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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 days ago

Text

Brat by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Spanking, Choking, Dom!Terry Richmond, BDE, Bisexual Female Partner, Compersion Fetish, BDSM Play, Urophilia/Watersports.

Summary: Sasha is a brat. On purpose. Now Terry is mad. Big mad.

Word Count: 6.7K

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"I'm still, I'm still wet here tonight

So I will make you cum through the night

Will you touch me? Will you go deep in me?

I will in the sheets

I will, I will, I-I-I will"

Teyana Taylor – "WTP"

The cops were called to his home

Terry worked overnight duty on base, and his desk phone rang at ten-twenty. His neighbor Roderick, a fellow marine, hit him up with news that a noise complaint about his apartment brought out the local police. It was the second one that month.

"Your girlfriend has a bunch of women in your place again…the music is blasting and the cops are talking to her right now."

Terry rubbed his forehead. His jawline tightened. Sasha knew better than to have a bunch of people in his place when he wasn't there without letting him know about it ahead of time. He'd recently given her keys to his apartment six months ago as a reward for being a good girl. Here she was, fucking up the privilege already.

You see, Sasha is a brat.

On purpose.

It's a quality that titillates Terry, and yet it frustrates him, too. Sasha can't help it. Her nature is to be desirable, a supreme fuck, and well…a rule breaker.

Terry met Sasha at a wedding in Bayagoula Parrish, Louisiana. Both were part of the wedding party, he as a groomsman and she as a bridesmaid. He wore his military dress blues to match the groom. Sasha's beauty angered the bride who felt she eclipsed all the other women in the wedding party. He appreciated it because they'd been paired with different people to walk down the aisle, and he had the opportunity to watch her stroll in after him. Sasha displayed her shapely figure, which could be quite distracting. Her legs were fantastic, especially in heels and a high slit dress. She was top heavy too, and the off-the-shoulder dress made every attracted eye dart back and forth between thigh meat and the big juicy melons bouncing as she approached the altar. The tangerine orange of her dress enhanced the warm cognac color of her skin. He couldn't pull his eyes away from her. She was pure fap material for guys who couldn't pull her, which happened to be many at the reception. Samuel, who partnered walking down the aisle with her, strutted around thinking he was the shit with her displayed on his arm. But it was a wrap once Sasha lined her gaze with Terry's at the altar. Fireworks.

The two of them together oozed sex appeal and thoughts of sex. They complimented each other's energy. He had an assertive, domineering personality shaped by his years in the marines. Equal parts controlling and nurturing, he could overwhelm the ladies within seconds of meeting them. He already had the women there swooning over his voice. A gaze from his alluring eyes in any direction set hearts fluttering. Even the older women tee-heed with girlish enthusiasm interacting with him. He knew his power to attract and weaponized it as needed.

Sasha was a natural pleaser. Not to be mixed up with an overall people-pleaser, or a tiresome PickMe, her desire was to satisfy her lover, and they in turn would naturally gift her the moon, with a necklace of stars to match. She came off bubbly, warm, and endearing…the type of woman receptive to romance from an Alpha type. Male or female. He sensed she needed a little bit of spoiling with firm discipline to keep her in check. Pleasure and punishment. A heady combination he wanted to offer.

One bridesmaid joked about Terry and Sasha looking like human versions of Scar and Nala from The Lion King. His devilish green eyes and her equally cat-like eye shape gave testament to it. Their instant chemistry was like an electric current running through a socket. Everyone around them sensed the incredible magnetism they carried in proximity, like static electricity zapping them.

She sat down at the same table and immediately started flirting with Terry. After a few drinks, a deeper connection blossomed. Her voice turned him on. Everything sounded erotic the way she enunciated certain words, as if she wanted to make love to his ears. They chatted each other up, lightly touching hands and arms, whispering in each other's ears. Her breasts kept brushing against his arm, turning him on further as he fantasized about sucking on them with her sexy legs thrown over his shoulders. She brought out a feral competition in a lot of the men who interacted with her on the dance floor. What impressed him the most was how she complimented women there constantly, hyping them on their clothes and make-up. She was a girl's girl and danced with some who men passed over by streaking to the dance floor because the DJ was excellent. Sasha rallied a group of women into doing the YaYa, a Creole line-dance making a resurgence in those parts because of Beyonce's Cowboy Carter album.

He didn't want to get sweaty in his military uniform, but Terry couldn't resist a good, soulful line dance with a bunch of Black people. Bayagoula had some slim pickings for Black women since it was a majority white town, but since the bride was Black, Terry and a host of other Black soldiers hoped she had enough Black female friends coming to town available for some good times. He silently thanked the wedding planner for placing Sasha next to him. They shared a slow dance, and he loved having her breasts resting against his chest.

As the evening continued, they cozied up even more.

Sasha kissed him first right at the table. The lights in the venue had lowered for after-dinner partying, so Terry took advantage, purposely grazing his fingers against her right breast where he'd thrown his arm around her shoulder. Their table was empty and the dance floor was full tilt boogie. Nibbling on her earlobe, he whispered filthy things he wanted to do to her. He lowered his hand and slipped them up the slit in her dress, sliding her panties aside, fingering her with shallow thrusts. She let him finger fuck her, begging for him to go deeper.

Sasha started playing with Terry's dick under the tablecloth. Everyone else was too drunk and too occupied with dancing. No one paid attention to them. She got his dick so stiff that he dragged her to the nearest restroom and fucked her. Lifted her onto the sink, hiked up her dress, unfastened the upper part of her dress and released tits he now adored. It didn't take long for him to spill into the condom. Their foreplay at the table had them rearing to go.

His dick was too big and heavy to fit all the way inside her pussy. The last two inches, visible at the root, moved up and down as he ejaculated. He loved how she handled his meat. He packed so much length that her pussy squirted from the pressure of being stretched to capacity. She peed on him, too. He pinched her big nipples, obsessing over them already.

"I'm taking you home with me," he said.

His dick kept pulsing cum, and he shivered as the last orgasmic surge pushed through his dick. Even his nut sack jumped at the pleasure of release. Sasha gave off soft babygirl energy, and he wanted a woman like that. He'd only known her for five hours and already claimed her as his.

"Okay," she said, with her legs draped over his arms.

Terry turned her around and lifted her breasts. He watched his reflection in the mirror bounce them in his hands, getting off on the weight and size. His dick finally started going down, and Sasha peeled the condom off. He turned to urinate in the toilet and she held his dick for him, guiding the stream into the bowl.

"You like watching me do that?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Hmmm, into watersports?"

Her sloe eyes twinkled with delight.

"I used to watch my brother's college friends pee in our backyard when they were drunk. The sight of dicks out in the open like that…squirting everywhere…yummy. I get wet just thinking about it."

"What if I pissed on you? Would you like that?"

"Yes, Daddy…I would play with my pussy while you did it."

He grinned. She already understood his expectations. He whispered in her ear that he wanted a good girl, an obedient one, and she knew exactly what he meant. A submissive that catered to her man.

She shook his dick and used one of the soft paper towels to clean his tip. Then she dropped to her knees and sucked him off for a final cleaning. He wanted to bust a load on her face, but they'd been in the restroom long enough.

He scooped her up and drove back to his apartment.

They began a committed relationship soon after.

Terry dominated her life. Told her what to wear, what to cook for them when he worked hard all day supporting them both. Sasha flitted from part-time job to job like a bee gathering pollen whenever she was bored, not in a rush to find a career like Terry had done. He was a big bad marine with a jacked body, a tatted sleeve down one arm, and a sculpted face. He liked her being home, and she liked being there spoiled by him. His pay grade and rank allowed him to provide a comfortable life for her.

There were other rules, of course.

The apartment had to be pristine clean and her pussy had to be ready when he came home. He dealt with loud, tense, funky, gritty, and abrasive men all day. His home had to reflect the opposite vibe, and he needed to sink into her softness in the evening.

She greeted him at the door after work, looking dreamy in heels and clothes he liked to see her in, like short skirts and sexy dresses to show off those legs. With a cocktail in hand and deep welcoming tongue kisses, Sasha played her role. He brought home flowers every Friday, and at least once a week he bought her presents. She liked bracelets and expensive perfumes in fancy little bottles. He bought her books on whatever new hyper-fixation she had. One month it was soap-making. Another month it was origami, and he suffered through an apartment full of little flying cranes and odd-shaped butterflies. It made him feel good to bring her something special just to witness the sparkle in her eye and the squeal she let out each time. That was often more arousing than foreplay.

On the weekends, when he had to stay on base or travel out of state for additional work-related training, they agreed that she could have a female lover over for girl time. They'd brought other women into their bedroom on various occasions, and Terry sat next to Sasha as she had sex on the king-sized bed. He never indulged in the other women with her, preferring to watch and jerk off. Some might say he was a cuck, but that wasn't it. He had a compersion fetish. Sasha's happiness at having him as a boyfriend and still indulging in sex with another woman gave him pleasure mentally. It stimulated him, no doubt, to watch his woman go at it with another beautiful woman, but he never did a threesome by sticking his dick in someone else. Sasha was enough woman for him, plus, not every outsider was into the things that he liked to do to her. Like breath play with choking, and of course, the golden showers.

Sasha played the submissive well, pampering herself during the day in preparation for his coming home. Terry gave strong Daddy energy, and it brought out the softness in her. His father raised him to be a stern patriarch and southern gentleman. Women were to be taken care of and the expectation was for them to please their men like sweet southern belles.

Sasha was sweet and one hundred percent southern…but a brat, nonetheless. And brats don't always do what you tell them.

She'd purposely leave crumbs in the kitchen for him to find after work. Or she'd forget to make the bed the way he liked. Sometimes she ordered take out instead of making him the home-cooked meals he expected. That's when Terry would fume and take off his belt, lifting her up and taking her into the bedroom to get spanked until her ass cheeks were a deeper shade. When he finished striking her backside, he'd rub cooling blue gel all over her rump, simultaneously soothing her and chastising her.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he'd lament. "You know I don't like punishing you. I want to come home and have peace. You're my peace, Sasha."

Those searing green eyes would narrow and his brows stayed furrowed, correcting her behavior.

She loved that shit.

However, on the day he had to leave for a weekend base stay several hours before Roderick called him about the police at his place, Sasha (purposely):

1. Forgot to pick up his dry cleaned dress blues on time the night before when he asked.

2. Tossed his clean clothes in drawers without folding them.

3. And God forbid, mixed his unpaired socks in his underwear drawer.

His jaw grew rigid, and he spoke to her through gritted teeth.

"Didn't we talk about this?" he said with an exasperated tone.

"Who cares? Everything is clean. I'll get your dry cleaning today. Don't have a cow," she said, scrolling through pages of fashion on her tablet, hoping he'd snap.

He always took the bait.

His hand went gently around her throat, and he pushed her against the wall.

"What did I tell you about talking to me like that?"

A dangerous smirk twisted his lips to the side. Sasha pouted.

"It won't kill your clothes to not be perfect. I washed and dried them and put them away. That's good enough. Deal with it."

"You know we have to have order in this home. I tell you this every day, Sasha, an orderly home denotes an orderly mind. Fix it."

"You fix it."

He sighed and glanced over at the clock on the wall. His work day started in thirty minutes. He had to be on base in fifteen or risk being late. That was simply a no-no.

"Go straighten out those drawers," he insisted, with more bass in his voice.

He pushed her toward the dresser and hurriedly went to their walk-in closet to grab and fold his old dress blues. He liked to have them on him in case the upper brass needed him to appear ready at a moment's notice for any occasion. His new uniforms needed cleaning before he would wear them. Sasha strolled past their bureau.

"Sasha, I'm not playing!"

He buttoned up the shirt of his duty uniform. She sashayed toward the bedroom door, switching her hips in her babydoll nightie, big titties bouncing, not having any plans for the day except eating chocolate bon bons and shopping online or doing whatever she wanted at her whim because he wanted her to.

"Sasha!"

She ignored him. He snatched her up, throwing her across his lap on the bed. Yanking her nightie up, he pulled the matching panties down and swatted that ass. He gave an even number of spanks on each cheek, careful to soothe as well as punish so as not to harm her tender skin. She yelped and refused to apologize for back talking, making him more upset…and his dick hard.

He added some harder smacks under the jiggling booty cheeks, and she got the message, jerking on his lap and hissing from the sting of genuine pain settling in. He held her down with one arm and heated that ass up, stopping before she needed their safe word. Her disobedience and disrespect resulted in an unscheduled spanking session today, although they had scheduled sessions for weekdays and weekends.

He refused to use the cooling gel on her. She needed to feel the pain of punishment for at least an hour. He'd give her more after he returned home from work.

Terry looked down at his protruding dick nearly blasting a hole through his work pants. Sasha stared at it too, licking her lips. This was what she wanted. He'd ignored her earlier in bed when she wanted dick at four in the morning. The night before, he'd dragged home exhausted from combat drills. He chose to crash out instead of pleasing her. Her hand rubbed on his muscle-toned thighs and traced lines on his tatted bicep, but he was not in the mood.

She chose to make him late. Just to get back at him. He came harder when he was angry or irritated. Down went his zipper… and her knees. He fished out his dick and stroked hard and fast.

"Selfish little brat," he barked. "Making me fucking late!"

She pulled down her nightie, revealing his weakness, and he stared at her breasts. He moaned out loud when she plucked at her nipples and circled her pretty manicured nails around the edges of her dark areolas, reminding him visually of how big they were, and how much he loved that about her.

Pre-cum spilled out of his deep slit, and she used it as a lubricant to tease around her sizeable nipples that stood out like fat, juicy blueberries. His sack was heavy with cum. Sasha licked her lips. Smacked those big melons together, and he blew his load all over her pretty face. She brushed back her wild, wavy hair and continued shaking her titties for him.

He panted and shot another hot rope across her tongue. She jumped up and placed herself on the bed, spreading open her labia for him to see the wet pink of her dripping pussy.

"Fucking slut!"

His eyes became mere slits of angry jade. He grabbed his cell and called his boss while shaking off his pants. A credible lie fell out of his mouth as he plunged into her. He bought an hour pretending to have a dead battery in his car. Tossing the phone on the bed, he fucked Sasha as deep as she could take unsheathed. He grunted, and she threw her arms across his shoulders, satisfied that she got what she wanted.

Anger guided his thrusts. When he started getting too aggressive, he switched to eating her pussy. That helped calm him down. She was insatiable. He should've paid more attention to that quality about her after the first night he fucked her. Sasha loved his dick and craved it at all hours.

Terry sucked and licked her clit, forcing breathy moans out of his woman. She rocked and rolled her hips, her vulva laid out like a summer nectarine: smooth, juicy and sweet. Sasha soaked his lips and chin. His facial hair became a sticky mess with her excess.

He spooned her on his side and parted her cheeks with his dick alone, sliding in and stretching her properly. Terry fondled a breast and pounded her down until that juicy pussy clenched around him. He kept fucking because he knew she needed more.

"Oh, Daddy! I'm sorry! Don't punish me like this!" she screamed, clutching onto the covers.

She wasn't sorry. She wanted that deep Daddy dick.

Sasha said it like a mantra over and over, "Oh Daddy…I'm sorry! Oh, Daddy…I'm sorry! Oh, Daddy…"

He groaned and hit the side of her walls to really make her feel it, and spurt a geyser of cum, still angry that he was late. But busting a nut that hard was worth it in the end. She gasped, her legs jerking wildly at the intensity.

Rising from the bed, he looked down at his brat. She took her fingers and peeled back her labia, letting him see the big creamy mess he made inside of her.

"Wait until I get home Sunday!" he snapped, lifting his pants from the floor.

She pissed him off.

And he let her.

He grabbed his small work duffle, and the garment bag he stuffed his old uniform in and slapped her thigh.

"Fix those clothes in the drawers," he grumbled.

After he left, she teased him mercilessly with several bathroom selfies of her voluptuous breasts and pancake areolas. Her big nipples stuck out hard, and she knew he would suffer at work seeing them all weekend and unable to touch them. During his lunch break, he went into a restroom stall and recorded himself urinating. Using his pelvic muscles, he made his dick twitch and spill urine on the seat. His penis was still big while flaccid, and moving it as he splashed into the toilet would excite her. He shot off the clip to her and later, during another break in his car, she sent him video clips from her smartphone of herself fingering her wet pussy and sucking on her nipples while she watched his video on her tablet. Sex was their shared passion. Their best form of communication.

"You were mean to me today," she texted afterward.

He jerked off in the car, re-watching her squirt all over herself. His dick was the object of her affection when she watched him piss. To her, it was just as sexy as watching him ejaculate semen. It came from inside of him, therefore it was precious to her.

She sent more photos of herself looking down at the phone with her breasts hanging with her tongue partially sticking out. He fucking loved her, and immediately sent her a sweating face emoji with hearts, and couldn't wait to fuck her like a goddamn wild man.

Back at work, he did some emergency drills and then took his place at the duty station, overseeing lower ranked soldiers.

Roderick's phone call shattered the routine of his evening. He couldn't leave work to deal with her, so he had to suffer the entire weekend.

Sasha didn't know that Roderick notified him of the cops. She kept sending him loving texts. Asked him what he wanted for supper on his return home.

"I picked up your uniform, and I organized the drawers properly, Daddy," she texted.

He ignored it, pretending to be busy.

She never mentioned having a gathering at his place that weekend. Technically, it was their shared residence, but his name was the only one on the lease. That meant any problems that occurred with the cops reflected on him in the complex. It wasn't a rarity to have the police called around there for noise ordinances. It was predominately military living there, so close to the base. Lots of parties occurred. But he'd never had them called on him until Sasha moved in. He didn't want that reputation, and he didn't want to dump her like he did his last girlfriend, who stayed out of pocket with him until he had enough. She was disobedient in other ways, but not enough to bring the authorities his way. His reputation and moral character around town was everything to him. He'd hate to let go of amazing pussy and fat titties. Terry was already thinking of putting a ring on Sasha's finger after only six months of being together. Babygirl was that perfect.

Except for when she acted out in ways he didn't like.

Sunday couldn't come fast enough.

He'd have Monday and Tuesday off. Plenty of time to course correct Sasha.

After showering and shaving on base, he drove to his complex in the early evening without telling her the exact time he was coming back.

He crept up the stairs to his second floor. The onsite apartment manager taped another yellow noise complaint notice to his door. He pulled it down and read the warning while sliding his key in. Stepping inside, the living room lights were off, but the bedroom and hall lights were on. She'd cooked something because the odor of something good still wafted in the apartment. He kicked off his shoes, already upset that she wasn't there to greet him.

Dropping his bags and the warning notice on the couch, he padded to their master bedroom.

Sasha was sucking down another woman's box on his bed.

Jasmine.

Both women were oblivious to him being there.

Terry sat down on the side chair in the room facing the bed and watched them go at it. Sasha had a small vibrator inserted into her vagina that also stimulated her clit. It was a cute little pink toy that hummed along to their sex play. His irritation from the notice simmered in the back of his mind. It took him a few minutes to settle into watching his woman and her side piece. Their moans and soft murmurings lulled him into arousal.

He started playing with his dick, pulled it out all the way along with his balls. Smearing pre-cum all around the bulbous head, he took slow strokes up and down, staying underneath the thick ridge. Sasha's pussy looked so pretty, with the pink toy snug inside of her. Her lover thrashed her head back and forth. He fisted his dick faster, smacking on his balls, wishing her pussy could go all the way down on him.

Jasmine came in Sasha's mouth and his lady love's pussy throbbed with a powerful orgasm. Sasha smacked her lips and moaned as her pussy took the internal vibrations. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Daddy," she sputtered, shocked to see him sitting in the room.

Jasmine lifted on her elbows and grinned.

Terry stood and dragged Sasha by her foot to the end of the bed. He pulled out the small vibrator from her pussy and jammed the tip of his dick against her vulva and nutted all over it. Sasha squealed with delight at the man-handling and Jasmine stared with envy. She longed to suck and fuck him, but that would never happen.

"Come lick up his cum," Sasha said.

She smeared it all over her clit and Jasmine settled between her thighs, lowering her head to lick like a cat lapping up milk.

Terry pulled off the rest of his clothes. Sasha kept her eyes locked on his, ignoring Jasmine licking her way to glory. When most of his semen went down Jasmine's throat, he climbed onto the bed. Jasmine scooted over, giving his large body precedence. His dick bobbed and Sasha whimpered in expectation.

"So glad you're home," Sasha said.

Terry carefully placed his thumb and fingers on the sides of her neck. She relaxed under him.

"Jasmine, I think it's time for you to go home," he said.

Sasha blinked twice and her eyes darted over to Jasmine, disappointed that he didn't want their favorite voyeur staying for their lovemaking.

"Now, Jasmine."

Jasmine quickly left the room. They heard her scramble into her clothes and leave the apartment.

"What's wrong?"

He liked the hesitant tone in her voice. It threw her off.

"Do you enjoy living here with me, Sasha?"

She tried to sit up. He held her down by the throat. Still gentle, but gripped tight enough to let her know she wasn't getting up. Pushing his tip into her, she sucked in a breath and he squeezed the sides of her neck, careful to count out the seconds she could handle before easing the pressure. The opening of her pussy throbbed around him. He slowly pushed in, each inch parting her slippery walls. Jasmine made Sasha frothy and wide open for him. He stopped and squeezed her neck again, giving shallow thrusts and counting to her limit before releasing the controlled grip.

"Can we keep going? Do you need a break?"

"No Daddy, I can take it a little more. I'll tap you when to stop."

He pushed in to her limit, thick and heavy. Her pussy lips looked like a swollen vise around his girth, with the last of his inches unable to go in. Each time he pushed forward or pulled back, she gripped him with her walls, giving him the friction he dreamed about all weekend waiting to come home.

He began fucking her slowly, his hand clamped on her neck.

"Ready?"

She nodded and he pressed his fingers in again with gentle pressure, heightening her pleasure. Her eyes went glassy with lust. Although he choked her with their breath play, her pussy choked his dick and he released her neck to rock his hips into her with a steady rhythm.

"You feel so fucking good…taking care of Daddy's dick…"

He started kissing her, thrusting his tongue in her mouth, letting hers slide against his until the erotic sensation of their lips feeling raw and sensitive to the connection overtook him. Kissing her was life itself. He pulled back from her, still stretching her pussy, but not pumping into her.

"Roderick called me about the cops being here again. There was a warning notice on the door. What do you have to say about that?"

Her eyes widened, and she bit her bottom lip.

"How come you didn't tell me before I left about having people over here?"

"It was impromptu. A few friends, and then…a few more friends of friends…it was a wine and cheese thing and then…the cops showed up."

Terry pulled all the way out of her and left the bed.

"Do we have to talk about this now? Can we finish this and talk later?"

She breathed heavily, upset that his dick wasn't plowing her.

"What do you think will happen if I get another notice?"

She pressed her lips together for a second.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

"You said that last time two weeks ago."

"You won't have to worry. If I want to have a gathering again, I'll do it at Jasmine's. Please, Terry, don't be upset."

"What do I like more than anything at home?"

His hard dick pointed toward her and Sasha's eyes kept losing track of his face by focusing on his erection she wanted back in her guts.

"Peace and calm."

"My neighbor shouldn't be calling me about you. That means it disturbed him, too, and probably a lot of other people. If I get a third notice, the manager will break my lease. You know what that means? He can ask me to move. I picked this complex because it's close to my job. The job that takes care of you, and allows you to be my good girl. You've put our housing in jeopardy. Before I left for work, you were acting out and I didn't have time to really put you in your place. I've been super busy this past month and I think I've been letting you get away with too much. But I'm going to get back to proper discipline. No physical contact at all."

Her mouth dropped open.

"What?" she said.

"Spanking won't do this time. You don't get to have me until I think you get your behavior together."

He walked to his side of the bureau and pulled out lounging pants and a t-shirt. He strolled into the bathroom. She followed with panic in her eyes. He stretched his back and stood in front of the toilet. She reached for his dick to help him urinate, but he slapped her hand away.

"No," he said. "You don't even get to watch."

He arched an angry eyebrow, and she pouted. He ignored her breasts and the fat pussy he'd just been inside of that enticed him to cave.

"Out!"

She scuttled away like a little crab who sensed danger on sand.

He relieved himself and changed into his house clothes.

"I would like my dinner in half an hour," he called out.

He went into the spare bedroom where he set up a mini-gym and desktop computer. He checked sports updates before opening a porn app. His balls ached wanting to cum inside Sasha, but he searched for Black women masturbating and found one using a vibrator with large pussy lips that excited him. Fisting himself, he left the door open so Sasha could hear him and seethe. She slammed the kitchen cabinet doors and let some silverware clatter onto the table to show her anger at not getting his dick. He chuckled.

"Fix that attitude. This is your fault for being irresponsible," he called out.

His porn play pal had nice tits and a soft belly. He came into his hand.

"Your dinner is ready," Sasha called out.

He cleaned his hands in the bathroom and walked into the dining area with his mouth salivating. Smothered chicken and rice with French green beans drenched in garlic butter. Homemade and piping hot.

"This looks good, baby. Thank you."

He sat down and she sat across from him. They said grace together, and he stuffed his face, licking his fingers and complimenting her cooking. That perked her up, and yet she still stared at his chest in the tight T-shirt, and admired the sleeve tats.

He punished her for a month.

Sasha stayed on her A-game. Clean house. Clothes put away properly. Bed made so perfect that he could bounce a quarter on it. Uniforms pressed and already placed in his garment bag. She'd gone to the apartment manager and explained the situation with the loud party. Sasha claimed to be his house sitter who didn't know the rules about no loud noises after nine at night. Terry was pretty sure she jiggled her tits and flirted with the male manager. Her legs in some stiletto heels would do the trick easy. The manager actually ignored the second noise warning…and the first, clearing Terry's apartment record.

In bed, she suffered from wanting to curl under or around him, but he stayed on his side with his back to her. She knew better than to seek out Jasmine for respite. It wouldn't be a satisfying, playful romp when she yearned only for her man's affections. She thought it best to accept the dry spell.

Meals…impeccable.

Cocktails at the door…refreshing.

Terry slowly started showing her physical affection with a kiss on the cheek goodbye in the morning. He brought home flowers and gifts again with kisses on the forehead.

He ended her punishment by walking into the bathroom as she smoothed unscented body butter all over her naked body after a shower. She stared at him in the mirror as he stood behind her. He circled his hand around her throat, forcing her to turn her face to the side so he could kiss her.

Sasha moaned into his mouth and broke into tears of joy.

"I won't disappoint you gain," she whispered into his mouth.

"That's all I want from you, baby. Follow my rules."

He continued kissing her, lifting those glorious breasts.

"Will you fuck me now?" she pleaded.

"Of course."

Sasha whimpered at the deep rasp of his morning voice. She leaned forward, and he entered her. Cupping her breasts, he fucked her hard and fast. Her pussy squelched, and she cried, her tears of happiness wetting her face.

"I'm sorry, Daddy…sorry, Daddy…sorry, Daddy…!"

"Pussy so fucking good…I missed these big titties…tight pussy…oh babygirl…fuck Daddy's dick!"

He studied her expression in the mirror.

"Want Daddy to punish this pussy?"

"Yes!"

"Take this dick then…take it…take it babygirl…oh you're taking it deep…oh shit! Oh, shit!"

She still couldn't take him in all the way, but it truly felt like he got in deeper than he'd been before. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling, then rolled back. She squirted everywhere, soaking his dick.

He ejaculated hard enough to make him lift onto his toes. He dropped to his knees to smother his face in her ass and pussy, wanting to feel the back rush of his cum dripping out of her.

His bladder poked at him. He drank an extra glass of water for the occasion.

"Get in the tub, baby," he said.

Sasha yelped with excited anticipation. She climbed into the tub and he handed her a towel that she folded as a knee cushion. Once she was comfortable, he rested his balls on her mouth and she sucked them while playing with her clit and pussy lips.

"Let me hear that wet pussy, Sasha."

She flicked her clit and used her three middle fingers. He stared down at her, reaching for a heavy breast.

"You ready, baby?"

She hummed with his nuts in her mouth.

"You'll be my dirty little slut? Huh, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy…yes, I'll be your dirty little slut…"

"Oh, let me hear that pussy talk, Sasha!"

Sasha whimpered, and her tone was on the edge.

"Daddy's 'bout to give you what you want…get ready…oh…get ready…"

"I'm still your good girl!"

Her tongue slid up and down the underside of his dick, her words warm on his skin.

"Sasha…baby…fuck…dirty little slut letting me do whatever I want!"

Terry took a step back, and Sasha kept pleasuring her pussy. She tilted her head back. A hot stream of urine flew out of him and splashed all over her breasts. Holding his release for a longer period made the sensation of voiding his bladder sweeter. It felt almost as good as an orgasm soaking her.

Sasha's glassy eyes looked far away. She was in her pleasure zone, cumming so hard she couldn't even speak anymore. He drained himself all over her tits, and she slumped back with loud pants.

"Goddamn, that was fucking good!" he shouted to the ceiling.

His aftercare was tender with her.

He used the shower nozzle to rinse her off first before he cleaned her with honeysuckle body wash. Helping her stand up, he rubbed her vulva, thighs and backside, then lathered up her tits. He rinsed her off, then stuck the nozzle back up high and joined her in the shower for a long rinse with hotter water. They kissed as heat steamed around them, his arms cradling her.

"I don't like punishing you like that. It hurt me not to touch you for a month, baby," he hummed in her ear.

She hugged him tight.

Back in their bedroom, they made slow love on the bed. She rode him and he praised her…worshipped her body.

"I love you, Sasha."

"I love you, too, Terry. I want to make you happy."

"I want to make you happy every day. You're really the boss of me. Everything I do is for you."

"I know. I'm yours, Daddy. Let me take care of this dick."

He held his legs wide open, and she rode him backward, perched between his thighs at an angle. He let her slide up and down to the depths she could take and watched her pussy work his length. She slid back to sit on his face, where he slathered her folds with a wide, wet tongue.

They finished with him on top of her, declaring his undying love. He came all over her breasts, and hugged her tight under the covers, playing with her nipples and making plans for their future.

Terry cooked them a late brunch and cleaned the kitchen himself. Sasha washed clothes and looked up a movie for them to go see. All was well until he went to his sock drawer and found unmatched pairs with underwear mixed in.

"Sasha!"

She sauntered in, carrying one of his belts folded in her hand.

"Shall I assume the position?" she teased.

"Once a brat, always a brat," he said.

He chased Sasha around the room until he caught her, snatching the belt away and pushing her down on his lap.

Terry taught her a new lesson.

And, of course, she loved it.

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#aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfiction #terry richmond #rebel ridge #terry richmond fanfiction #rebel ridge fanfiction #Bisexual Female Character #uzumaki Rebellion #uzumaki rebellion writes #Black fanfiction #Black Fanfiction Writer #Black Fandom #Aaronpierre #terryrichmond

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kaeruutv · 2 days ago

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there is actually a reason those seem so common! especially in online spaces they do serve an important purpose which is helpijg to differentiate multiple characters who use the smar pronouns. (which is why they are so common on fanfic sites, because a lot of fic are gay relationships :D)

For example, "he kisses him" with characters A and B, you dont know which character is doing the kissing and who is receiving the kiss. Conversely, with "she kisses him." we are easily able to tell who is doing the kissing and who is receiving the kiss just with the pronouns

Yes, just using names and pronouns can and does work but some of them time using phrases like "the blond" or whatever help the reader understand which of the characters us doing what

they do feel clunky a lot of the time, and it takes skill to be able to phrases words like that into your writing effectively so i do understand the criticism. specific phrases like "the pinkette" as an example seem particularly out of place ad they just arent phrases used in real life so it cab take you out of the reading experience. overuseage of them also can take one out of the reading.

overall they can be an effective tool but are difficult to make sound natural :D the etemology nerd guy did a video about it its really interesting

“the tallest” “the brit” “the ravenette” “the oldest” “the pinkette” “the colorblind” “the smallest”

Please I beg you just use names and pronouns

#they do feel so weird a lot of the time #overused for sure #but they do serve a purpose #i promise

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st7rnioioss · 1 day ago

Note

so like ik you just did the dear diary with sweetheart!reader and brothers best friend Matt but like i NEED for it to be true like her about to write in her diary in-front of him while in the living room or something and then reading it while he just watches for her reaction. and at night he just sneaks in and it’s just so sweet sex yk😩��

TOTALLY OFF-LIMITS

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... bbsf!matt once again decides to tease sweetheart!reader, but this time he does something about it. this can be read as a standalone, or a part three to "dear diary".

warnings... smut, unprotected sex, p in v, lowkey bigdick!matt, brief fingering but not really, kissing, swearing, praise kink.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ you looked uninterested down at the homework on your desk, the pen in your hand not even making contact with the paper as your mind went blank. you’d spent all day doing nothing, and the weekend felt much longer than needed. the muffled sounds from the TV in the living room along with laughter swiftly peaked your interested instead. you thought about it for a minute, before you squirmed in your chair, and with a groan you stood up, taking your diary with you.

just last night matt had stumbled into your bedroom, and kissed you like his life depended on it, as if you’d slip away if he stopped. and since then, for the past twelve hours, he was all you could think about. just matt, matt, matt.

carefully, you grabbed your diary and pen, padding down the hallway to join your brother and matt in the living room. but, what you didn’t know, was that when matt had cuddled and kissed you to sleep, your little diary had stolen his attention.

“hi guys,” you smiled softly, giving them both a wave. matt noticed how you avoided his eyes for the most part, obviously holding back a full-on grin as the memories from last night still lingered in the air. your brother didn’t respond, which didn’t surprise you at all, but matt did. “hey there.”

you comfortably took a seat next to matt, your brother too consumed in the show currently playing to take notice of how you shuffled just a little closer to him. carefully, you opened your diary to start on a to-do list you had been wanting to write forever now, feeling matt’s hand gently rest on your shoulder. he tried his best not to let a smirk tug on his lips, but when he felt you tense up under his touch, he failed.

there it was. just like you’d seen yesterday. the red ink matt had used to write those sinful thoughts and fantasies about what he’d do to you, this time in more detail, was yet again scribbled down on the pages of what was supposed to be your secret diary.

you shoot a quick glance matt’s way, which he reciprocated with a smug smile, clearly proud of himself. he nudged your thigh with his knee, motioning for you to start reading the ridiculously filthy pornography on paper.

“i dream about running my hands over your soft skin, under your shirt to feel your warm body, watching as you grow more and more needy. then, i’d help you take off your stupidly short skirt, those i know you purposely wear around me, before doing the same to your panties. you’re wet, just like i bet you are reading this, how your mind is running wild. i’ve read your silly fantasies, and oh. you’ve got some of a vivid imagination.”

your thighs pressed together, nails digging into the hardback cover of the book in your hand. how you wish he wasn’t right—your cunt was aching, and you were sure a pathetically damp patch was already forming on the cotton. “go on. read further.” matt’s words were whispered straight into the shell of your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin making a shiver run down your spine. your brother turned his head for a second, but when you forced an innocent smile his way, he shrugged it off.

“carefully, i would hook your thighs up over my shoulders, having your dripping pussy right in front of me. you have no clue how many times i’ve hand my fingers around my dick, imagining that exact scenario. listening to your desperate whimpers, i’d kiss your sore clit gently to feel you squirm. then, my tongue would delve deep inside you when i give in, tasting your sweetness on my tongue.”

by now you were panting, the deep breaths uncontrolled and uneven as his words crashed over you—he was sitting right next to you, the guy with an apparently equally as dirty fantasy. “uh, i’m gonna go,” you announced, quickly standing up from the couch to speed into your room, not even giving matt another glance.

you || 1.16 pm

matt what the heck

matt || 1.17 pm

you okay?

you || 1.17 pm

no come to my room later please

matt || 1.18 pm

as you wish, sweetheart

a couple hours later you heard the now familiar noise of small pebbles being thrown at your window. in almost a panic, you get off your bed to open the window, meeting matt’s silhouette just a couple feet away.

“matt! shut up, one or two stones is enough.” you shush from your window, watching as he managed to crawl up the drainpipe, taking your hand in his to stumble in through your window. “m’sorry, can’t help i’m eager to see you, and that sweet face,” you laughed as he managed to trip inside your bedroom, his hands finally going to rest on your waist when he found his balance.

you carefully wrapped your arms around his neck, your noses nearly touching from how close you stood to each other. “you think?” he smiled widely, nodding slowly. “oh? oh yeah, you’re not too bad,” his voice lowered, before he pulled you closer to press his lips to yours.

your fingertips grazed his hair, his soft lips moving against yours in a gentle rhythm, just like you’d imagined all those times. matt’s fingertips ran under your shirt as he took a step forward, pushing you against the edge of your bed. suddenly, you felt yourself being pushed backwards gently, matt’s arms around you keeping you safe and secure. his warm body pressed against your own, my fingers now messing up his brown hair.

“matt- i’d really love to kiss you another time, i- i need you right now,” you managed to mumbled between kisses, your fingers withdrawing from his hair to tug at his shirt. “impatient, aren’t we?” he chuckled, yet his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your torso. matt’s eyes fixed on your chest for a second, looking up at you with raised brows, and an almost smug smirk. “oh my god matt,” you palmed your face, a warmth spreading over your cheeks as you giggled. “you’re like, fourteen years old.”

before you knew any better, both your shirt and bra was discarded on your bedroom floor, along with his own shirt. “so goddamn gorgeous. can’t you believe you’re letting your brothers friend do this to you..” his words were muffled, wet kisses trailing down your neck and collarbones, feeling his soft lips suck a mark into your skin. “need you..” the words came out slurred, your head whirring, and heart drumming against your ribs.

matt’s fingers dipped between your legs, his lips still connected to the valley of your breasts, his thumb easily finding your needy clit. with a gasp emitted from you, he carefully moved his digit in a circle motion, the already damp fabric beneath his thumb making him smirk. “already so needy.. i knew it.” he prided himself, eventually connecting his warm lips to one of your nipples, his free hand paying attention to your free tit. “o-oh shit,” you whined, arching your back up against his mouth while a long sigh escaped your lips.

matt’s fingers delicately shoved your panties down your legs, pulling back from your chest to look down at you. “shiiiittt.. you've got the sweetest pussy,” he grumbled, the pad of his thumb running in and up your soaked folds, before rubbing his digit over your swollen clit. his eyes met yours for a second, a smile growing on his lips.

your legs are trembling by the time matt is pushing his length inside of your soppy pussy, his cock rubbing perfectly against your inner walls—you’re a whining and mewling mess, awkwardly squirming under him as he laces his fingers through yours beside your head. “theeerre we go… jesus christ, you take me so well, don’t you sweetie?” all you can do is whine in response, the ridiculous stretch of his dick making your head hurt. “it’s okay.. i’ll be gentle with you.” he whispered, leaning down to catch your parted lips in a sweet kiss, one filled with love, not only lust.

“n-need you t’move.. please?” you looked up at him with pleading eyes when he pulled back, your cheeks flushed and a warmth spreading in your lower tummy. “you got it.” he smiled softly, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every slow roll of his hips. your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, mouth falling agape when he took your reaction as a sign to pick up his pace. “you’re too sweet for your own fuckin’ good.. makes me wanna kiss you senseless all the goddamn time..” matt groaned right into your ear, your walls fluttering around his length as he spoke.

“y’so big, matt… c-can’t,” you whimpered, forcing your eyes shut as the overwhelming feeling of his cock basically being bullied inside your slick hole took over all your senses. oh, you were out to kill him. “stroking my ego a bit.. not that i mind.” he chuckled, leaving fat kisses down the side of your face while giving your hands a gentle squeeze. “i think you can, doll.. done it before y’know?” he praised, the almost affectionate plunge of his dick going erratic—your breath was basically choked out of you, pathetic and louder moans being pulled straight from your lips.

matt immediately clasps a hand over you mouth to silence you, not once letting his hips take a break from ruthlessly digging into yours. “shhh, doll face. s-stay quiet please… waking up the whole house-“ he cut himself off with a moan, a trail of heat raking through his body every time your pussy swallowed his girth.

your legs trembled, doing your best to indicate to matt you were gonna come, but to no avail—you couldn’t really speak properly. your moans grew in pitch, all while matt tried his best to shut you up if he didn’t want to lose a friend tonight, your heart racing and face flushing under matt’s grip.

matt enjoyed watching how you responded to his touch, his fingers slipping from yours to connect to your sore and swollen bud. “gonna come for me, sweetheart? you’ve been so good, so adorable. y’deserve it,” his eyes were stuck on yours, leaning down to silence you with his lips rather than his hand, burying it in your hair instead. he tried his best to hold back for you, his dick twitching and aching to fill you up.

it didn’t take you another second to squeeze around his cock, your legs shaking, and moans being swallowed by his lips as you came. and as if on cue, matt’s hips stuttered, emptying himself inside of you. you were seeing stars, at least you were sure you did as matt slowly and carefully fucked you through the waves of pleasure, making sure to prolong it for you both. matt ended up tapping out at some point, your walls milking him dry for everything he had.

“that was pretty incredible,” you murmured with a tiny smile, feeling matt’s chest meet your own when he slumped down on top of you, listening to your heartbeat that was finally finding a reasonable rhythm. he chuckled, “yeah, it was. you’re so perfect,” you smiled when he whispered his last few words, your heart fluttering. “thank you,” you whispered back while lacing your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner.

“no need.. just stating the obvious.”

more sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... i hope this wasn't entirely bad.. i wanted to make this a standalone also, praying it won't confuse

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @honeybimboslvt @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @angelicckisses @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @jazzylalalala @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑��𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

#🐇་༘࿐ works #⌗⋆. brothers bsf!matt x sweetheart!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets imagines

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thefreakandthehair · 3 days ago

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a steddie fanfiction written for the @eddiemunsonbigbang with art by @kaspurrcat. 20k. rated e.

It’s just a little dive bar down the road from the studio, one where the bartender knows them and always squirrels them away into a darker corner for privacy. The drinks are strong, the music is loud, and the patrons could give a fuck less about the guys stuck at the high top near the bathroom. Sure, it’s not the best seat in the house, nor is it the best bar in town, but it’s removed enough that Eddie never needs to sign an autograph or take a picture. Maybe that’s why the silence feels so comfortable. Or maybe it’s just because it’s silence with Steve. “You know,” Steve starts, breaking the silence and swirling what’s left of his whiskey around the rocks glass in his hand, leaning back as Eddie resists the urge to chase him. “I was thinking about the writer's block… “Mmm,” Eddie hums, silently urging him to continue. “And I’ve heard that sometimes, creative people need a change in scenery to kickstart something new and get the juices like, flowing or whatever.” “That sounds like something Robin would say,” Eddie grunts into his drink and sits back with a huff. “Because she’s the one who said it,” Steve shrugs. “But I don’t know man, maybe she’s right. Maybe you need to change up your environment for a while. Maybe you could like…” He trails off and Eddie stares, which isn’t a new thing for him by any means. More than once, he’s had to ask Steve to repeat himself because he was too busy staring at his mouth but this time, he stares with purpose. He stares with a purpose because Steve can’t possibly be suggesting what Eddie thinks he’s suggesting. “Maybe you could go home.”

Or, With Steve at his side, Eddie faces his past to find so much more than inspiration for his next album.

↳ read the rest of country roads (take me home) here on ao3!

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson big bang #embb #embb2025 #myfic #this fic is very very personal i'm very scared so just gonna post and run away lmao

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stellasdrafts · 2 days ago

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Wanted/Woman (Arthur Morgan)

Summary: two stranger outlaws find themselves captured by bounty hunters (Arthur Morgan x outlaw!Reader)

Word Count: 3.8k

Content: female reader, capture and bindings, violence and death, light gore, mentions of infertility, forced proximity, manipulative reader, enemies? (not quite but they dislike each other) to tension, crude language, male slander

Notes: surpriseeee new hyperfixation (dw will still be writing for leon too!! just added a new fictional man to the roster yum). i imagine mid-honor Arthur for this :) (also idk shit about guns so bear with me thanks). this is kind of an amateurish attempt of mine at criticizing misogyny bc i’m pissed off about today’s political climate. cliché on purpose.

The last thing you remember before going dark is the stinging pain of being pistol-whipped in the face by some bounty hunter’s grimy revolver.

As your consciousness comes to, you see flickering firelight from behind your eyelids. Even before you open them, you mentally curse at yourself for even letting yourself get in this situation in the first place. You had always prided yourself on your talent of finding secluded areas to camp out in. As well hidden as they could be when your picture was plastered on fences and announcement boards across three states with a bold, capitalized WANTED above it, anyway. You suppose you had gotten comfortable – sloppy. You slipped up and somehow those bastards found the shitty abandoned house you were using as a hideout, ambushing you while you were stubbornly focused on patching up a hole in one of your boots.

It takes you a moment to gather your surroundings in the haze of post-unconsciousness. The tent you’re being held in is hot, despite it being dark outside. The air is thick – stuffy and incredibly unpleasant. The smell of animal carcass lingers on the canvas as if it had recently been used to hold some hunt. You hear the muffled sound of men discussing by the campfire roaring outside – something rather serious, you assume by the tone of their voices. It doesn’t sound like too many of them, only two by the clean back-and-forth flow of their conversation. Somehow, the most obvious detail of your capture is the one you register last – the burn of rope at your wrists and feet, and the warmth of another body at your back. You’re bound to someone.

Your heart rate picks up at the sudden realization and you tug, beads of blood drawing at your skin. You’d typically consider yourself a rational person, but with the fog of having just woken up, your brain jumps to the worst conclusions. There’s no way of knowing if the person behind you has been shot dead already, they’re completely still… That is until he speaks.

“Would you stop that? Rubbin’ your wrists raw won’t help either of us.”

Take a breath. You’re better than this. The bounty hunters outside are men, and now you know the person behind you is one as well. Maybe some good old feminine charm could be your ticket out of here. It wouldn’t be the first time your conniving passive woman act got you out of scrapes. They might kill the man first, anyway.

You look around, making sure to make him feel you squirm. Your breath quickens and you summon a more proper accent. You won’t go down. Not like this. “W-What the hell is happening?”

The man’s body shakes lightly behind you – the sonofabitch is chuckling. “Oh, quit playin’ dumb. I saw you when they brought you in. You got posters from here to Colter.”

You make sure to yank at your ropes the way a panicked woman would. He hisses at the pain and you’re glad you don’t have to hide your prideful grin. “No, I don’t know what’s going on! There must be some mistake!”

The hunters haven’t even checked in on the two of you yet, but by the timbre of their conversation outside when you awoke, they’ll get the gist of this one too, and you’ll be damned if this stuck-up man leads to your demise.

“There ain’t no mistake, woman.” Looks like there won’t be any fooling this guy. He must be in the business, you assume. “Tryin’ to play the damsel in distress won’t help you any, so quit your whinin’ and stop pulling at the damn ropes.

“I’m not!” You sniffle. “M’not who they think I am!”

You may as well feel his eyes roll. “Right. What’s your name then?” You give him your usual decoy as he attempts to sit up straighter. “And what’s got an innocent thing like you in this kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know!” you cry. “I was mending some clothes when they burst in my house and knocked me out!” you recite with ease. It wasn’t a total lie, after all.

The man listened to your sob story, wanting to get a read on you, you presume. “Is that right? You were… just sewin’ when they magically came out of the woodworks and took ya?”

The goddamn attitude on this man… “Yes!” You start crying again. “Oh god, this can’t be real!”

You hear your companion let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, cut the dramatics, darlin’,” he grumbles. Twigs snap outside and both your heads whip in the direction of the two hunters’ shadows near the flaps. He lowers his voice. “I know you’re puttin’ on that act and it’s getting’ real old. It’d only work on someone dumb as rocks so-” he’s interrupted as the two bounty hunters waltz in, surely having heard you wailing seconds prior.

You flinch hard and make yourself fall to the side. You’re a pathetic, blubbering mess – the complete opposite of what they’ve surely heard of the outlaw they were chasing. You will make them doubt themselves. Manipulation is your specialty, and men are so simple minded~

“Please! Please-”

The captors look a bit startled by your distress. One of them, the bulky one, kneels down at your side. Men just can’t help themselves, can they? They just have to save the pretty tormented girl. He tries to soothe you by placing a grubby hand on your knee. “Calm down, sweet thing.”

You try to hide your recoil. It’s not like you can scoot backward anyway, since you’re tied to the pessimistic wanted man. “P-Please, will you just tell me what’s going on?” You blink with tear-soaked lashes, being a convincing little housewife.

The hunters share a look, as if silently trying to contemplate the legitimacy of your cries. The bulky one returns his attention to you, seemingly placated. “We ain’t gonna hurtcha unless you give us a reason to, sweetheart. We’re just here to bring you down to the sheriff’s office.”

You hear the other wanted man scoff behind you. Surely, they weren’t actually falling for this?

The taller one hanging back grins cockily. “Gonna get us that nice little bounty on your head,” he adds.

It’s your turn to bite back a scoff. Little? There’s nothing little about a hard-worked two-thousand dollars on your head alone. You’d even been dubbed Bullseye.

For your own sake, your eyes go wide as saucers, as if you’re truly repulsed by the idea of having committed any crimes. “Bounty?! That’s impossible. I’ve never sinned in my life. Please, there must be a mistake-”

The tall one chuckles and you feel flames of anger licking at your insides. “Oh, there ain’t no mistake. You must’ve done some reeeeal bad things. Bounties like that ain’t given out for no reason.”

The bulky man nods to corroborate his friend’s words, but judging by its slowness, he seems a bit more apprehensive. “…You seem too soft to have a bounty of a couple grand on your head.”

Your new wanted companion whistles from behind you, impressed.

“Goddammit, Wilson!” curses the tall one.

There’s the crack you need. You keep pushing, sensing the foundation crumbling between the two. You shake your head feverishly. “I don’t know who you think I am! I’ve told you my name. I’m a housewife. M-My husband’s name is Elijah. Really, I barely ever go out. I don’t know what’s going on here.”

The two idiots glance at each other again, brows raised. Wilson tilts his head. “Roberts, maybe we fucked up. I mean, look at’er! The law has been after the girl for years. The… The posters are old. They’ve been up so long that they’re kinda faded… Maybe her and Bullseye really do just look alike.”

The tall one – Roberts – doesn’t answer right away. You’d venture to guess he’s more trigger-happy than his partner. “I didn’t see no husband inside the house.”

“He’s off on business in the next county at the moment.”

Again, they seem to communicate without speaking aloud. Wilson stands with a groan and nods in my direction with urgent eyes, evidently commanding Roberts. The latter steps forward with a sigh, his arms crossed. “Fine. I’ll bite. If that’s the truth, miss, how long you been married?”

You smile weakly, pretending to recall a memory. “Since my Elijah and I were nineteen.”

“All this time and no children?”

You drop your shoulders and strategically let your smile fade. You’ve been waiting a while to use this one. “No, sir, I been having… issues,” you admit shamefully. And you’re so proud of yourself that you hope even the non-believer tied to you is starting to wonder if he accused you of being a liar a little too quickly.

Both the hunters are taken aback at that. A woman shouldn’t be talking about private matters to strangers. The dumb bulky one breaks the silence first. “I-I’m sorry about that, ma’am…” he mumbles awkwardly.

You nod solemnly and wipe a skillful tear from your cheek with your shoulder. “I begged him not to go- begged him! A-And now I’m tied up-” You gasp and try to put some distance between yourself and the man you’re tied to, but it only yanks at both your binds. “Does that mean I’m tied to a killer?! Oh God!” you cry and squirm violently.

Wilson raises his hands the same way one would calm a horse. “Ma’am, calm down-” In an attempt to calm you down, he grabs a knife from his belt and cuts your wrists’ bindings while Roberts rushes to make sure the other outlaw doesn’t try to pull some stunt. Unlike yourself, he leaves him fully bound and secures him to one of the tent’s support posts.

Now that you aren’t back-to-back with him, you catch a glimpse of his face for the first time. Oh shit. You recognize him immediately – it’s impossible not to, not in your line of work. That’s Arthur Morgan, one of Van Der Linde’s men. One of his most feared men, actually. No doubt he has a pretty bounty on his head as well.

You don’t have time to dwell in your thoughts because that half-witted hunter speaks again. “I won’t untie your ankles, though. Can’t have you runnin’ off on us until we’re sure you ain’t it,” he says with a chuckle.

You want to punch that condescending little smirk right off his face… But you can do even better.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of running.”

“Well, that’s good ‘cau-”

He trips over his words when you snag the knife from his naively relaxed grip and jam it into his neck with all your might. As he topples over, you swiftly grab the revolver from his holster and shoot Roberts a couple of times in the chest before he can even react.

“Goddamn fools,” you mutter as you undo the rope around your ankles, seemingly unfazed by a tied-up Arthur Morgan some feet away from you.

Even writhing on the ground, Wilson disturbs your newfound peace, gargling on his own blood. You roll your eyes and put a bullet between his own. Standing, you stretch your limbs, rubbing where the rough rope had dug into your skin. You retract the bloody knife from the bounty hunter’s neck, giving it a twirl. It was a pretty knife, engraved with some intricate swirls. You earned it.

You finally look up at Arthur. “You were right, I s’pose.”

“Seems that way,” he replies, carefully watching every movement of yours. You’d seen that look in men before. He was trying to gauge if he was going to be the next recipient of your wrath.

You grin and lean back against some crates, enjoying seeing such an infamous man be so unsure. “Now, what to do with you?” you ask rhetorically.

You watch as his eyes go from the dead man at his feet to your calm figure. Evidently, you had managed to impress him. Pride swells in your chest. He nods toward his bound ankles. “Well, are you going to get these off? That would be greatly appreciated,” he inquires dryly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You hum, giving the knife a couple more twirls. “I bet, Van Der Linde.”

The outlaw raises a brow, otherwise utterly composed. “So you know who I am… Or at least who I run with.”

“Mhm.” You trace the edge of the bloody blade with your index. “You’re no small feat, Arthur Morgan.” You push off the crates and nod at the corpses on the dirt. “They would’ve lucked out.”

“I’d say the same for you,” he replies, his gaze unrelenting.

The two morons had spoken your alias, but it’s the fact that Morgan recognized it that sticks with you. A sick sense of satisfaction bubbles within you at the knowledge that your name has been spread to one of the country’s most notorious gangs.

“Well ain’t you sweet,” you quip sarcastically.

Arthur looks down at Roberts, mere inches away from him. “Your aim on him could’ve been a bit better, though. Too far right.”

You? Aiming anything other than perfect? You scoff, your eyes narrowing as you search through a sack on the crates for your confiscated guns. “I don’t have to let you free.”

“And I don’t have to be pleasant,” he retorts gruffly, and for a second, you’re reminded of who you’re talking to. The adrenaline from your victorious escape begins to simmer down and you realize that perhaps you shouldn’t be speaking to an accomplished killer this way.

…But you’re one yourself.

You look over your shoulder with a smile. “You’re tied up, hun.”

The man scowls. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Amusing, this one. But perhaps you aren’t exactly in the position to have Dutch Van Der Linde and his boys on your tail for taking out their best man. You sling the bag full of your belongings over your shoulder and crouch before him, pushing Roberts out of the way with one foot. “I can’t see why we can’t be amicable, can you?”

One of his brows quirks up. “Depends on your definition of amicable, miss,” he dryly speaks your family name.

“Charming manners.” You tilt your head. “I reckon we ain’t that different, you and I. Two of the most notorious criminals. Everyone knows our names. We were, well-” you gesture to his bound current state. “-both tied up. On the same team, if you will. We live the same lifestyle. I don’t see the point in goin’ off and tattlin’ on each other.”

Arthur lets out a quiet huff. “So you’re suggestin’… What, an alliance?”

“I’m suggestin’ silence. You go off without worryin’ about me sending the law after you, and I do the same.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?” He’s skeptical, and you can’t quite blame him after he’s just witnessed how you swindled those men.

“It’s a two-way street, Mr. Morgan. I’m the same as you, it’d be hypocritical to turn you in. Plus, I don’t quite care to alert the law of my presence by going in to report you.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Fine. But I’m not forgettin’ this.”

But his mention of an alliance lingers in your head. You hold up a finger. “On second thought, I’ve got a better idea. More fool-proof terms, if you’re hesitant to trust me.”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not enjoying being at your mercy. “And what would those be?”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “It’d be idiotic for members of the same gang to snitch on each other, wouldn’t it?”

A look of realization washes over his face. “It would,” his voice drops lower, not liking where this is headed.

“Then, I’ll be joining the Van Der Lindes. I’m tired of sleepin’’ with a pistol in my hand.”

His expression shifts, seemingly amused by your conviction. “Oh, are you?” he retorts with a chuckle. “What makes you think they’d even let you in?”

You grin. “You knew exactly who I was when you heard those twits call me Bullseye, that’s what.” You stand up straight. “And you’re going to give me a shining recommendation.”

“Am I, now?”

“Mhm… Or I could throw you on my horse out there and we could have ourselves a nice little ride to some sheriff’s office. I figure Saint-Denis would have the most intense security. You don’t think they’d recognize me if I just rode by and dropped you on the doorstep, do you?” You jeer as you rummage through the tent, looking for anything of value to take.

Despite your threats, a small smirk creeps onto Arthur’s face. He takes a moment to study you, weighing his options.

“Confident, ain’t ya?”

“With reason.”

A beat. You just stare at each other.

“Can you untie me already? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover to get back to camp.”

#i love sassy arthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption #mid honor arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader

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daegorth · 8 hours ago

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I need people to know how I got into the show.

I saw a couple of truly unhinged posts on Tumblr a couple of weeks ago (thinking back now, they weren't even that weird in context, but yk... It's Severance)

I said to myself : "Well, I was meaning to start watching something new, and I've got truly delicious pizza for dinner, let's pair it with that insane show I heard about."

I was looking for an... Alternative streaming service (wink wink) in a hurry because the pizza was getting cold, and I found the series page. I didn't realize it gave me the last episode that had been released, and so I naively, innocently, carelessly pressed play.

You guys. It was Woe's Hollow.

I just.... Watched it from start to finish. It didn't make any fucking sense I was so lost, but I had got the general insane/confusing/weir vibe from those couple of posts, so I was like... "Well. It's weird and off-putting and I feel like I've been dropped into the middle of something quite complex and the show is giving me NO guidance. Maybe that's on purpose???"

My brain hurt because it was twisting itself in knots trying to make sense of it. These are some of the thoughts I had:

Why are these guys in the middle of a snowy forest? Wasn't this supposed to be about an office???

What do you MEAN that's the tallest waterfall on earth, and why do these guys see no problem with that affirmation???

Who the fuck is this couple of twins and why are we hearing their story as if it was a long lost book from the bible???

There are clones in this show??? Are those the innies I was hearing about? No wait, are the others the innies???

WHO THE FUCK IS THE NIGHT GARDENER??? WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT OLD GUY, WHY IS HE BULLYING THAT WOMAN???

This Mr Milchik is supremely creepy. Gives off robot vibes. DO NOT LIKE HIM.

There's a missing wife that needs rescue. Outies mentions. What the fuck is happening?? (This last part was said out loud numerous times)

Who's Burt and why does the mere mention of his name send the mean old man running away to almost freeze to death in the forest while heavily hallucinating???

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING, WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT OLD GUY, HE'S FULLY WATERBOARDING SOMEONE???

Oh. What? Wait it ends like that???? I need to know more.

And then I made to click the next episode and realized what had happened 😭

The funny thing is that I picked the ONE episode that was so fucking different from the rest of the show that i didn't catch on to the fact that I was smack dab in the middle of the story. If it had been any other one, I think I would have realized sooner. (Or maybe I'm just stupid and I wouldn't have lmao)

Anyways. (I thought the show was doing something very weird on purpose, where they put the viewer in the innies' shoes from the jump, showing how disorientating and weird and confusing it would be to not know why you are where you are, and what happened before you came here, and what you are supposed to do 💀)

So. That's how I got into the show 😭 and then I watched it from the start and you know what??? The experience wasn't that different, I still didn't understand shit (but I had spoiled myself quite a bit 😅 fortunately, the show is so weird that those spoilers were unintelligible until I got to the episode in which they were relevant)

1000/10 the show of all time!

Imagine scarfing down chinese food like a rabid animal only for jeff bezos to come and sit next to you and insult your dead wife, so you go home and get a lobotomy about it

#severance #it was a wild insane ride #and now im obsessed

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devilish-cherry · 1 day ago

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ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ previous ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ next ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

The first sign that today was going to be a lot was when you walked into work and found the espresso machine actively smoking.

Greg the Manager stood next to it, arms crossed, nodding to himself like a man who was taking this issue very seriously but would do absolutely nothing about it.

“Looks bad,” he said gravely.

You set your bag down and exhaled. “Have you done anything to fix it?"

“I thought about unplugging it,” he admitted.

“…And?”

Greg frowned. “I figured I’d wait and see if it resolved itself.”

You stared at him.

“Greg.”

“Yeah?”

“Machines don’t have healing factors.”

“Well, not with that attitude.”

You spent the next five minutes aggressively pressing buttons and muttering curses while Greg hovered behind you, offering completely useless commentary like, Try hitting it? and Have you, like, considered manifesting better vibes?

Eventually, by some miracle, the espresso machine sputtered, coughed, and decided it did want to work today.

You, however, were not convinced. It was only a matter of time before the damn thing completed its ritualistic sacrifice to the void. But hey. That was a problem for Future You.

With that catastrophe narrowly avoided, you mentally prepared yourself for a standard day of emotional and physical suffering. The morning rush passed without incident, and you allowed yourself a single, fleeting moment of peace.

The café was slow. A couple of students were hunched over laptops, a guy was typing aggressively while crying like he was writing a breakup message with the full force of divine wrath, and the espresso machine had only screamed into the void twice so far. A win.

And then the bell jingled.

Yuji bounced in first, smiling like this wasn’t about to be your problem. “Hey, we’re back!”

You blinked at him. Then at the man following behind him, who moved with the slow deliberation of a final boss entering the arena.

Choso.

The café’s weirdest, most socially unhinged customer had returned. And based on the way he immediately locked eyes with you—expression blank but purposeful—he had not just stopped by for a casual latte.

“Barista,” Choso greeted solemnly, stepping up to the counter.

Oh god. He had a mission.

“Choso.” You nodded back, bracing yourself.

“I require another latte.”

Okay. Safe. This was safe. You could do this.

You rang it up, watching as Yuji rocked back and forth on his heels, suspiciously giddy. Why did he look so—

“I will be paying,” Choso said suddenly. “With gratitude.”

You squinted. “I… okay? It’s $4.75.”

Choso nodded. Then, with the solemn grace of a man bestowing a sacred relic, he reached into his pocket—

And pulled out an old-ass wooden charm.

It was covered in intricate symbols. It gave off rancid vibes.

You stared.

Yuji made a noise like a dying animal.

Choso, completely unfazed, placed it gently on the counter. “This should suffice.”

You did not touch it. Because, and this felt important to clarify, it looked like something from a museum. A cursed museum. The kind that people in horror movies go to right before they start seeing dead children in their mirrors.

"Uh," you said, examining it. "Choso. What is this?"

"A charm," Choso answered, dead serious. "It will protect you."

You squinted at him. "...From what?"

Choso did not answer.

Yuji, sweating buckets, laughed. “Haha! HAHA! It’s a, uh, totally fake replica of a—”

“But it is real,” Choso interrupted, giving Yuji a slightly confused expression.

You swore you heard thunder in the distance.

“…Right,” you said slowly, staring at the wooden charm like it might start whispering ancient secrets at you. “Cool. Love that. But I cannot accept what is very obviously an art piece from the underworld as a tip.”

Choso frowned. “Why not?”

“Because this is a coffee shop, not an auction house for haunted objects.”

Yuji, in full-blown panic mode, snatched the charm off the counter and stuffed it in his pocket. “HAHAHA! SILLY CHOSO, YOU CAN’T TIP WITH RELICS, AHAHAHA.”

Choso blinked. “But it is a powerful protection charm. It will ward off evil.”

Yuji shook his head so aggressively you thought he might dislocate something. “JUST, UH, TIP IN CASH LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, OKAY, BUDDY?”

Choso nodded slowly, as if this was a deep and tragic lesson.

“…Understood.”

Crisis avoided. You rang up the latte again, expecting Choso to finally pull out some actual legal currency—

Choso, with the absolute confidence of a man who had never tipped in his life, placed an entire brick of cash onto the counter like he was presenting an offering to a deity.

You stared.

Yuji choked. "Dude, isn't that your rent money?! What are you doing?!"

Choso looked at the money, then at you. His expression was blank, but his voice was completely serious. "It is for the barista. It is to show my appreciation.”

“...For what?” You asked.

Choso looked at you like the answer was obvious. “For your lattes. And your presence.”

"I don’t think you’re supposed to tip, uh, this much," you remarked, eyeing the disturbing amount of cash sitting on your counter.

Choso frowned slightly. "Why not?"

Yuji flailed and made a strangled noise. "Because it’s, like, way too much?! Choso, dude, you don’t need to tip this much!"

Choso did not care.

"The barista makes good lattes," he said simply, like it explained everything.

You slowly, carefully, poked the stack of cash like it might bite you. "Okay, I appreciate the sentiment, but I cannot accept what I’m 99% sure is someone's rent money."

Choso looked personally offended. "I do not wish to insult you."

Yuji stepped in, frantically shoving the bills back toward Choso. "Okay! We’re gonna start small, buddy. You tip a couple bucks, not your life savings."

Choso hesitated, looking very much like a kicked puppy and like he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t just take it.

Yuji, meanwhile, gave you a tight, please just go with this smile.

After a few moments, Choso picked up exactly one five-dollar bill and carefully placed it in the tip jar.

You exhaled. Progress.

Yuji had wandered off to go sit down somewhere, but Choso remained near the counter, completely silent, watching you make drinks like a spectating ghost.

At this point, you weren’t even fazed.

Well. Mostly.

You ignored him to the best of your ability, focusing on making a matcha latte for the sweet old lady at the counter. She had been chatting pleasantly about the weather, her grandchildren, and something about how young people these days didn’t appreciate a good casserole. You nodded along, offering polite hums of acknowledgment while finishing up her drink.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Oh, dear,” she said, glancing at Choso, who was still standing eerily still, his gaze never leaving you. She smiled sweetly, lowering her voice to a whisper (but not really, because old people had zero volume control).

“Is that your boyfriend?”

Old lady. What.

“No,” you blurted, feeling your soul try to escape your body.

Then you made the grave mistake of looking at Choso.

And Choso—who had apparently never been introduced to the concept of social cues—was thinking about it.

No immediate denial. No clarification.

Just… contemplation.

Then, after what had to be the longest ten seconds of your life, he finally spoke.

"Not yet.”

Not. Yet.

NOT YET???

Your hands went slack. The matcha latte nearly slipped from your grip. You made direct eye contact with Choso, searching desperately for any sign that he was joking. He was not. He was just standing there, all calm and collected, as if he had not just dropped that absolute bomb in the middle of your workplace.

The old lady? Beaming.

Gojo, who you had not even realized was here until now, was already on the floor wheezing.

Nanami, who you guessed Gojo dragged along with him, looked like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this exact moment. Yuji? Yuji had his face buried in his hands, probably trying to astral project himself out of existence due to the secondhand embarrassment.

Meanwhile, you were still trying to reboot your brain like a Windows XP computer.

Because what the hell was Choso even thinking about for so long? What part of “is this your boyfriend” required that much deliberation?

You quickly shoved the old lady’s matcha latte into her hands, forcing a polite, “Have a nice day!” while completely ignoring the smug look she was giving you.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, before looking at Choso approvingly. “You take care of your sweetheart now.”

Choso, ever the enigma, seemed to take her words very seriously and nodded solemnly.

Gojo shrieked with laughter.

You resisted the urge to bash your head against the register.

Gojo was still laughing when you turned to glare at him. “Ohhh, this is fantastic,” he wheezed, wiping a fake tear from under his sunglasses. “Best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I will ban you from this café,” you deadpanned.

“You wish you could.”

You did. You really, really did.

Gojo, apparently deciding that making your life miserable wasn’t enough, suddenly perked up. “Oh! Speaking of best things ever—how’s the loyalty program going?”

Nanami groaned. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes!”

You sighed through gritted teeth. “You mean the completely fake customer loyalty program that you made up, despite not even working here?”

Gojo gasped, hand over his heart like you had just stabbed him. “Fake? Fake??”

“It’s fake, Gojo.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, the people love it!”

You scowled, glancing at the stack of handwritten punch cards sitting by the register. You had tried—tried—to confiscate them, but customers were actually excited about it. Because Gojo was a tall pretty boy that could get away with anything.

The cards had rewards written in Gojo’s messy handwriting, and you had no choice but to read them every single shift. They included:

• Buy 5 coffees, Get a Pat on the Head from Gojo!

• 10 coffees = A Surprise! (Spoiler: It’s just Gojo being annoying.)

• 15 coffees = You Win! (Literally nothing happens. You just Win.)

The worst part? People wanted them.

An alarming number of customers were on their ninth coffee. Ninth. Meaning soon, you were going to have real customers demanding their “Gojo Surprise” like it was a legal right.

“Look at this!” Gojo held up a card proudly. “People are invested.”

You turned to Greg the Manager, expecting—hoping—for him to intervene.

Greg the Manager was playing Candy Crush on his phone.

You turned back to Gojo, who was still smug.

“You are not giving my customers head pats,” you gritted out.

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Oh? Are you jealous? Do you want a head pat?”

You threw a napkin at his face.

Gojo caught it effortlessly. “I’m telling HR about this."

“We don’t have HR.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gojo, stop.”

Gojo grinned. “Can’t. I’m in too deep now.”

You put your head in your hands.

By the time they left, Gojo had successfully handed out thirty-six punch cards. Customers were thrilled. You had never wanted to quit more in your life. At least you had some peace and quiet now. The lull between rushes was your favorite time of day.

For approximately thirty minutes—if you were lucky—you could almost convince yourself that working here wasn’t slowly eroding your will to live. But, as you were well aware by now, peace was never meant to last.

The bell above the door jingled, and you sighed, mentally preparing yourself for whatever fresh hell was about to walk in.

At first glance, he looked normal. Silver hair, sharp eyes. Pretty normal. That was, until he stepped up to the counter, fixed you with an unblinking stare, and, in the most serious tone imaginable, said—

“Kelp.”

You blinked. “…Sorry?”

“Spicy cod roe.”

Okay. What.

You stared at him. He stared back. A battle of wills commenced.

“…Sir,” you said slowly, “this is a café.”

“Salmon.”

Your soul left your body.

Was this a prank? Were you being filmed? You subtly glanced around the café, half-expecting to see a hidden camera crew. Nothing. Just the muffin guy staring at the muffins once again and a woman that was on her sixth cappucino and looking like she was second away from a mental breakdown.

That was when you realized he was wearing the almost exact same damn uniform that Gojo and Yuji so often wore. Of course.

Alright. You had two options here. One: demand he speak like a normal person. Or two: roll with it and hope for the best.

You were so tired.

“…You want a drink?” you guessed.

He nodded. Progress.

“Cool. Uh. What kind?”

He opened his mouth. You braced yourself.

“…Tuna.”

God damn it.

You let out a deep breath. “Right. Tuna. Naturally.”

Who was this guy?

It took some trial and error (and what felt like divine intervention), but eventually, you managed to deduce that he wanted something cold and sweet. So, you handed him an iced vanilla latte and hoped for the best.

He examined it, nodded approvingly, and took a sip. Then, in what you could only describe as the most intense, soul-staring thumbs-up of all time, he silently expressed his satisfaction.

And then. He just left.

Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked out, like his mission had been completed.

You stood there, staring after him, the weight of what had just transpired settling onto your shoulders.

What the hell was happening to this café?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #shiu x reader #higuruma x reader #naoya x reader #mahito x reader #kenjaku x reader

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acynicalsweetheart · 2 days ago

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CONTROL YOURSELF !

pairing: big brother curly's friend jimmy x curly's little sister reader

word count: 1.6k

dead dove do not eat: 18+, non-con/rape, anal, PAINAL, painal related blood, jimcurly sort of… he's pretending you're curly, one homophobic slur, implications of incest (mainly jim being green with envy but they r never confirmed to be true or not…)

author's note: set in 90s something like that so nevermind the radiohead ref… jimmy's in his early 20s here maybe idk up to u . inspired by an ask i got + kids ‘95! starts a little gay evolves into pretty damn gay.. any interaction/feedback appreciated as always!!

“Hey, Little Curly,” Jimmy walks into your room, shamelessly ogling your ass and bare thighs as you lay on your tummy on your bed. Drowning in your big brother’s shirt.

“I have a name, you know.” You tell him flatly.

“Yeah?” Jimmy says like he’s interested. “I don’t give a fuck, you know.” He ruffles your hair, purposely dishevelling your strands.

“Then why are you here?” You glare up at Jimmy for one second, returning your attention to your fugly Gameboy the other. Probably Curly’s as well.

“Why am I here? That’s a good question.” He stalks along your walls, picking up whatever items you’ve chosen as decorations only to place them in an entirely different spot. Smelling your perfumes. Gross. Girl smell. “I like virgins,” Jimmy says casually.

“Okay?”

Trailing back to your bed, Jimmy makes small talk. “I like it when they scream. Scream real loud. When their puss bleeds.” Like he doesn’t prefer assholes. Who doesn’t anyway? Tighter, no condom, no pregnancy… hurts like hell. Neat. He sits down on the edge of your fancy mattress with a creak.

You’re unbothered. Kids these days.

“That virgin smell.” Jimmy’s eyes are glued to the little pink patch of your panties showing. “So… clean, ya know? Fresh. Us guys, we can smell it.” He leans forward to take a whiff of your hair. Big brother’s shampoo. God damn, are you guys fucking or something?

…

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Curly?” He asks, ‘cause sex don’t count if it’s your family, do it?

You squirm away, squeaking high and loud like a mouse, “none of your business!”

“Come on, the real Curly never gives me this much trouble.” Jimmy tugs on your hair, pulling your head back with it till you’re saying ow, ow, ow. “See, he’s nice. You’re a bitch.”

“I’m telling him you said that.” A divot of anger forms between your brows as you look at Jimmy over your shoulder. Cute. Curly with a softer, younger face.

Jimmy hates it.

“Go ahead, I don’t care,” he says completely unbothered, flicks your forehead—hard. “Neither does Curly.”

With a roll of your eyes, you’re back to clicking away with your sticky little fingers on your toy.

“Bet he fucks you, huh?” He shoots your back profile a sleazy, knowing grin. Talking his shit is an art that Jimmy has mastered over the years.

“Who?” You question like you’re oh-so-clueless. Like you and Curly don’t fool around like lovers when nobody’s watching. Fucking deplorable.

Probably gonna pop out one of those malformed three-eyed and five-legged incest babies in a couple of years. Call it Wavy or some shit.

“You know who. Ya big brother.” He lifts up the edge of Curly’s shirt that you’re wearing. Probably 100% cotton. How he hates rich motherfuckers. Jimmy takes a nice look at your panties, comes to a conclusion: “I bet he eats your pussy.”

“Eww!” You swat his hands away, grimace at Jimmy—face contorted and wrinkled every which way. Like yesterday’s paper. Times Daily. Both equally as insufferable.

“Bet it tastes like butterscotch.”

“Curly! Your friend’s being a jerkwad again!” You yell out in the open, whiny little voice echoing throughout your room. Like he can hear you.

“Jerkwad?” Jimmy parrots with a scoff, “that’s the best you can do? Come on, baby. I’m a creep—“

“—And a weirdo.” You add factually.

“Shut the fuck up.” He snaps, Jimmy’s the only one who’s allowed to insult himself. Not to mention you fucking cut him off. Disrespectful little nutcunt you are. “God. Curly doesn’t talk this much.”

“Well, I’m not—“

Curly, no. You’re a pain in the ass. So for being a pain in the ass Jimmy’s gonna give you a little something-something. Something fitting. Well, might not fit if he’s being entirely honest.

Jimmy shoves your head down. All too easy. Your 3-fps game keeps running, making you die virtually. GAME OVER, flashes the screen in bold pixelated text.

“Hey!” You yell into the pillow, voice muffled by the plushness of it.

Keeping his hand on the back of your head, he lifts up the edge of your shirt again. Pulls down your stubborn panties. “Nice ass.”

Jimmy wonders if Curly’s ass looks like this. His is probably like, fucking hairy and shit. Being a man and all. Pink little hole. Gay-ass hole. Gay asshole. He needs to be inside before he fucking explodes.

“Stop it!” You kick your legs, moving your hands to try—and very much fail—to cover your pussy. And ass.

“Quiet.” He tells you sternly, not ‘cause he’s worried about your big brother hearing but ‘cause it pisses him off how girlish you sound even through the pillow. Unlike Curly. “Or I’ll… kill you. Yeah. I’ll kill you, y’hear that?” Poppin’ mad jazz like momma popped all those pills.

You freeze up. Like Medusa just shot you a nasty glare.

“I got a gun.” Says Jimmy, who legally cannot acquire a firearm. Who has, not much but three pennies and an expired Gatorade and a couple felonies to his name.

And a carnal need to fuck his best friend that is turning him rampantly violent. Rampantly homosexual by the looks of it.

Once you’re shut up real good, Jimmy quickly undoes his belt and zipper, pulling his jeans and underwear down only enough to get his dick out. Shit’s harder than a fucking rock, man. Slicks it with his spit and goes to town.

He hopes that it hurts.

You get these full-body twitches like you’re having a seizure when Jimmy’s tip prods at your tighter hole. He keeps pushing, squishing your face deep into the pillow and forcing his way inside.

Jimmy thinks you scream, but he can’t really tell. Probably can’t even breathe. You’re gripping your sheets so hard your nails break and your knuckles drain of their color. Shaking violently when he buries himself to the hilt with one lone thrust.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts, relishing the way your asshole is very obviously struggling to fit Jimmy’s cock, “tighter than a mother—“ fucker. Fucker is what he was supposed to add before it turned into a pornstar moan.

God damn, this shit is turning him gay.

Immediately Jimmy starts fucking you the way you were born to be fucked, hips slamming into yours from behind. He pulls all the way out before thrusting all the in. “Holy shit.”

Your voice’s gone hoarse, letting out wheeze after wheeze into the pillow. Vocal chords just as busted as your hole.

A thin layer of blood’s coating Jimmy’s dick like the condom he probably should’ve worn. Wouldn’t want to catch AIDS.

(Jimmy would catch every virus and every disease for Curly a thousand times over if it meant having his own personal pocket-ass to fuck like this.)

“Look at your ass bouncin’ on me like that, Curls.” Jimmy tells you—Curly’s little sister who is face-down into a pillow and for all intents and purposes, cannot look at anything. Let alone your cheeks recoiling with every plunge as he absolutely destroys your ass.

Too bad.

“Best fucking ass I’ve ever fucked, Curly. Sucking me in like that, you want more, huh?”

You shake your head frantically.

“Tiny little sissy,” even though Curly’s about the size of two Jimmy’s, he leans down to lay on top of you, panting into your neck, “you’re not even fighting back.”

“Who woulda guessed you’d be a sucker for ol’ Jimmy’s cock?” Jimmy picks up his pace, skin slapping deafeningly loud as he fucks into you with the strength of fucking Zeus. “Knew you always wanted me back, Curly.”

“Mm, yeah. Shit.” He tightens his grip on your hair, jackhammering into you till your bed that your family probably paid an extra penny for to be silent, whines like it’s old and cheap. “Gonna make me cum.”

Has you kicking up a fuss again. Literally. Wellying your legs like you’re fucking running.

Legs. Curly’s legs. Those horse thighs. Ludicrously sexy and toned and athletic things. Could crush a fucking watermelon with ‘em. And Jimmy’s skull. Giant horse cock. Curly’s cock would be brushing up against the mattress, leaving a huge-ass stain from how deep Jimmy’s plowing his hole.

“You want to take my load deeeep in that hole, dontcha, Curly?” His balls slap against you, a strange stickiness clinging to them and turning the sounds oddly macaroni-like. Jimmy fucks you harder. “Hell yeah, you do. Boyslut. Watch.”

Freezing up again at the same time Jimmy does, your walls grip his dick so fucking hard it’s going to fall off and get stuck inside you forever.

Jimmy’s testies tighten up, groaning as he finally cums, shooting arrows of hot spunk into your ass. Hardest fucking orgasm of his life. Legit ascended to heaven for a second.

He stays like that for a while, falling slack on top of you, hoping he impregnates your rectal womb or whatever the hell. Dick softening, Jimmy pulls out with a sloppy pop! and watches his jizz and your blood drip down your gaping, thoroughly stretched hole to your pussy.

Oddly enough, your pussy’s slicked up with what is presumably your own cum. Fucking whore. Must run in the family. Gross puddle beneath you, coloring your sheets an entirely different shade.

You don’t even move anymore, shaking the slightest bit but not making an effort to do anything else.

Nearly keeling over when he stands up, Jimmy pulls up his jeans, buckling his belt back into place. Leans down to your level with a hand on the pillow next to your head, bracing himself.

“Faggot.” Jimmy whispers affectionately in your ear as you stay face-down—equipped with tits and pussy and… what else do women have that men don’t?

Dignity?

He gets up and shuts the door to your room to go play some Doom downstairs with the real Curly. Adjusting his dick and balls through his pants.

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