but tonight’s not a night for such patience. 

You take the necessary precautions for his safety and return with the items, displaying them on the carpet in front of him. 

He watches you pour some of the oil on your hands and tilts his chin towards the candles. “Looks like it’s my lucky day today.” 

“Don’t be so sure of that.” You kneel down in front of him and smooth one hand over his chest. “I haven’t started yet.” 

Expertly, you massage the liquid into his skin, enjoying the warmth of his body underneath your fingers. When his chest and stomach glisten in the muted lighting you move behind him, lathering his shoulders with copious amounts of oil. Minho’s silent except for the occasional sharp inhale when you graze your nails over his skin, the subtle scent of sandalwood filling the air. 

“You’re sensitive today,” you murmur as you trail your fingertips down his nape, gooseflesh erupting in their wake. 

“It’s—it’s been a while,” he groans, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip when you press your front against his back, reaching around to rake your nails over his chest. “I’ve been away for a long time.”

You ignore the implications of his words—you know he could have anyone he wants, anytime, anywhere—before they can unravel the frayed edges of your chest, forcing yourself to focus on the sharp press of your nails. 

“Good,” your breath ghosts the shell of his ear as he shifts under your rough touch, “more fun for me.”

You stand up and move to face him again, tutting when you notice he’s closed his legs a little, looking for some friction on his aching cock. You nudge one thigh with the toe of your shoe. “Keep them spread.” 

He obliges, albeit reluctantly, and you bend down to adjust the ropes around his torso a bit, making sure to linger in front of his face. His eyelids flutter, gaze briefly flicking up to your chest, and you chuckle. 

“Like what you see?” 

“Always,” he says, amused, despite his impuissance. “I told you I’ve missed you.” 

You smile at his words, their intent unmistakeable this time. And it’d be a lie to say you didn’t enjoy this, this back-and-forth between the two of you, even though you know he doesn’t mean half of what he says; weaponises his words and uses them to try and get a rise out of you. He’s a lawyer, after all. A good one. 

And all good lawyers lie. 

“Don’t make me hit you again.” You give the ropes a last tug, straightening your back. 

“Now that—” Minho shakes the hair out of his eyes, looking up at you, “—that would be a real shame.” 

“Absolutely,” you confirm, picking up the black sash, mirroring his smirk. “You’d like that way too much. Besides,” you tie the fabric around his head, “you haven’t earned the right to look at me just yet.” 

Minho opens his mouth, witty response dying on his tongue as your oil-slick palm, unseen, wraps around his cock. “Fuck—” he curses, and you squeeze him, once, before removing your hand again. He groans. “That’s not fair.” 

You bring your face next to his, lips brushing his cheekbone. “Nothing in this world is fair, Minho. You of all people ought to know that.”

Crossing the room, you grab the dressing table chair and put it down in front of him. His shoulders tense at the sudden sound; it’s the only reaction he shows, putting on a false display of nonchalance as you sit down and light a candle.

At first glance he does appear at ease, but you notice the small signs of tension: the quickening rise and fall of his chest, the tautness in his shoulders, the tremble that runs down his body at the soft click of the lighter. His head is slightly cocked, turned towards you, trying to catch any sounds you might make when you dribble some wax on your own arm to test the heat. 

When the first drop hits his skin he hisses sharply, wax trickling down his chest. You know it doesn’t hurt when drizzled from this height, not really, a mild sting at most—but being blindfolded and unable to anticipate your next move is enough to have him on edge. 

You pour the hot wax on his shoulders, his chest, his arms. The room is quiet as you work in silence, adjusting the heat and intensity by moving the candle closer or farther away from his skin. He bites back a whimper as some of it drips on a nipple, trying to stay focused, trying to predict your next move.

But when you press the sole of your shoe against his neglected cock he whines—loudly—and you laugh. You keep it there, the pressure not enough to satisfy him, and he shifts uneasily under your touch. 

“What do you want?” You feign innocence, voice flat and uninterested. 

“Please—” he begs, hoarse, “—more.” 

“Go on then. Move.” You dribble the hot wax on his upper thigh, close to your foot. He groans in response and rocks his hips, reluctant at first, almost shy, giving in with a choked-off sound. He’s more frantic now: previous restraint gone, the rope spanning taut across his chest, his knees digging into the carpet. 

Minho tends to be quiet, holds back his moans as if he’s afraid they’d escape the room. But you know his cursing is only a preamble so you aim to draw out every sound. To coax them from his lips until he can’t keep them caged behind his teeth any longer. 

“Look at you,” you muse, in awe of the vision of him, “such a desperate mess.” 

It’s a sight few people get to see: Minho Lee bound and covered in wax, quickly cooling, hardening into white strands of pearls on his skin. Your foot is pressing his cock against his lower abdomen, precum wetting the red sole, his thighs trembling with exertion as he ruts against it. 

You squeeze your own thighs together in an attempt to find some relief and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips you can’t help but lean in, blowing out the candle and crashing your mouth against his, taking him by surprise. The kiss is messy, feverish; all tongue and teeth as you nip at his lips, a hand tangling in his hair. 

He objects, a faint whine, when you pull back and take your foot off his cock. “You did so well,” your voice sounds breathy as you untie the sash, steadying your wobbly, eager fingers, “you deserve a reward.”

Minho blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the light, pupils still blown wide and unfocussed. 

“But you’ll have to get it yourself.” 

You hike your dress up, spreading your legs, inviting, and he sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of your soaked panties. 

“What are you waiting for?” you bait, enjoying the brief, rare glimpse of bewilderment flickering across his face before he collects his bearings and shuffles closer on his knees, until he is mere inches away from your clothed core. 

Minho closes his eyes, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing as he leans forward. His skin is still covered in dried wax, which has started to flake, but he doesn’t seem to care—too preoccupied with pushing his face into the black lace at the apex of your thighs. 

When he flattens his tongue against the fabric it’s you who has to suppress a moan, nerves set alight with every nudge of his nose.

“Ugh—this—” as expected, it doesn’t take long for him to get frustrated with the barrier keeping him from tasting you properly, “—is supposed to be a reward?”

You grab his hair, tugging at it sharply, noticing the way he hisses in response. “Don’t get greedy now, Minho.” Your index traces the edge of his jaw before giving him a gentle smack on the cheek. It’s nowhere near firm enough to be satisfying, only serving to fuel his impatience. “I can leave you here and go back to my other employees, if that’s what you prefer. Or we can continue like this.”

He narrows his eyes. It’s nothing to him if it isn’t a competition, a dispute, always and everywhere—in the courthouse, at the office, in your bed. You know he would’ve lost interest long ago if you hadn’t met him with the same fervour. 

His jaw ticks, determined, and he sits up, taking the hem of your panties between his teeth. You lift your hips so he can pull them down your legs, clumsily yet insistent, until they gather around your ankles. You lift one foot out of the fabric but before you can move the other leg Minho is already back, his face between your thighs.

When his mouth connects with your core he exhales, mumbling, “Fucking finally,” cutting off your reply with the plush of his lips wrapped around your clit. You can feel them curl against your skin at your jumbled words, warning him, a hand tangled into his hair as you hold him impossibly closer. 

It’s a little embarrassing how fast the knot in your stomach tightens, only to be unravelled again by the expert teasing of his tongue. “Fuck—Minho—” you gasp, and he pulls back slightly, slowing down his motions until you can feel your high ebb away, just out of reach. 

You groan. “Stop teasing.” 

He chuckles, the sound reverberating through your body, and you shiver. “Am I not good enough?” He leans back and looks up at you, eyes glinting. “Maybe you should go back to your other employees instead, then.”

His smile is a little crooked, and he tongues the inside of his cheek, as if he’s waiting for you to make a move. Expecting you to lash out or press your heel against his cock, anything—

You won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you bend down until your face is in front of his. “Miller is more than capable.” 

His expression falters for a second, morphing into something unreadable before he puts his carefully crafted mask back into place. “M—”

You cut him off with the press of your fingers against his lips. “Open.”

He obliges, eyes falling shut as you grab his tongue between your thumb and index and spit on it, coating your fingers in the mixture of saliva and arousal and spreading it over his already saturated face. 

“Go on, Minho Lee,” you tap his bottom lip, ignoring his protest as your fingers leave his mouth, “show me that tongue is good for anything other than fucking the law over.” 

This time he doesn’t have to be told twice, working a steady rhythm, paying close attention to the sound of your moans and the involuntary shaking of your legs. 

He revels in it: on his knees, restrained, driving you to the edge and turning you into a whimpering mess. It’s a small price to pay for the pleasure that crests over you in waves, the soft strokes of his tongue bringing you down from your high. 

Through the distorted blur, stars behind your eyelids, you see his face, still covered in a mixture of arousal and spit. A pleased smile pulls at the corners of his lips and you suddenly feel exposed despite his state of undress.

Rising to your feet, you pull your dress down and flatten the fabric with your hands, eyeing the way he tries to adjust his arms within his confines. “Let me clean you up and get these ropes off.”

You retrieve a stainless steel knife from the chest, kneeling down in front of him and carefully chipping away at the dried wax on his shoulders. It peels right off, the scent of sandalwood filling your nose once more now you’re in such close proximity to him. It’s mixed with something sharper, something you’ve come to associate with him—intimately familiar, a scent you could pick out in any room.

The blade drags across his collarbone and he shifts on his knees. “Don’t move,” you warn, enthralled by the gooseflesh erupting in the wake of the cold metal. A few inches higher, there’s the steady beat of his pulse, pressing against the steel. 

“I could kill you.”

The laugh he lets out is soft but complacent, a low rumble deep in his chest. “You won’t. I’m too good at my job.” 

There’s a sharp pang behind your breastbone. Does this count as work for him, too? When you call him late at night, is there ever a part of him that doesn’t want you? 

“Men can be replaced.” 

He turns his face towards you, the curl of his lips turning treacherous. “You like me too much.” 

It’s cocky, smug, and you hate it—hate how it’s the truth. In moments like these you wonder if he knows how much power he holds over you, and not for the first time tonight you’re thankful for the pokerface you were taught to wear. 

You press the tip of the knife into the hollow above his clavicle, a red drop blooming underneath the steel. “For a man so meticulous you’re pretty reckless sometimes.” 

If he felt the small cut he doesn’t show it, tilting his head towards the floor instead, angling it away from the sharp metal. “If it isn’t for me, it’s for this ridiculous pristine rug. I know it was a gift from your father. I’ll live.” 

It’s there, as always, woven between the threads of light-hearted banter and off-handed sarcastic remarks; something that shouldn’t exist between the two of you, something that has no place in your world: trust. Even if it exists only in these rare moments—fleeting, transient, a gossamer thread.

You shake your head and straighten your back, stepping behind him, worried he’d be able to hear your heart hammering against your ribs. Sometimes it feels as if he can see right through you—it makes you nervous, kept on tenterhooks, your intricate house of cards threatening to collapse. 

Busying yourself with prying the last bits of wax off his skin instead, your other hand traverses over his chest and shoulders, feeling the ridges and dips of sinewy muscle underneath. He leans into your touch and heat courses through your body as your own desire flares up again. You untie him and help him to his feet, his fingertips leaving scorching marks on your skin as you realise it’s the first time they’ve touched you tonight, a promise for more. 

You swallow thickly. “Get on the bed.” There’s an urgency to your voice that wasn’t there before, and you’re thankful he holds his snarky retort and clambers onto the bed without a word, back against the soft mattress. 

When you finally sink down on his cock it takes you all your effort not to moan loudly, hissing through clenched teeth. He’s right—it has been long, too long, and the slight burn as he bottoms out only fuels your arousal. 

The tips of his fingers caress your knees, but you allow him, too preoccupied with rolling your hips just right so his cock brushes against that sensitive spot every time you push yourself back on his thighs. 

His half-lidded gaze travels over your body and you put your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself as you set an unrelenting pace. His jaw slackens at a particular motion of your hips so you repeat it, bending down to capture his mouth with your own, the faint taste of your own arousal still lingering on his tongue.

“Ah—please,” his brow furrows as if he’s in pain, pleasure overwhelming his senses. “Please let me fuck you.” His hands hover above your thighs, waiting, desperation lacing his voice at the thought of your refusal. 

Your fingers graze the edge of his jaw, almost tender—wandering down to his throat, wrapping around it, as you squeeze and tell him, “Then fuck me.”

Minho plants his feet on the bed and grabs ahold of your waist, nearly toppling you over if it wasn’t for the hand around his neck holding you up. You let yourself collapse against his shoulder, his pulse quickening underneath your fingertips as his thrusts become frantic, chasing the high you’ve been withholding from him all night. 

He mutters your name into your skin, a Judas kiss, and you feel your body react, disloyal—clenching around his cock, limbs leaden and heavy. Your fingers slip into his mouth, mind buzzing, a half-hearted attempt to stop his perjury. 

It’s sanctimonious, though, when you fall apart around him with his name on your lips. He follows suit when you tell him to, hips stuttering before stilling underneath you. There’s a drawn-out silence, only filled by your laboured breaths. Your dress is a welcome barrier between your bodies as his hands fall away from your waist, reluctant, and you resist the urge to hold him, moving off the bed. 

You watch him go through the motions you know by heart: bending down to retrieve his pants from the pile of clothes on the floor first, faint imprints of rope still lingering on his skin.

“Stay,” you say, and this time you hope it doesn’t sound like an order, “finish your drink first. You have a long trip back to Oklahoma ahead of you.”

He turns around, wearing that smile he’s mastered for your clients in court, and you already know the answer before it has left his mouth. The familiar words erode all the nights spent together until they slip through your fingers like sand. 

“Whatever you want, boss.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this story please reblog, leave a comment, tell a friend, send me a pigeon, launch a mars rover. Your encouragement fuels my inner writer cryptid 👾

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🖤🦋The 8th House and Our Seductive Side🦋🖤

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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🧚‍♀️Masterlist🧚‍♀️

🦋The 8th House is the space in the zodiac where the deepest mysteries of our psyche lie: intimacy, sexuality, shared power, and personal transformation. In this house we can also see how we show our seduction and what kind of "magnet" we use to attract others.🦋

🦋Aries in the 8th House: Your seduction is like a burning fire that cannot be ignored. You are direct and not afraid to make the first move. Your way of attracting others is bold, impulsive, and extremely passionate. You don't beat around the bush, and as soon as you see something that attracts you, you go for it without thinking too much. You are the type of person who flirts in an energetic and direct way, with that spark of healthy competition that makes everyone want to be around you. People are drawn to your enthusiasm and energy. You love to play and keep things light, but when you give it your all, you go all out.

🦋Taurus in the 8th House: Your seduction is a display of sensuality. You have a deep, earthy energy that radiates calm, comfort, and security. Your magnetism is subtle but very effective, especially when it comes to sensory pleasures: the softness of your skin, the perfume you wear, the way you move gracefully. You are the type of person who flirts quietly but irresistibly, with delicate gestures and a natural sensuality that doesn't need to be forced. You take your time getting to know someone, and when you give in, you do so in a profound and totally loyal way.

🦋Gemini in the 8th House: Your seduction is based on your intelligence and your ability to make others feel interesting. You have a playful and curious approach to relationships, and your ability to change the subject and keep the conversation fresh and entertaining makes you an extremely attractive person. Your flirting is more verbal and mental than physical, playing with words, jokes, and the mysteries you spark in the minds of others. You love discovering and exploring people's ideas and thoughts, and that curiosity makes you fascinating.

🦋Cancer in the 8th House: Your seduction is deeply emotional and empathetic. You're drawn to deep connections and are an excellent listener, which makes people feel comfortable opening up to you. Your magnetism lies in your ability to make others feel cared for and understood, and your seduction is based on emotional intimacy. You like to keep things personal, and when someone enters your circle, you make them feel at home. You're not necessarily the most outgoing, but your calm presence and authenticity are irresistible.

🦋Leo in the 8th House: Your seduction is absolutely captivating and full of charisma. You're the kind of person who doesn't go unnoticed, and your magnetism comes from your self-confidence and ability to shine anywhere. Your flirtation is vibrant, playful, and full of grand gestures; You love being the center of attention and are an expert at making others feel special with your warmth and generosity. You know how to stand out and make people feel attracted to your powerful aura.

🦋Virgo in the 8th House: Your seduction is elegant, precise, and a little mysterious. You are not one to rush into action without thinking, but rather prefer a more thoughtful approach. Your magnetism comes from your ability to make others feel cared for and attended to in the details. You know what people need, whether it's a small gesture or a deep conversation. You are attracted to people who value organization and clarity, and when you give of yourself, you do so with a fidelity that is unmatched.

🦋Libra in the 8th House: Your seduction is harmonious and full of charm. You are the type of person who attracts others with your ability to create an environment of peace and beauty. Your flirtation is light and charming, with a warm smile and a natural ability to make the other person feel good. You are attracted to balanced connections and harmony, and your style of seduction is both physical and emotional, but always maintaining a touch of elegance and sophistication.

🦋Scorpio in the 8th House: Your seduction is intense, magnetic and absolutely irresistible. You are the master of deep and mysterious seduction, always leaving a trail of intrigue behind you. Your penetrating gaze, your ability to read others and your sexual energy are imposing. You are attracted to deep and transformative relationships, and your magnetism is something that people feel before they know why. You know how to take things to another emotional and physical level.

🦋Sagittarius in the 8th House: Your seduction is expansive, joyful and full of adventure. Your flirting is cheerful, direct and full of energy, based on the search for experiences and new horizons. You are attracted to open-minded people, and your way of seducing others is through your enthusiasm for life and freedom. People feel that being around you is like embarking on an exciting adventure.

🦋Capricorn in the 8th House: Your seduction is more discreet, but no less powerful. You are the type of person who attracts people with authority, stability, and ambition. People see you as someone who is reliable, serious, and of great character. Your magnetism is based on the confidence you project and your ability to be the pillar in relationships. You are seductive in a more structured and committed way, and you know that true power comes from perseverance and hard work.

🦋Aquarius in the 8th House: Your seduction is unique, futuristic, and full of surprises. Your flirting is refreshing, somewhat unpredictable, and a little eccentric, based on revolutionary ideas and an unconventional approach to love. You are attracted to people who dare to think differently, and your way of seducing is innovative and challenging. You are not afraid to be yourself, even if it means going against social norms.

🦋Pisces in the 8th House: Your seduction is gentle, mystical, and deeply empathetic. Your magnetism is almost magical, as if you can connect with people on a very deep level without the need for words. You are attracted to sensitive souls, and your way of seducing is more intuitive, creating a deep emotional bond. You are the type of person who makes others feel like they are in a dream, full of romance and spiritual connection.

[hrrtshape]

things to script with beauty. . marilyn monroe edition.

⋆ your beauty is timeless—a symphony of softness and allure that lingers like the last note of a jazz ballad.

⋆ your aura carries the enchantment of roses—velvety, delicate, yet impossible to ignore.

⋆ your skin glows like moonlight on still water—soft, luminous, and ethereal.

⋆ your features feel as if they were handcrafted by tender angels—each line and curve a divine masterpiece.

⋆ your smile can light up even the darkest corners—an intoxicating blend of joy and mystery.

⋆ your eyes hold the magic of old hollywood's golden age—captivating, with a glimmer of untold secrets.

⋆ your laughter echoes like champagne bubbles—effervescent, alluring, and unforgettable.

⋆ you embody sensuality without effort—a siren's call, understated yet undeniable.

⋆ your presence is magnetic, turning heads and holding hearts—an unspoken promise of glamour.

⋆ you carry a divine femininity—the perfect balance of softness and strength, making others revere your essence.

⋆ your every movement is poetry in motion—graceful, intentional, as if choreographed by the stars themselves.

⋆ your lips are a painter's fantasy—full, inviting, and kissed with a natural tint of seduction.

⋆ your voice has the warmth of honey and the allure of a smoky jazz lounge—melodic and hypnotic.

⋆ your beauty isn't just seen; it's felt—a sensory experience that leaves a lasting impression.

⋆ you exude an untouchable glamour—like a diamond, admired yet seemingly out of reach.

⋆ you embody the essence of a muse—inspiring creativity, passion, and longing in everyone who beholds you.

⋆ your hair is like a cascading dream—soft, voluminous, and effortlessly chic.

⋆ you leave a trail of elegance wherever you go—as if the air itself whispers your name in adoration.

⋆ your beauty transcends the physical—it’s an energy, a light that transforms the space around you.

⋆ your beauty stops people in their tracks—conversations falter, heads turn, and time seems to pause when you enter a room.

⋆ you aura is unforgettable—like the scent of blooming jasmine on a warm summer night, lingering in the minds of everyone you meet.

⋆ strangers go quiet when they see you, their gazes lingering, caught between admiration and disbelief.

⋆ your beauty is a magnet—people can’t help but gravitate towards you, their curiosity and awe uncontainable.

⋆ you make cameras fall in love with you—every angle is your good angle, every frame a masterpiece.

⋆ people describe your presence as cinematic—an unmissable star in a world of extras.

⋆ your laughter is contagious and spellbinding—drawing people closer, leaving them utterly enchanted.

⋆ your eyes hold an inexplicable pull—conversations become deeper, as if people are desperate to unravel the stories they think lie within them.

⋆ your walk is pure poetry—each step carries elegance, confidence, and a touch of allure that turns the mundane into a showstopper.

⋆ crowds part as you move through them—not out of intimidation, but sheer reverence for the energy you radiate.

⋆ you leave a lasting impression everywhere you go—your name is whispered like a secret, as if meeting you is a story to be shared.

⋆ you have an inexplicable charm that makes people blush—as if your smile holds a secret meant only for them.

⋆ your beauty stirs something deep in people’s souls—a mix of wonder, yearning, and inspiration that lingers long after you’re gone.

⋆ even in a crowded room, all eyes instinctively find you, as if drawn to a flame they can’t resist.

⋆ your presence feels like a blessing—people feel lucky just to have shared a moment with you.

⋆ compliments about your beauty are not rare, but the sincerity in people’s voices makes each one feel like the first.

⋆ you spark envy and admiration in equal measure—a goddess walking amongst mere mortals.

⋆ people try to mimic your style, your mannerisms, your essence—yet somehow, you remain untouchably original.

⋆ your energy transforms spaces—rooms feel lighter, more vibrant, simply because you’re there.

⋆ your beauty becomes a legend of its own—shared in stories, immortalised in memories, and treasured like the most exquisite work of art.

[redcoralpot]

U Malatu - Mike Schmidt x M! Reader

Summary: Mike gets a call back on the ad he had sent out for a new babysitter for Abby. While they were interested in the job, Mike was more than interested in them.

Warnings: NSFW content (masturbation), and mentions of murder.

Word Count: 1.55K

Notes: Consider this a gift for the gay Mike simps!!

-

Mike had expected nothing of it, really. He had paid a newspaper company a few dollars to display ads for a babysitter in their daily papers; a last ditch attempt before starting his new job at a local pizzeria. He was working the night shifts, and with his office being in the middle of a highly dangerous, abandoned building, he hesitated in bringing his little sister along. Abby was only ten years old– who knows what she would get into?

So, when his phone rang with a call from an unknown number, Mike immediately answered, “Hello?”

Radio silence from the other end. His mother always had warned him about spam. 

His finger hovered over a red button, ready to end the call, when a noise froze any movement, “Um… are you Mike Schmidt?”

“Yeah, this is him.”

The caller cleared their throat, “Okay, so, I’m calling about a babysitting ad I saw at a local diner; I’m interested. Is it possible for us to meet there to discuss details?”

“Woah, hold on. What’s your name?” Mike questioned, folding his jacket over a chair.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll meet you outside of Sparky’s at four o’clock. I’m looking forward to it!”

“Wait–” That was the only thing he could respond with before the line cut out, and his home screen went back to normal.

Suspicious. Maybe he should have gone a different route than dropping the opportunity of watching over a vulnerable child into just anyone’s hands, but it was too late to turn back now. Sparky’s was a public place, at least, so this person would not be able to hurt Mike without getting caught. If he got any weird feelings from them, he’d immediately call it off and go home. 

Mike glanced at the oven clock, ticking away at time like it was nothing. Currently, it was only three, and the drive to the popular diner was only fifteen minutes away. Well, shit. He was too desperate to pass this up, not with the court constantly watching his back. Mike groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, dreading his first shift already.

He ended up needing that extra time to get Abby comfortable enough for him to leave, and oh, how stubborn she was. Mike had to carry her over his shoulder just to get her into her bedroom, where she had plenty of sensory toys and items to occupy herself with. Additionally, Mike had put extra care into making sure she had the opposite too, such as noise canceling headphones in case the neighbor decided to mow his lawn again. The last time he saw her, she was huddled up on her desk again, using crayons to draw scribbly pictures of her imaginary friends. Yeah, imaginary. They weren’t real, as much as Abby claimed they were.

By the time he had gotten in the car, started it, and driven to Sparky’s, he was five minutes late. Yet, from his windshield, he could see a man in a quirky uniform sitting outside the main doors. Mike couldn’t see the details of the stranger– he needed to get his eyes checked– but he witnessed them flinch at the sound of his car door slamming. As he approached, the man jumped up with a sparkle in their eye, and held out a hand.

“Mike Schmidt?”

He didn’t shake it, causing the hand to fall awkwardly to your side, “Yeah.”

“Uh, anyways, I saw your ad. The diner hands out a paper full of ads with their menus, you see, and yours caught my eye.”

“You mentioned that.”

The man had a lopsided grin on his face, and you chuckled; the sound sent a spark up Mike’s spine, “Yes, yes I did. I make decent money, but I’m also looking for a bit of a side job too. Babysitting was on the top of my list, ‘cause I love kids.”

“Do you have any actual experience with it?”

“I was a babysitter for my first job in highschool,” he rambled, “my favorite kid was a little boy from a local daycare. His mom said he got diagnosed with autism and she needed extra help taking care of him during the evenings. He was a delight!”

“Why did you stop?”

“Ah, it’s a shame. Fritz, the little guy, was one of the kids that went missing at a pizzeria a while back. His mom was never the same after that, and I felt guilty that I wasn’t there.” You shuffled closer to the doors, shoulders tense.

“A pizzeria?”

You shrugged, “It got shut down soon after that. I guess when a couple of kids disappear into thin air in a restaurant, parents aren’t keen on bringing their children there anymore.”

Mike opened his mouth, ready to ask another question, but you stopped him, “Listen, I gotta go, this was my break. You have my number, right?”

He nodded, and you replied with your pinky and thumb sticking out of a fist, held to your ear. Mike watched as you disappeared into the diner, curiosity and another, more unknown feeling creeping up his chest. He remembered it so well, looking back on it.

-

Nowadays, Abby loves you. Mike could lean on the doorway, and a smile would tug on the corners of his lips as he watched you make shapes with your hands. A light was set in her room specifically for this purpose, as the shadows cast would mimic whole storylines. His little sister would view it in glee; the tales always accompanied by voice acting, your doing. Mike even started, in the back of his mind, to prefer the idea of spending the night like that instead of in front of a collection of security cameras. He observed your hands, how your body moved, your face, and more embarrassingly, your lips.

Mike studied how gentle and sickeningly sweet your voice was when you praised Abby, but also the stern expression that played in your eyes when she misbehaved. You would glance up at him sometimes, the manner still stained, and a heady feeling would slam into his brain. The experience always only lasted a few seconds, when his little sister would grumble again, and you were pulled back towards her. Frankly, there were times when Mike wished you would continue, though he’d never admit it. He pushed it down with everything else.

Alas, that can only work for so long– a man has needs. Those needs surface at the worst possible time, and for Mike, that was on his endless night shift at the pizzeria. He cursed under his breath, feeling his dick straining against his jeans. The feeling of your hand manhandling him out of his own front door was imprinted on his shoulder, even if his uniform vest covered it. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes as his eyebrows scrunched together.

“F-fuck.” He whispered. 

His seat shook as Mike shifted in it, fidgeting, unable to focus on the bright screens on his desk. The more he tried ignoring it, the more depraved thoughts infected his head. A finger trailed up the seam of his pants, his breath hitching, where it finally landed on the button holding it all together. Mike bit his lip and unbuttoned it, a whine escaping him as he palmed himself. 

He imagined it was you that was doing it, your strong palm cupping his crotch as easily as you did a mug at home. He snaked fingers into his boxers, sliding himself out of the top, and rested his forehead against the wood under the cameras. His dick twitched at the movement, and he brushed against the tip. Mike huffed as he slid his hand down, and then up, repeating; spreading precum as it came out. What else could you do with that strength?

Could you manhandle him on his hands and knees? You could, he knew, and you would trail your hands down his body. So very gentle, so very kind, for what you were about to do. You could hold his hips still to prevent him from thrusting up into your hand, as he whimpered in complaint. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt the stickiness grow in his hand; you could call him the most pathetic things and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. A pet, a slut, a little whore.

Mike let out a quiet moan, “Please…”

He’d face away from you as you thrust your own against his cock, not even earning the privilege to look at you. You would treat him as only a toy to use, whenever, and however you wanted. His ass would be red from how hard your skin slapped against his; the sting only sending down zaps of pleasure. You wouldn’t even bother taking off your own clothes, only his. 

“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you’d grunt.

That same heady feeling slammed into Mike again, but this time was different– this time it was accompanied by a white flash in front of his eyes. His body seized upwards, drool smearing against the desktop. The guard felt warmth drip down his palm, onto his pants and the floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep, shaky breath. 

The stain was going to be hard to explain.

-

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Curiosity (Demon!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Sensory deprivation, established situationship, smut, porn with way too many feelings, love confessions. Rating: Adult Summary: Alastor overhears Angel Dust telling you about Val's latest thing- sensory deprivation. Curiosity wins out over sensibility.

You lay suspended in the air on a bed of magic, seeing nothing. You heard nothing but the faint undercurrent of static. Even the air was just right, still and warm. You waited, breath coming in nervous pants, for something to happen. Anything. 

Alastor had asked if you would indulge him in a curiosity and you, not having the faintest clue what you were in for, agreed. 

What you hadn’t expected was Angel Dust’s latest talks of his work to be what sparked Alastor’s curiosity. Now you were naked, in his pocket dimension and at his mercy. 

Your ears strained, trying to hear anything that would give away where your lover was. Before now, you hadn’t realized it was possible to feel the straining of your eyes, but you could. Desperately, you tried to look through the perfectly black cloth of your blindfold. 

All you could see was black. All you could feel was air. All you could hear was static. 

“Alastor?” Your voice didn’t even echo back to you. The void all around you swallowed it, like it swallowed everything. 

Your mind spun, struggling to cling to something. The moments leading up to your current situation played in front of your eyes, vivid. Too vivid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were watching it happen, a ghost of the future you as you and Alastor tangled together, lips and bodies clashing. 

He was eager, so uncharacteristically eager, to rip your clothes from your body. Panting breaths feel from your lips, only to be swallowed up by him as he pushed you deeper into the room. Wooden floors gave way to grass as you stumbled into the artificial bayou, naked as the day you were born. 

Hands ran over your breasts, pulling at your nipples. He caressed your folds, running his thigh between your legs before whispering into your ear the last thing you heard from him, “Do you trust me?”

The moment the confirmation of your trust left your lips, he shoved you back from him. Everything in the bayou changed, shifting in the blink of an eye. Then there was nothing. 

You were alone with no sounds, no sensations. There was nothing but your arousal. He left you like that, floating in a sea of nothing. Your mind raced, voice calling out to him, though you couldn’t even be sure he heard you when you couldn’t even hear it yourself. 

Water trickled down your face, wetting the blindfold. Confusion flooded through you for a moment. You clung to the wet sensation because it was something you could feel. It took forever, or perhaps no time at all, to realize the water was coming from your eyes. 

You were crying. 

Why? You were not sad. You were not scared. Well, a little, but not really. Alastor was there. You were safe. Alastor was there. Wasn’t he?

“Alastor?” 

Something ran up the inside of your thigh. Your body jerked, and you screamed, not that the sound of your voice carried anywhere at all. Something ran up your spread thighs. When had you spread them? 

“What’s that?” you gasped, unable to make sense of the sensation. 

Sharp something bloomed in the pebbled bud of your nipple. What was it? Pain? Pleasure? Teeth? Nails? Your body arched and pulled away, unsure which was the correct response. 

Static grew in your ears as the thing moved up your thighs. Something long and thin ran through your folds as you tried to understand what it was. Pleasure. That was the sensation you were feeling. 

It was so hard to identify. 

Soft somethings landed on your naked ribs, stinging blooming from each touch. Tremors ran through your body as you tried to place the touches. Kisses. Those were Alastor’s version of butterfly kisses. You called out to him again only for static to answer you. 

The thing between your legs worked its way into your opening as Alastor’s lips moved over the soft swell of your breast. If he was next to you, if he was running his wet tongue over your nipple, then the thing between your leg must be him too. 

His fingers, you realized as they moved inside you, stretching your opening wider. The pad of his thumb, it had to be his thumb, rubbed against your clit as his breath washed over you, sending gooseflesh across your skin. 

“Please,” you whispered, hips working into his hand. “Say something, Alastor.” 

You moved through space, or at least you thought you did. Your lover’s touches disappeared, leaving you with nothing but the memory of his touch, the lingering sting of his kisses and the wetness between your legs. 

“Alastor?” you called out, again and again for him, sobbing his name. “Please, Alastor. I need you. Please, please don’t leave me.” 

“I’m here,” he whispered into your ear, voice too loud and too soft somehow at the same time. You shuddered at how close he sounded. “Cher?” 

Your breaths came in shudders, body wanting to reach out to him but unable to be convinced to move. 

“Cher?” he asked again, hand resting on your ribs, grounding you in contact that felt overwhelming and yet you wanted nothing more to curl yourself around his hand. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “I’m okay. You’re here. It’s okay. We can keep going.” 

Alastor waited a few moments longer… or was it an eternity? Tears dripped from your face as his hand ran down your side as he made his way around your body. Large hands wrapped around your knees, pulling them up and out. 

You sat like that, feeling like eyes were on you from every direction, folds exposed and cunt spread open. Static. All you could hear was static. It danced off your nerves and filled your ears. Static.

You wanted to hear his voice. 

Something warm and rounded pressed into your folds. There was a moment of resistance, hardly a second, and then it was inside you. Thick fire passed through your walls, spreading you open on the thing until something pressed into your hips. 

“Alastor,” you sighed his name, voice broken with overwhelming desire. “Alastor.” 

Static. That was alright, you could feel him. There wasn’t a way it could not be him. You knew the way his cock felt buried in your body. You knew the way he twitched, the press of his head against your cervix.

Yet, you doubted what you felt, even as hips pressed into you. Something, a body, folded over yours as arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you up. Was it up? Your body went to his as stinging kisses peppered your neck. 

The hips pulled back, his cock pulling from your body in a drag that set nerves afire. You felt every ridge and vein of him in a way you never had before. Pleasure cut through your core with a knife’s edge, ripping through any other sensations. 

It burned in your blood as he thrust into you. Each slap of his body against your clit lit up your nerves like fireworks. No longer were you surrounded by nothing. Now it was him that surrounded you, static and teasing touches of his hands over skin. Breath washed over skin, filling your lungs with him. 

You were drowning in him. He was everything. He was your everything. 

“I love you,” you whispered, saying the words you had felt in your heart for far too long and been too scared to say. It didn’t matter, your voice didn’t go anywhere but into the void. You could say whatever you wanted, feel everything as he pushed his cock into you again and again, pace and pleasure building. 

“I love you,” you whispered again, not for his ears as he thrust into you. His hair brushed against your shoulder as he kissed your neck, more sensations in a sea of him. 

“I love you,” you sobbed the words, fear running through you. You feared the power of those words. They meant so much. They meant handing him something far more valuable than your soul. They meant handing him your heart. 

Did he want it? Would he take it? Were you nothing more than a body to him? Would he let you love him, anyway? Could he love you back? Would he?

“I love you.” Large wet tears ran down your cheeks as your arms found strength, hands finding his shoulders. You clung to him, grounding yourself in the feeling of touching him, not just being touched by him. 

“I love you.” It was a prayer on your lips as he worked himself in and out of your twitching opening. Your walls trembled, gripping him from the inside with the same strength as your arms around his shoulders. You took refuge in the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the feeling of his heart beating in his chest. 

“I love you,” you said, pleasure crashing through you in violent waves. It could have been painful, you didn’t know. All you knew was it stole the breath from your lungs. 

He swelled inside you, twitching as you ran your hands over him. Nails scratched over the short hairs at the back of his head as he sighed. Finally, another sound!

Each twitch of his cock inside you brushed his tip against your cervix. Soft hair, thick and almost fur like, slipped between your fingers. You could feel the shape of his skull, the way his ears, so well masked as hair rose above his head. 

“I love you,” you whispered as he twitched violently inside you. You could feel the way his cock moved, the force of it expanding ever so slightly in waves as he shot rope after rope of seed into you. Every pulse of his member, you felt in your core. 

Shadow dissolved from your face, letting the man, usually dripping in red to come into view. He was naked, pressed to you as he weakly thrust into your body. Two bodies moved through the void together, as one. 

The look on his face was one you had never seen before. You couldn’t read it. Instead of trying, you simply bathed in it along with the feeling of being surrounded by him. 

“I love you, too,” Alastor whispered as the void slowly returned to his bayou. 

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