#saccharine sweet au?

[sunnystrollblog]

sky toronto runs a tight ship

tween branch and his dad boss sky toronto

i’ve decided to dub this the saccharine sweet au might change the name later

anyways when branch was twelve he was put into the “lil buddie program” a program that paired orphan trolls with a ‘big buddy’ who would take care of them until they got a permanently adopted. sky was chosen for branch and well he never got adopted officially so sky kinda just kept him… but it’s totally not a father-son relationship definitely

colored version

[yescking]

more of this

[lightwarriorinc]

/post/190330484060 "the post-canon AU I’ve made in my head in which they fight some more and work out their differences and Fighter gets help and BM actually tries to be a better person [...] and ughhhhh I could go on for days" (slides you a $20) please go on for days

(pockets the $20) BOY HOWDY HERE WE GO

Firstly I need you to imagine me getting pulled back into 8BT like a guy getting yanked off a stage with a cane by this ask ok

Secondly...ah. My boys. Here we go

(Probably needless to say for how old 8BT is but spoilers for the whole thing below)

This is one of many post-canon AUs that I have. So 8BT is cyclical right? Just like FF1 it ends where it begins. And none of the (main) characters really grow or change over the course, and that's part of what drive the comedy home, the subversion not only of typical fantasy-RPG-genre characters, plots, and tropes, but the outright aversion of the usual narrative expectations. Characters usually have an arc, but the LWs only tease arcs (see: the couple times BM starts to imply that he' gonna turn good, Thief continuing to steal after he has no real reason too, etc.).

But what if they did have arcs tho.

The Temple of Fiend Revisited kinda fucks Fighter up. For the first time, he's without Black Mage for a long time, and everything's going to shit, and he even ends up having to face BM in battle and gets killed by him. He gets revived by Sarda but still. Dude's frequently breaking reality with how upset he is.

After the LWs run off to try to take credit for saving the world, and that ends up not happening thanks to WM making sure the DWs get all the credit, the LWs are kinda like. Well. We're done. See ya

Thief goes to prepare to rule Elfland. RM runs off to go start his last members of secret sects club or whatever. BM tries to get away from Fighter again but Fighter's just like wait what. No. Get back here

But still...something is off for Fighter. He's fine! They made it out alive and intact! He's with his best buddy again! He should be fine! But BM crossed a line with killing WM, even if it was by accident. And he started killing the other LWs too. And for some reason even though his friend is the nicest and sweetest guy in the whole world Fighter can't get that pain and those images out of his head. BM notices that Fighter seems a bit off, but he brushes it off. It's always something with that guy.

But Fighter starts noticing how callous and mean BM is being with everyone they run into. The rose-colored glasses start to lose their tint. And more and more Fighter's speaking up with "shouldn't we help that guy?" or "was nuking that entire orphanage really necessary?" And BM gets fed up with him and is like LOOK. THE OTHERS ARE GONE. WE DO THINGS MY WAY NOW AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT YOU CAN LEAVE.

And Fighter goes Fine. And leaves.

And it's the hardest and most painful decision of his life. But he wants to be a Hero, and he can't do that when BM's constantly undoing all his good deeds. Even if he's not really smart enough to connect all the dots, he at least knows now that he's better off alone.

But BM? BM is not better off alone. At first he's ecstatic, he never thought he'd be rid of Fighter and his shenanigans, but he is! He's finally alone! He can nuke all the orphanages he wants! He can be the evil, brooding, villainous wizard he was always meant to be without having to worry about his idiot meat shield giving away all their money or accepting some stupid 'save the world' quest or throwing cereal all over the kitchen floor or whatever!

He promptly goes out to his first solo fight and gets beaten to a pulp.

Yeah...he stuck with Fighter in the first place because he needed a meat shield. In the end, he's just a squishy wizard who misses most of his attacks. But that's okay! He doesn't need Fighter, he just has to change tactics! Be sneaky and deliberate and gain some experience with the weaker enemies in Corneria before he gets back into the swing of things!

Jump cut to BM sitting in the rain like a sad puppy missing Fighter for much more than his damage soaking. He misses sharing a tent with him, he misses watching him cut down enemies in battle, he misses his warmth and talking comics with him and listening to insane sword-themed rants and his cooking (Fighter was gonna give up the blade to be a short order cook, you can't tell me he doesn't cook for the team) and his impromptu hugs and how he seemed to care for him despite the cruelty of the rest of the world and why did he leave?!?!?! WHY?!?!?

So cue both of them getting help. And they both get help from the same person.

Fighter goes to the White Mages' Guild because they heal people who are hurt and he's hurt. And maybe he can pick up another magical companion! He ends up running into WM and they chat a bit, and WM's happy that Fighter got out of his abusive friendship, and she gives Fighter a bit of advice about moving on, but Fighter can't find another companion there and he ends up sulking away to try to throw himself into his heroism.

And BM ends up running into WM as well, and she braces herself for another round of dealing with him but he's just oddly quiet and talks about how he's totally not missing Fighter, and she's like 'good, and you better stay away from him because he deserves someone who's a lot nicer to him and who will support him in his efforts to improve the world and not a mean, stinky little jerk like you', and BM just suddenly gets something in his eye and runs away. And WM checks the Guild for mold and carbon monoxide leaks because there's no way that just happened.

But that's the kick in the pants that BM needs. Of course Fighter left him! He thought BM was nice until he realized he wasn't and then he left. So was their friendship just a result of Fighter's overbearing stupidity? Is BM just better off pretending like none of this ever happened?

Or is there a chance that he could get Fighter back...?

By being...k...kh...kuh-iii....kuhhhiiinnnd??? Ugh. He just threw up a little bit.

In the next couple weeks, BM just happens to bump into Fighter a couple times. And Fighter jut kinda tries to brush him off, and BM is like...trying to be nice in the only way he can. Which is, he's trying to imitate Fighter.

"Yeah uh...I was thinking...maybe it is, like, a good thing that...the world exists. Maybe I shouldn't have learned all those apocalypse spells. Maybe I should've put my time into, like...I dunno. Feeding the poor or whatever. Or like. Volunteering. Yeah. There's gotta be some use for a dark wizard down at the community garden or something."

And Fighter's like. Huh. What

And eventually...he figures he's gotta give BM a chance. That's what he does. He's a good person deep down, and if his former best buddy has really turned over a new leaf, then he wants to encourage that! So he keeps an eye on BM, and watches as BM slowly starts to build a repertoire of being nice.

He watches BM go to pop some kid's balloon, hesitate, and then turn away. He watches BM stand still for a really long time at a store till before pulling out some extra money and paying for the guy behind them. He watches BM open a spellbook on a hot day and spontaneously teach himself an ice spell to help keep them both cooled off. They start hanging out more and more and they slowly start to get along again.

And then somebody tries to take advantage of their kindness. And BM get PISSED. Chases them away, throws a couple fireballs at them, and spits some nasty words. Wheels around and yells at Fighter, what's the point of being nice if we're just gonna get pushed around by assholes like that all the time?!?!?!

And Fighter just smiles and thanks him for protecting him from that guy, since without people protecting each other like that, there would be no goodness left in the world.

BM is still evil deep down. He doesn't like being nice, doesn't like helping people, doesn't really like the world. And Fighter is still good deep down. But they understand each other a lot better, and they're nice to each other, and they take care of each other. Not many people are happy to see that lovable dork Fighter hanging out with stinky mean little BM again, but it's evident that something about them has changed, and they're happy together.

[kitten4sannie]

ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜ

ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ꜱᴀɴ

pairing: frat boy! san x fem! reader feat. yungi

genre: frat au, smut

summary: san and his boys are more than grateful when you help them with their newest ‘feature film.’

w.c: 3k

warnings: they’re making porn okay, nasty mean dom! san, subby aloof! reader, san knowingly takes advantage of reader’s romantic feelings for him…. (bro’s the king of douchebags), manipulation/corruption, reader is treated like a fuck doll <3, brief implied mxm bc i love fruity frat boys uwu, praise/false praise, name calling/degradation, major voyeurism/exhibitionism kink, mind break ig?, dp in one hole, oral (giving), brief hair pulling, throat-fucking, tit fucking, facial, rough sex, bulge kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia, gang bang !!, it’s all unprotected btw, multiple orgasms, creampies <33

a/n: this is so fucking insane you guys….like idk why frat aus have me in such a chokehold but here we are🧍🏻‍♀️also this is totally random (and essential) info but san’s signature frat party look would be a ‘don’t hate me it turns me on’ shirt and a backwards red cap hwjhw anyways happy reading~ and please lemme know if you liked it uwu

p.s: we’re at 6.5k followers HELLO???? that’s insane 🫣 thank you so very much!!!

song rec: i like the way you kiss me - artemas (✨ male manipulation: the song ✨)

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Smile for the camera, pretty girl,” San, the frat boy you’ve been in love with for ages, encouraged you from behind the lens of the camcorder he was holding, his smooth baritone voice like saccharine, artificial, yet sweet enough to keep you coming back for another taste. It was when you offered him a small, shy smile through the camera lense, despite the shamelessness of your current position, that he knew he had struck gold. 

San was filming one of the first of many future encounters you would be having on the expansive black leather couch inside their crowded frat den. You were stuffed to the absolute brim by two of his closest colleagues, Yunho and Mingi, who always refused to participate unless they were working together as a duo. 

“Stop looking at me like that, dude,” Mingi huffed up at Yunho from below the both of you, his shoulders and back routinely getting stuck to the couch with sweat. 

“Like what?” Yunho scoffed back, leaning further down onto your body to get closer to Mingi, essentially folding you in half, his hands closing around your ankles.

“Like you wanna kiss me. You’re gonna make me soft.” Mingi grimaced, pushing Yunho’s hands out of the way to hold onto your ankles instead, driving himself into you like a well oiled machine. He was throbbing nonstop, but there was absolutely no proof that it was because of his friend’s heavy cock rubbing along his inside the cunt they were sharing. 

Yunho’s breath hit your shoulder when he laughed. “Skill issue,” Yunho simply replied, delighted that Mingi bucked up into you even harder, encouraging him to do the same. 

Clearly, there was something vaguely homoerotic going on there, but it wasn’t San’s business, and he definitely had better things to focus on — you, his newest pupil. He watched you with dollar signs in his bright brown eyes and the taste of cheap vodka on his tongue, unable to keep himself from licking repeatedly at his chapped lips, especially now that the innocent classmate he had recently taken a liking to had no problem taking two cocks at once inside her puffy, used cunt, while he, his bros, and his trusty camcorder had a front row seat to her mutually beneficial destruction.  

“Look at you, so flexible…Are you sure you haven’t done this before, Y/N?” San teased, lowering the camera down until his sharp feline eyes were visible.

“N-no, I swear!” you squeaked out, the growing embarrassment you felt only spurring all of this newfound pleasure you were drunk on. “Just wanna, nnngh–be good for you…”

“Oh, that’s right. Silly me. You’re being a very good girl right now, baby, Don’t worry.” San couldn’t help but smile at the way you seemed to melt in front of him. It was just too easy. He glanced down at the camera, zooming in and capturing the moment his friends filled you up with their hot loads, the bliss evident on your fucked-out face. “That’s it, baby. Are you happy you stuck around here with us instead of going back to your dorm to do homework? Taking cock is much more fun, isn’t it, beautiful?” 

“So much more fun,” you sighed out, your pupils blown out just from looking at his devastatingly handsome face. It was then that you pouted. You were only here because you were in love with San, and yet, it wasn’t even his dick inside you. It wasn’t fair. “But, I’d have even more fun with you, Sannie~” 

“Is that so…?” San offered a brief shit-eating smirk to one of his boys nearby, reaching down to grab at himself through his sweatpants like he was weighing it. “It’s right here, baby. Why don’t you show us what that pretty mouth can do?” 

Both Mingi and Yunho slowed down their thrusts, but didn’t completely pull out, choosing to leisurely fuck their cum back into you, as they fought to catch their breath.

“What a loser, cumming first like that,” Mingi insulted Yunho, licking at the saliva left on his lips. 

“Your mom doesn’t have a problem with it,” Yunho chided back, reaching down past your body to smack his hand into the side of Mingi’s ass. 

“Goddamn it, you guys, I’m gonna have to edit that gay shit out.” San brought a hand up to scratch at his head in frustration. “You know what, both of you, get out of my shot and sword fight somewhere else. I’m not doing this right now,” San grumbled, shooing the two panting men away from the couch they had just made a mess on. 

“Bro acts like we don’t know about his late night tutoring sessions with Wooyoung,” Yunho whispered to Mingi, trying to stifle his laughter. 

Mingi almost choked on his breath. “Don’t forget Yeosang. San doesn’t even take physics anymore, either. Yet, he still visits that nerd every Friday like clockwork.” 

“Dude, aren’t they roommates?” Yunho cupped his hand around the side of his mouth, still using a hushed tone, “Do you think they run a train on–”

“Hey! Don’t make me haze the two of you again just for fun…” San warned from the center of the room, glaring daggers at the two men who went quiet almost immediately. His annoyance abruptly melted away once you gingerly reached up to pull his sweatpants down until the frat emblem that was stitched into the thigh pocket was no longer visible. It was when San smacked his heavy length down onto your face, that you let out a pornstar worthy moan. Cha-ching. “Oh, you like that? Hm? Want my cock?”   

“Mm-hmm…” San’s cock slapped down onto your face a second time. You quickly squeezed your thighs together to keep yourself from cumming right then and there, biting back a moan all the while. You wondered if it was obvious how truly desperate you were for the man standing above. Fuck it. You were already here, so you might as well get what you came for. “Please, give it to me, Sannie, f-fuck my mouth.” 

San could not believe his luck. His loyal fanbase would absolutely have a field day with this as soon as he uploaded it. He could already see the cash flowing in, and it made him rock hard. He sighed happily to himself, running his fingers through your hair, carefully tucking a few strands behind your ear. “It’s really true what they say…the shy ones are always the most slutty.”  

*“I’m not a slut, I just–” you cut yourself off, not wanting to confess to San right before you were about to suck him off in front of his fraternity and whichever degenerate that would be watching it back later on. You pouted again, looking up at him with wide, sparkly eyes. “I want to be useful to you, like a doll~”  

“Did you hear that, everyone? Y/N here is a real life fuck doll. Let’s treat her as such,” San reminded his friends and housemates who couldn’t help but hover around the couch, a few of them sharing knowing smiles with one another. 

Your heart began to thump away inside your chest, unable to believe that your long-time crush was giving you so much of his attention and affection. It was like a dream come true. As soon as your lips parted to take in a shaky breath, San tightened his grip around your hair, yanking you forward and stuffing your mouth full of cock. “Mmnnf…!” 

Clutching the camera with one hand and the makeshift ponytail he created near the back of your head, San began thrusting sloppily into your open mouth, groaning at the slick sensation of your throat routinely closing around his moving cockhead. “Come on, doll, let me in, yeah? So Sannie can fuck your throat raw.” 

San wasn’t lying. With each wet, rough thrust, he got closer and closer to doing what he promised you. “Mmmn…nnn…” You couldn’t tell if the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes were the result of San’s dizzying performance or the burning arousal you felt stirring inside your core simply from being watched by a room full of men you didn’t know. 

“Aww, crying already, princess? I’ll give you something to really cry about when I’m breeding that slutty cunt of yours,” San chuckled darkly, his strong hips snapping relentlessly, his pace only beginning to falter once he saw your drool mixed with his pre-cum escaping past your chin and dripping down in between your tits, leaving your soiled skin with a shiny complexion. You looked like a true whore. It was going to make the frat leader bust any second. The borderline obsessive look you had inside your teary eyes didn’t help either. “Fuck, oh my god– Somebody take the goddamn camera!” 

The youngest of the group fumbled to grab the camera, using his jacket sleeve to rub off the fingerprints he left behind on the lens, before lifting it up, capturing the exact moment San pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and slid his cock along in between your glistening tits. 

San turned to face the camera for a second, dimples flashing, squishing your tits in between his thick fingers as he fucked them. “See, you guys? This is how you use a doll to her maximum potential,” he explained as though he were a professor on their campus. “Just look at her face. She fuckin’ loves it.” 

Instead of trying to focus on the camera, you gazed directly up at him, your cheeks warm to the touch, still love-struck, even when San’s load landed all over your face. You simply licked away what had landed on your lips, sucking the rest off the frat leader’s fingers once he so lovingly fed it to you. 

San nodded his head in approval, patting yours in an effort to reward you for your hard work. “That’s a good girl…” He tilted his head to the side. “I wanna see what else our pretty doll can do. Sound good?” 

“Really good,” you chimed, licking at your swollen lips, savoring San’s salty essence. 

Wedding bells were ringing in the distance. You would do anything for San, and if that meant letting him treat you like an onahole and fuck you in any position he saw fit for the next hour, then you would happily oblige. By the time your knees gave out from cumming for the nth time, San had you in a full nelson in the middle of the couch, positioned behind you with his arms locked around your upper half, making sure your used body was on complete display. 

“Sannie…gonna…cum…again,” you breathed out in between a few airy moans, your head feeling so heavy that you just let it hang for a second. 

San repositioned himself so that he could clutch your chin, tilting it upwards. His free hand snaked around your waist, laying his palm flat on your tummy, suddenly driving his cock up into you so hard, you couldn’t even speak if you wanted to. “Hey, be a good slut and let them see what you look like when you’re cumming your brains out.” 

You obediently gazed up at the blurry camera past your wet lashes, that is, until your eyes rolled back into your skull, only able to let out a choked gasp as you barreled over the edge of ecstasy. You didn’t have a chance to recover from the overwhelming pleasure, especially not when San pressed his hand down firmly onto the bulge his cock was routinely making inside your stomach. “P-please..! Sannie..!” 

You want another load? Fuck, baby.” Groaning, San took a second to lick one of the tears that was rolling along your cheek before it dropped, his hips slamming against yours so quick, you were already developing bruises, ones that would accompany the bright red love bites scattered across your slick skin. He pressed his lips directly to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “You know, seeing you in class and on campus, putting on that innocent virgin act, I never would’ve pegged you for a cock hungry little slut, but everyone enjoys a good surprise every now and then…don’t they?”

“Yes–yes, yes, yes,” you chanted back, too cockdrunk to even fully process what San was saying, just focused on how full you felt, and how you needed more. 

“Good, because I got a surprise for you too.” Grunting loudly, San lowered his hips and slammed them up into you one last time, holding your trembling body still, painting your pulsing walls white. “Now, say ‘thank you, Sannie.’”

“Thank you, Sannie.” You leaned your head back to nuzzle the side of his cheek, placing your hands over his, feeling him rubbing your lower stomach in small circles, his cock still fully sheathed inside you. 

“Anytime, sugar.” San gave your hair a few strokes as a reward, before pulling out and climbing off of the couch. He took the camera back from the new guy and snapped his fingers at a few of the bricked up housemates standing nearby, pointing in your direction. “Now, show me what you’re really made of.” San gave you a charming, dimpled smile. “Make me proud, okay?” 

As an eager group of half-naked strangers surrounded you on all sides of the couch, some of them reaching out to grope your warm body, you returned San’s smile, your heart skipping a beat or two. “I’ll give it my best just for you~” 

Throughout the night, San, alongside his fraternity, conditioned you with care, meticulously molding you into their prime playtoy, one they enthusiastically passed around, easily making your tape one of the longest in their exclusive film collection. It wasn’t difficult, by any means. You were, of course, the perfect specimen: passive, pliant, and poisoned by the oxytocin that turned your brain into mush. You were a star.

Even when you were being used by more men than you could count, you couldn’t keep your attention off of Sannie, his handsome face only growing blurry when someone would make you gag on their cock, as you didn’t have the most experience with men of their size. You wanted San to yourself again, desperately wishing you could reach out for him instead of another stranger’s twitching erection — but you endured it all, falling further into the rabbit hole of pleasure for the sake of your whirlwind infatuation. 

Everyone in the frat house deeply appreciated your dedication to their amateur film, especially San, who, by the end of it, secured the perfect spot to capture the finality of your desecration. Two of his older friends had just finished inside you, their spent cocks slipping out of your gaping hole and revealing the sticky mess they left behind.

Crouched down in front of the couch, San reached out past the camcorder to spread your puffy lips apart, each and every load you took over the past few hours now slowly spilling out onto his veined hand. “Look at this pretty cunt, you guys…so full of cum, it won’t stop coming out…” He panned up to your face with the camera, giving you a wicked smile from behind it. “You’ll be pregnant in no time, won’t you, doll? With whose baby, I wonder…”

After all that, you somehow managed to act shy, covering your flushed face, giving San heart eyes past your cum-stained, trembling fingers. “Hopefully yours…” 

“Oh, princess.” San gently rubbed his fingers over your sore cunt and clit, his friends’ loads still dribbling out of you all the while. “I don’t think you realize how cute you’re being right now~ Almost like you didn’t just slut yourself out for everyone to see, huh? Mm, do you feel cute, Y/N?” San asked in a babying tone, as he slowly stood up and towered over you. 

“You make me feel cute…” You nuzzled your cheek into the palm of San’s warm hand once he offered it to you, hoping you secured a spot inside his heart after all the hard work you put in. “I would keep going for you if I could still feel my legs.” 

“Aww, there’s always next time, isn’t there?” he suggested slyly, rubbing away some leftover cum from your cheek before caressing the side of your face. “Do you have anything to say to our loyal fanbase, baby?” 

“I love cock, especially yours, Sannie,” you slurred lovingly up at San, through the camera lens, licking your lips, mouth watering at the thought of being invited again to film another movie. “So give me a call, okay?” 

“Oh, I will, believe me.” A smug laugh erupted from San’s puffed-out chest, as he aimed the camera at his pretty boy face for a second to announce, “Gentlemen, we’ve officially turned another good girl into a filthy fuckhole. If you’d like to watch the transformation happen in real time, feel free to stop by our frat. For a good price, we’ll even let some of you bastards have a go.” And with that, he shut the camcorder off and pushed it into the youngest member’s chest, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck it, we might even give you a turn.” 

The freshman choked on his spit. “R-really?” 

“I’m feeling nice today.” San sighed, running his fingers through his sweaty bangs to fix them. When the young man just stood there drooling, the frat leader grimaced. “Upload this to all our sites ASAP, and don’t forget about our twitter page this time,” he demanded, rolling his eyes when he saw the cum stains the embarrassed student left behind on his pants. “And, for fuck’s sake, will you take care of that?” 

As another member brought a can of beer over to San, the frat leader took it and cracked it open. “Can you believe that guy? He’s been here for, what, a month now? And he’s still creaming his pants like a virgin? Unbelievable.”

As you gingerly put your clothes back on, you watched San move around the frat to dab up his friends and clink their beer cans together in celebration of another successful shoot. You couldn’t help but let out a long, lovesick sigh. He would be yours one day. Until then, you would take what you could get, and of course, become a star. 

fff taglist: @yutasbutterfly02 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @dawn-iscozy @bbdeongi @multistanbaby @crazyf0rm @kittenfrostt @magicshop1913 @enbysforhongjoong @londonbridges01 @mingisdimple @motherseonghwa23 @wwooyology @everyonewooeverywhere @leo-seonghwa @yourfatherlucifer @hwallazia @vampzity

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[kinok0s-doodls]

I love your colors, he's such a sweetheart! Hehe

Ty for the suggestion @kinok0s-doodls ! I love candy themed things <3

Candy sans belongs to Babyabbiestar

[fangdokja]

"Go on, use my face, pretty girl. Ride me like you mean it."

❤︎ Synopsis. They swore they’d take their time, stay in control—but the moment their lips met your cunt, something snapped. Now, they’re ravenous, insatiable, worshiping you with a hunger that borders on madness, desperate to drown in the very thing that’s ruining them.

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Soft! Modern AU! Various x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Characters Include. Nerd! Gojo, Biker! Soft! Sukuna, Professor! Half-Dragon! Rex Lapis, Academic Rival! Alhaitham, Older Brother! Sunday, Father! Human! Boothill, Step Brother! Caleb, Bully! Soft! Bakugo, Fuckboy! Atsumu, Virgin! Barou

♡ Kidnapper x Captor Series. The Thirsting - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,703 (about 1K each character)

♡ TW. dom + top + older + soft sadist yanderes, non-con + rape, BDSM + DDLG, incest, unhealthy oral sex, mature language, forced orgasms, overstimulation, food play, inappropriate use of kinks, degradation + humiliation, implied blackmail, public sex, physical assault, slapping + spanking + biting + slight choking, fingering, unwilling arousal, date drugging, general manipulation + gaslighting + abuse + trauma, abuse of authority, slight brat taming

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐝! 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✦✧✦✧

He’s already grinning by the time you open your eyes.

"Ah, finally awake? Took you long enough, sweetheart."

Your body doesn't respond immediately—slow, sluggish, barely able to process the strange scent lingering in the air. Something sweet, sticky, saccharine. It makes your stomach turn.

The room is dimly lit, shadows flickering across the walls from a single desk lamp. Your wrists ache. A dull, throbbing pain blooms from where they’re restrained above your head, tied to the headboard with something that’s not quite rope. Something silkier, softer—but unyielding all the same.

Gojo’s sitting at the edge of the bed, his glasses gone, those pale blue eyes sharper in the dark. His mouth is already curved into something smug, something too pleased. The expression makes your skin prickle, like you've just stepped into a trap you hadn't noticed until now.

"You’ve been sleeping like a baby. Thought about waking you up, but you looked so cute all helpless like that." His voice drips honey, laced with something more dangerous. "Not to mention—you were drooling a little. Kind of adorable, really."

You twist, testing your restraints, but the silk doesn't budge. His smirk widens, pleased by the feeble struggle.

"Now, now. No need for that. You’ll only make it worse for yourself."

The sickly sweet scent in the air intensifies, and it’s then you notice the bowl sitting beside him. A small, glass dish filled with something glossy and thick. Melted chocolate. A silver spoon rests against the edge, coated in the dark substance.

Your stomach churns. Your mouth feels too dry.

"Ah, you noticed?" His grin stretches, impossibly wide. "You know, I was thinking. You're always so cold to me, so resistant. And that's fine, really. I like a little chase." His fingers dip into the bowl, swirling lazily before lifting, glossy with chocolate. He holds it up, inspecting the way it drips. "But I'm such a generous guy, you know? I believe in positive reinforcement. A little bit of sugar, and suddenly everything is easier to swallow."

His fingers are at your lips before you can twist away, smearing the thick chocolate against them. The scent is overwhelming, rich and decadent.

"C'mon, open up for me."

You don’t.

His smirk doesn’t waver. "Always so difficult."

And then his fingers are pressing in, forcing past your lips, past your teeth, pressing against your tongue. The taste floods your mouth—bittersweet, heavy. You gag, but he doesn’t let up, pushing deeper, his knuckles brushing against your chin.

"Good girl. See? It’s not so bad."

Your breath stutters when he finally withdraws his fingers, a wet pop accompanying the movement. He watches the way your tongue flicks against the roof of your mouth, the way your throat works to swallow it down. He looks... delighted.

"You should really learn to appreciate the finer things in life, sweetheart. I mean, c’mon." His fingers trail down, dragging chocolate along your collarbone, sticky lines painting your skin. "Doesn't it feel good to be pampered a little?"

You flinch when he moves lower, when his hands slip beneath the sheets, shoving them down in one smooth motion. The cool air prickles against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his touch. His fingers skate over your stomach, slow and teasing, trailing towards your thighs.

"Mmm, I've been waiting for this." His voice dips, almost affectionate. "You're always running that pretty mouth, but I know your body’s honest." His thumb strokes slow circles along your inner thigh, watching the way your breath stutters, watching the way your body flinches against itself. "You know, I read somewhere that taste can be directly linked to pleasure. Makes sense, right?"

The realization sinks in too late.

The spoon clinks against the bowl again, and you barely manage to squirm before something warm, wet, and sticky drips between your legs.

Your body jolts.

The chocolate slides over your skin, down your folds, thick and cloying. It pools at the cleft of your thighs, the sensation foreign, humiliating.

Gojo hums appreciatively. "Pretty. You wear it well."

His hands are spreading your thighs wider, holding you open as he surveys his work. The hunger in his gaze is unmistakable.

"I wonder…" He dips a finger into the mess, swirling idly before dragging it up, pressing it against your clit. The sensation is immediate—warm and slick, a contrast that sends heat sparking up your spine. "Ah, look at you. You always act so cold, but here you are, melting already."

You jolt when his head dips low, the realization making you jolt hard against the restraints.

"W- wait, Gojo—"

"Shhh."

And then his tongue is there, hot and wet and insistent.

The breath is knocked from your lungs. The contrast is jarring—the cool air against the warmth of his mouth, the stickiness of the chocolate, the wet drag of his tongue. He moans against you, loud and unashamed, sucking, licking, devouring.

He’s messy.

Too messy.

His mouth works greedily, tongue flicking against your clit before dipping down, swirling against your entrance. The obscene sounds fill the room—his wet slurping, his breathy groans, the squelch of chocolate and spit mixing between your legs.

"F-fuck," he pants between licks, voice thick with lust. "You taste fucking good."

Your stomach twists, mortified. Your wrists strain against the silk bindings, but his grip on your thighs is vice-like, his fingers digging bruises into your skin as he holds you still.

"S-stop—" Your voice is weak, broken, barely above a whisper.

He laughs against you, the vibrations making your body jerk involuntarily. "Why? You don’t like sweets?" His tongue presses flat against you, licking another slow, deliberate stripe. "Or do you just not like me eating you up like one?"

His fingers join the assault, slick with chocolate and spit, pressing inside without preamble. Your walls clench around him, an involuntary reaction that earns a groan from deep in his chest.

"Shit," he breathes, curling his fingers, stretching you open. "You feel so fucking good." His tongue flicks against your clit, quick and relentless, sending sharp jolts of unwanted pleasure up your spine.

You hate it.

You hate how your body reacts.

Hate how his voice turns breathy and wrecked, how he sounds almost delirious. Pussy drunk. Obsessed. Like he can’t get enough, like he’s been starving for this.

His hips rut against the mattress, desperate for friction. He moans into your cunt, tongue pushing deeper, fingers pressing harder. He sounds ruined.

And the worst part?

You think he likes this more than he ever should.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 ✦✧✦✧

He doesn’t fucking eat pussy.

Never has. Never needed to.

Women begged to suck his dick. Lined up for it. Bent over for it. Any time, any place, like obedient little pets, desperate to be used. It was supposed to be the natural order—he takes, they give. That’s how it worked. That’s how he made it work.

But you? You don’t fucking break right. And that pisses him off.

You’re nothing special, not in the way women usually are. Not a bombshell, not dolled up, not preening for male attention like the sluts he’s used to. Quiet. Smart. Always in your own head, barely sparing him a glance. Some stuck-up little freak who thinks she’s better than him just because she doesn’t drop her panties the second he whistles.

He should’ve hated you.

And he does. But not enough to keep himself from wanting to tear you apart.

Not enough to stop himself from pressing your shaking legs apart, sliding his hands beneath your thighs, and spreading you wide open like he owns you. Because he does. He’s going to make sure of it.

But this.

This wasn’t supposed to fucking happen.

His mouth is on you. And he can’t fucking stop.

His tongue works against your slit, lapping up the slick that coats your soft folds. At first, it was just to see you break—to hear you sob, to make you feel the humiliation of being forced open and devoured by the man you loathe. He wanted you to cry harder, beg, push against his head while he grinned into your cunt.

He didn’t expect to like it.

Didn’t expect it to make his head spin, to make his cock ache so fucking bad his vision goes hazy. Didn’t expect your taste to drag him under like a riptide, his fingers gripping your hips too hard, nails sinking in to hold you still so he can—

What the fuck is wrong with him? He doesn’t do this.

Doesn’t fucking need to.

And yet here he is, burying his tongue into your pussy like a fucking starved man, like an animal, like something feral and unchained. It pisses him off, makes his blood boil, but that only fuels him to go harder, to press his tongue deeper, to flick and suck and force himself to drink you down like some kind of fucking addict.

Your sobs turn into ragged, broken sounds. Gasping. Whimpering. Your thighs twitch, trying to press closed, but he pries them apart again, furious. No fucking way. He’s not letting you hide from him. Not after this. Not after you made him feel this way.

Your body betrays you before you can protest.

A shudder rips through you as his tongue curls around your clit, and your stomach tenses, your hands flying to push at his shoulders—

“Fucking don’t.” His voice is dark, raw, spoken against the mess between your legs. You freeze. He barely recognizes his own voice. He barely recognizes himself.

He’s panting. His breath is ragged, his mouth soaked in you, his grip white-knuckled and bruising where he holds you down. His cock is rock-hard, throbbing against the rough denim of his jeans, and all he can think about is shoving it inside you, fucking you so deep you never recover from it.

But instead, he’s still here. Still eating you out. Still losing his fucking mind over it.

His tongue flicks over your clit again, then again, then again, punishing, relentless, until your back arches and you keeeen—

And fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your cunt clenches in response, a weak little tremor that has his own body reacting like he’s just been shot. He grips your thighs so hard they’ll bruise, presses his tongue in so deep he might suffocate himself. His mind is white-hot static. The taste of you is the only thing that exists, and he hates you for it. Hates you because he likes this, because he’s never let himself like anything this much.

Your body writhes beneath him, hips jerking, as if you could escape. He growls against your clit, sucking hard, punishing, wrecking, until—

A scream rips from your throat.

You shatter against him, thighs trembling violently, your cunt pulsing with the force of your orgasm, and he doesn’t let up.

He won’t let up.

His jaw aches. His lips are swollen, tongue raw, fingers buried into your flesh so hard he might leave scars. He doesn’t fucking care. He’s starving. He needs more. More of you, more of this, more of the thing he never should have allowed himself to touch in the first place.

And when he finally pulls back, his face is drenched. His pupils are blown, his breath harsh, his cock aching so bad he might pass out from it.

You’re shaking, a sobbing mess, your body limp from the aftershocks. And when you open your mouth—maybe to beg, maybe to curse, maybe to sob his name—he cuts you off with a sharp, guttural snarl:

“Shut the fuck up.”

You don’t listen, voice cracking around a sob. His expression twists.

He stands. Grabs you.

Flips you onto your stomach.

Yanks your ass up, shoves your face down.

He can’t think anymore. Can’t breathe anymore. And it’s your fucking fault.

So now? Now you’re going to pay for it.

His belt hits the floor.

His jeans follow.

His cock presses against the slick mess he made between your thighs, head throbbing, burning, soaked in his own precum and your own unwilling release.

He fists your hair, yanks your head back to hiss in your ear—

“I don’t eat pussy.”

And then he shoves inside.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐏𝐫��𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫! 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧! 𝐑𝐞𝐱 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐬 ✦✧✦✧

He watches you struggle in your seat, back pressed against the polished wood of his office chair, the cold leather beneath you a contrast to the fire burning in his golden eyes. Rex Lapis—your professor, your sponsor, your guardian—leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, as though contemplating a matter of academic gravity rather than the trembling girl before him.

“You disappoint me.”

Three words. Measured. Heavy. They slide down your spine like a branding iron, burning you in a way far worse than any physical punishment he’s given before. The weight of his disappointment is worse than the sharpest reprimand. Worse than the lash of his tongue in class, where he berates you for careless mistakes, where he calls you an ‘insipid little girl who refuses to learn.’

But here? In his private office? The words take on a different meaning. One that makes your stomach coil tight, a snake of dread slithering into your gut.

“I have given you everything,” he muses, tilting his head ever so slightly, golden eyes sharpening. “This school. This future. My sponsorship. And yet… you squander it.”

He stands. The slow, deliberate movement makes your breath hitch. He is all sharp angles and coiled strength, honed through centuries of war, battle-hardened from an age where men ripped each other apart for the right to breathe.

“I expect more from you.” He takes a step forward, and your legs press tighter together instinctively. His lips curl.

“Ah. There it is,” he murmurs, almost amused. “That resistance. That little streak of defiance.”

A calloused hand finds your chin, gripping, tilting your face up to meet his stare. Your breath catches in your throat. His fingers tighten. Just enough to remind you of your place.

“You are too easily distracted. Too easily led astray.” His thumb brushes your lower lip. His eyes darken. “I must break that.”

Your pulse spikes. “Professor—”

The slap comes swift, a sharp crack echoing through the silence. Your head snaps to the side, cheek burning. A whimper stumbles from your lips before you can swallow it down.

“Ah. There’s the voice I prefer.”

He grips your thighs next, wrenches them apart. You yelp, fingers clawing at his arms, his wrists—anywhere you can reach—but he is immovable. Unshakable.

“Still fighting? Still so stubborn?” His chuckle is dark, condescending. “You never learn.”

The next moment, his mouth is on you.

A cry rips from your throat. His teeth sink into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, a cruel nip before his tongue laves over the spot, soothing, claiming. He drags his mouth higher, lips ghosting over your untouched heat.

You thrash.

“No, no, no—”

Your pleas are swallowed by the sharp crack of another slap, this one landing against the softness of your thigh. Heat blossoms in its wake, burning, humiliating. He does it again. And again. Until the pain blurs into something else. Until your legs tremble and your body betrays you.

“You are mine to correct.”

His voice is muffled, spoken against your most intimate place. Then his tongue—oh, his forked tongue. It flicks, teases, before delving deep, as if seeking to taste the very essence of your disobedience. He groans, the vibrations sending a jolt through your spine. His clawed fingers dig into your hips, holding you down, forcing you to take every flick, every roll, every punishing suckle.

Your nails dig into the arms of the chair, but the leather offers no mercy. No salvation.

His pace is brutal. Unrelenting.

He devours you like a starving beast, tongue pushing into you, twisting, drinking in every reaction, every flinch, every shudder. Your thighs try to snap shut around his head, but he growls, a warning, a threat, and forces them wider, fingers bruising your flesh.

“You taste…” A sharp nip. A long, slow lap. “Sweet, despite your sins.”

You whimper, body taut with shame, with fear, with the overwhelming sensation of being utterly at his mercy.

His fingers ghost over your entrance before shoving inside, two at once. You choke on a sob, body arching off the chair, but his other hand presses down on your stomach, keeping you trapped beneath his touch.

“Already squeezing me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Your body knows its master well.”

His fingers curl, dragging against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you. Your legs jerk. He smirks against you, tongue never stopping, lapping, sucking, owning.

Pussy-drunk.

That’s what he is.

Lost in you. Lost in the taste, in the heat, in the way you tremble under him, helpless and ruined.

Your body shakes. Your nails scrape against his scalp, pushing, pulling, desperate to get him away, desperate for him to stop.

He only laughs.

Cruel.

Sadistic.

Then he bites down on your clit.

A sharp, brutal jolt of pain sends your mind spiraling, white-hot and blinding. Your scream is muffled by his large palm suddenly clamping over your mouth.

“Hush,” he warns, breath fanning against your soaked skin. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear how depraved you are.”

He slaps your thigh again. Sharp. Stinging.

“Ungrateful little thing.”

Another slap.

You sob, muffled against his palm, tears spilling from your eyes.

“Perhaps I should keep you here all night,” he muses, licking up the evidence of his torment. “Until you finally understand who you belong to.”

Your body betrays you again. Your stomach coils, tension tightening to an unbearable point. He feels it.

He grins.

Then he buries his face between your thighs once more, drinking in your ruin.

“You will not fail me again,” he murmured, his fingers trailing up your trembling body. “You will be better. You will be mine.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥! 𝐀𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ✦✧✦✧

He never considered himself an impulsive man. Logic dictated every action, every carefully weighed decision. But tonight, your laughter, your distracted eyes lingering on another man's lips, your voice—so sweet, so ignorant—became the fault line that split apart the foundation of his restraint.

Alhaitham’s fingers brush against the rim of his glass, his gaze shadowed beneath the dim dormitory light. The scent of ink and parchment lingers, mingling with the faint trace of something sweeter—something chemical, dissolving into the depths of your drink as you chatter away, oblivious.

The aphrodisiac is slow-acting, calibrated precisely. He'd tested it, measured its potency down to the molecule. No room for error. No risk of overdose. Just enough to make you pliant, fevered—enough to make you need him.

“Do you always stare this much when we’re studying?”

Your voice is teasing, but there’s wariness beneath it. You’ve always been sharp, frustratingly so. A perfect rival, an infuriating thorn. A woman so brilliant yet so blind. Alhaitham schools his expression, feigning nonchalance as he flips a page in his research journal.

“Your arguments are flawed,” he mutters, eyes dragging across the words rather than meeting your gaze. “I assumed prolonged exposure to my intellect would have improved your reasoning skills, but apparently, I overestimated you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but you don’t notice the slight tremor in your hands as you grip your pen. Not yet. The change is gradual—first, the warmth spreading through your skin, then the subtle, disorienting haze slipping over your mind.

Minutes pass. Then more. Your breath hitches. You shift uncomfortably, legs pressing together beneath the table. A sheen of sweat glistens at your temple, and when you blink up at him, there’s a flicker of something vulnerable in your expression.

“…I think I need some air.”

He smiles. It’s almost genuine. “Do you?”

You move to stand, but your knees buckle. His chair scrapes against the floor as he rises—too quick, too measured. You don’t even have time to recoil before his arms are around you, steadying you with an ease that feels rehearsed.

His hand splays over the small of your back. His breath ghosts against your ear. You’re trembling now, caught in the precise balance between confusion and need, between fear and the slow, traitorous hunger unfurling in your stomach.

“I can help you,” he murmurs, voice smooth, unshaken. “Let me.”

Panic flickers in your gaze. “Alhaitham…? What did you…?”

Your lips part, perhaps to accuse him, perhaps to beg. It doesn’t matter. He’s already moving, already pulling you into the abyss he’s so meticulously crafted.

✦✧✦✧

The mattress dips beneath you as he settles between your legs. You’re too weak to push him away now, too lost in the fever. He watches, mesmerized, as your body writhes, helpless against the storm of sensations overtaking you.

His hands part your thighs, and the sight of you—panting, squirming, slick with an unwilling desire that only he can soothe—renders him breathless.

Alhaitham is a scholar. A man of reason. But nothing in his studies, nothing in his countless observations of you, could have prepared him for this.

You whimper, trying to twist away, but he grips your thighs, holding you open with a strength that leaves bruises. “Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, voice heavy with something dark, something possessive. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Tears well in your eyes, a denial forming on your lips, but then he leans down, pressing his mouth against the burning heat of your core.

You choke on a gasp, your body jolting as if struck by lightning.

He groans against you, tongue dragging slow, deliberate paths through your wetness. The taste of you is intoxicating—salty, sweet, unwilling. He drinks it in, lost, consumed, enslaved to the very thing he’s taken.

Your thighs try to snap shut, but his grip is unrelenting. Every inch of your skin beneath his fingers is branded, owned. His tongue flicks against your clit, and your sobbing moan is the most exquisite sound he’s ever heard.

He’s never done this before, never touched another body like this, but it doesn’t matter. He’s studied anatomy, observed every nuance of your reactions. He knows what makes you shudder, what makes your breath hitch, what forces pleasure through your resistance like an invasive sickness.

His fingers slip inside you without preamble, and your back arches, a sob breaking past your lips. He curls them, stroking deep, ruthless in his precision, in the way he tears you apart.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your cunt, pulling back just enough to watch your flushed, tear-streaked face. “You taste…” He licks into you again, groaning. “Better than I expected.”

Your walls clench around him, betraying you, and his eyes darken.

You can’t stop this. Can’t stop him. The aphrodisiac won’t let you. Your own body won’t let you.

The thought terrifies you.

But it excites him.

He’s hard, aching, unbearably so. His free hand moves to unfasten his belt, but he doesn’t stop devouring you, doesn’t stop sucking at the swollen bud of your clit until your cries turn breathless, high-pitched.

Your pleasure isn’t supposed to matter. And yet, the idea of pulling it from you—ripping it from your unwilling body, forcing you to fall apart beneath him—is the most arousing thing he’s ever imagined.

He needs more. More of your taste, more of your sounds, more of the helpless tremble in your limbs as he ruins you.

His name leaves your lips—a broken sob, a plea—but he doesn’t stop.

He wouldn’t dream of stopping.

Because you are his.

You just don’t realize it yet.

Your orgasm slams into you without warning. Your body jerks, a cry ripped from your throat as you shatter, pleasure crashing over you in unbearable waves. Alhaitham groans against you, lapping up every drop, refusing to let you go even as you twitch, oversensitive and gasping.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with arousal. “But we’re not done.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his face drenched in your slick, his gaze dark, unreadable.

He licks his lips.

“I need more data.”

You’re boneless beneath him now, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp. Your eyes, half-lidded, glisten with tears. He watches the rise and fall of your breath, the tremor in your fingers as you try—weakly, pathetically—to push him away.

He catches your wrist. Presses a kiss to your pulse. Feels it hammer beneath his lips.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, voice a hushed vow, a cruel promise. “Aren’t you?”

Your lips tremble. You shake your head.

He smiles.

Then he undoes his belt.

And logic no longer holds any meaning.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 ✦✧✦✧

The marble floors are cold beneath his bare feet. He’s already stripped off his tie and jacket, the once-pristine image of class and composure unraveling thread by thread. His fingers brush his lips absently, tongue darting out to chase the phantom taste of you. He had barely begun, and yet his body thrums with insatiable hunger.

He is supposed to be above this.

But you make him lose himself.

His breath comes slow and measured, yet his eyes gleam with something sharp, something ruthless. You tremble against the silken sheets beneath you, the remnants of your protests still lingering in the air, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. Not when your scent is still thick on his tongue. Not when his fingers are pressing against your trembling thighs, parting them as if they belong to him.

Because they do.

“You’re shaking,” he muses, voice velvet smooth, a gentle mockery that makes your stomach twist. “I haven’t even started yet.”

He relishes in the fear flashing across your gaze, the way your lips part—not in invitation, but in refusal. It’s cute. Almost sweet. The way you still think you have a say in this.

Sunday sighs, long and drawn out, as if disappointed.

“Why do you fight me on this?” His fingers trail up your thigh, featherlight yet firm. You flinch, and his smile widens, something serene—angelic, almost.

“It’s as if you don’t understand.” He leans in, slow, inexorable. The warmth of his breath fans over your throat. “This was inevitable.”

You jerk when his lips brush your collarbone. A soft laugh vibrates against your skin, his fingers pressing deeper into your flesh. He could hold you down if he wanted to—force you apart, break you in half. But there’s no need for that. He’s far more patient than you deserve.

And besides, you’ll learn soon enough.

Your lips part to speak, but he shushes you, his thumb pressing against your lower lip, dragging it down ever so slightly. His pupils are blown wide, drunk off your scent, your taste.

“I should punish you,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, as if lost in prayer. “For making me wait. For making me suffer.”

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. He wants to savor this.

His mouth trails lower, pressing reverent, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, his hands mapping out every trembling inch of you. When he parts your legs wider, you squeeze your eyes shut, breath hitching as cool air kisses your damp skin.

“Look at you,” he breathes, reverence laced with something dark, something dangerous. “You say no, but your body…” He exhales softly, almost dazed. “Your body is so, so honest.”

Your nails dig into the sheets, and he laughs again, breath ghosting over your thighs. He lets you feel the weight of his stare, the heat of his breath, the unbearable anticipation that coils tight in your stomach.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

You make a sound—a whimper, a plea, it hardly matters. Because the moment you do, he descends.

His tongue presses against you, slow, deliberate, savoring. A broken moan slips from his lips, muffled against your folds. He hums, pleased, eyes fluttering shut as he drowns himself in the taste of you.

“So sweet,” he groans, his grip tightening around your thighs, forcing them open. “So perfect.”

Your breath stutters, a choked whimper escaping as his tongue moves with sinful precision, flicking against your clit, then dragging down to lap at your entrance.

He���s ravenous. Starved. Every stroke of his tongue is indulgent, worshipful, yet possessive in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You try to push him away—your fingers tangling in his hair, weakly attempting to shove him back. But the moment you do, his grip turns bruising, a warning growl vibrating against your core.

“Ungrateful,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His lips are glistening, his breath heavy, pupils blown wide with something terrifying. “You fight me even now?”

Your fingers tremble against his scalp, and he smiles—slow, cruel.

“I’ll have to fix that.”

Before you can react, his mouth is on you again, his tongue delving deep, curling inside you. He groans as your walls flutter around him, as your thighs twitch against his hold. His nose brushes against your clit, his grip keeping you still as he devours you whole.

His world narrows to this—to you. The taste, the heat, the way your body clenches and trembles under his touch. He’s dizzy with it, drunk off it, his thoughts clouded with nothing but the primal need to consume.

You sob when he sucks your clit between his lips, the pleasure sharp, unbearable. His fingers join the assault, pressing inside you, stretching you open as if molding you to fit him.

His free hand drags up your stomach, pressing against the soft flesh, feeling the way you spasm under his touch. His lips part, a broken moan spilling out as he flicks his tongue against your swollen nub, never once relenting.

“Give it to me,” he murmurs, half-dazed, half-commanding. “I want it. I want all of it.”

Your body betrays you, pleasure ripping through your spine, leaving you breathless, trembling, undone. You sob as your climax crashes over you, your body writhing against the sheets, against him.

But he doesn’t stop.

Not when you whimper, not when you try to push him away, not when tears slip down your cheeks, and certainly not when you beg.

Because it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

His lips move against your oversensitive flesh, relentless, insatiable. His fingers curl inside you, coaxing more, demanding more. Your thighs twitch, your back arching against the overwhelming sensation, but he doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

Not until you’ve broken completely.

“I told you, little sister.” His voice is a breathy whisper, almost regretful. “You only need me.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧! 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦✧✦✧

The room stinks of old wood and cigarette smoke, a haze of whiskey and sweat clinging to the air. The walls creak, ancient with dust and decay, pressing in like a silent audience. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. The only sound is the soft hum of the ceiling fan, slow, deliberate rotations slicing through the quiet.

Then, his voice. Low. Drawling. Dripping with amusement.

"Darlin’, reckon you know why yer sittin’ there all stiff-like."

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your body is frozen in place, perched on the edge of a bed that feels too large, too suffocating. The door is locked. You heard the click behind you when he walked in, boots heavy against the floorboards, the distinct jingle of his belt unbuckling echoing in the suffocating air.

Boothill tilts his head, pushing the brim of his cowboy hat up with a lazy finger. Those sharp grey eyes glint under the dim light, dragging over you like a slow, cruel brand. He looks at you the way a starving animal sizes up fresh meat.

"Aw, darlin’… ain’t no need to look so damn scared. Ain’t like I’m gonna bite." His grin is a razor-thin slash across his face. "Unless y’want me to."

You swallow, pressing your thighs together, fingers knotting in the fabric of your dress. But it doesn’t matter. He notices everything. The way your breath catches. The slight shiver running through you. The way your knees twitch inward, like you think that’ll stop him.

He steps forward. Closer.

"Go on now," he murmurs, voice syrup-thick and full of wicked intent. "Spread ‘em."

You shake your head. A mistake. The rejection makes his expression shift, the casual amusement twisting into something darker, hungrier.

His knee presses between your thighs, forcing them apart, and you gasp. He leans in, breath hot against your cheek, the scent of tobacco and whiskey filling your lungs.

"Ain’t like you got much say in it, sugar," he whispers. "We both know that."

His hands are rough, calloused from years of hard work, gripping your thighs and dragging them further apart. The sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears, drowning out everything but him—his breath, his heat, the weight of his stare as he drinks in the sight of you.

"Ain’t this a damn shame," Boothill tuts, sliding his fingers up, slow, teasing, barely grazing where you don’t want him. "Gotta teach ya how to be obedient."

Your breath stutters as he hooks his fingers around the edge of your panties and yanks them down. The cool air hits your bare skin, sending a violent shudder through you. He groans at the sight, his pupils blowing wide.

"Fuckin’ hell, darlin’… look atcha. Y’look real pretty when yer scared."

You whimper, a fresh wave of humiliation and horror surging through you. He doesn’t care. If anything, it fuels him.

His mouth finds your inner thigh, teeth scraping against soft flesh. The wet heat of his tongue follows, slow and indulgent, dragging up the sensitive skin. The sharp stubble on his jaw scratches as he moves, teasing, tormenting, making you squirm.

"Shhh, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. Let daddy take care of ya."

The words make you choke.

His tongue flicks out, dragging a wet stripe right over your slit, and you jolt violently, a strangled gasp ripping from your throat.

"Oh-ho," Boothill chuckles darkly, voice muffled against your skin. "Sensitive lil’ thing, huh?"

His grip tightens on your thighs, locking you in place as he presses his mouth against you, slow, savoring the way you twitch and struggle.

"Fuckin’ divine…" he groans, rolling his tongue over you, licking you open like a man who hasn’t eaten in days. "Holy shit, darlin’—ya taste so sweet, might get drunk off ya."

You let out a broken sound, hands flying to his hair to push him away—but that only makes him groan deeper, rumbling against your core.

"Nah, sugar. That’s real fuckin’ cute, but ya ain’t goin’ nowhere."

He sucks hard, the obscene sound of his mouth working against you filling the room. It’s too much. Too wet, too hot, too depraved. His tongue pushes inside, curling, tasting, licking, and he moans like he’s the one being pleasured.

"S’like honey," he slurs, his voice pussy-drunk, heavy with lust. "Fuck, darlin’… need more."

You shake your head wildly, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, hands spreading you wider as he devours you, the slick noises mixing with his groans. He grinds his hips into the mattress, rutting against it like a desperate man, like just tasting you is enough to get him off.

"Mmm, yeah, sugar," he grunts, sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it again and again until your legs shake violently. "Give it up for me."

You sob. Your body betrays you, trembling under his ruthless tongue, the unwanted pleasure blurring into something unbearable. He knows. He can feel it. The way your thighs quiver. The way your breathing turns ragged. The way your body—traitorous, weak—reacts to him.

"Atta girl," he growls. "Fuckin’ knew ya’d be sweet on my tongue."

Your vision blurs, the pressure building unbearable, twisting into something shameful, something you don’t want but can’t fight. Boothill doesn’t let up. He’s relentless, dragging you right to the edge, his hands gripping you so tight you’ll have bruises tomorrow.

"C’mon now, sugar," he coaxes. "Be a good girl an’ cum all over daddy’s tongue."

Tears streak down your cheeks. You shake your head, a final desperate denial—but then he moans, vibrating against your clit, and your body locks up with a strangled cry.

Pleasure crashes over you like a violent tide, dragging you under, drowning you. You convulse against him, and he groans like he’s the one coming, drinking you in, licking up every last drop as you shatter beneath him.

"Fuuuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Shit! Damn." He pulls back, licking his lips, his chin glistening with you. "Knew ya’d be the best fuckin’ thing I ever tasted."

You barely register the rustling of fabric, the clinking of his belt.

"Now," Boothill drawls, voice thick with arousal, "reckon it’s ‘bout time we get to the real fun."

Your stomach drops.

He grins down at you, his cock hard, leaking against his stomach, the tip flushed an angry red.

"Don’t worry, sugar," he purrs, gripping your hips, lining himself up. "I’ll make sure ya feel every damn inch."

And then—

Pain.

Pleasure.

Terror.

The bed creaks. The ceiling fan spins. The world outside is silent.

And Boothill fucks you like you’re his.

He ain’t never been good at sharin’. Ain’t never been good at lettin’ go of somethin’ that’s his.

And, sugar—you’ve been his since the day you were born.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ✦✧✦✧

He isn’t your brother. Not really.

That’s what you tell yourself, have always told yourself, a little mantra inside your head every time you catch him watching you. A comforting phrase, a dividing wall. Older step-brother. Not blood. Not real. Just family on paper, through marriage and circumstance. That distinction should mean nothing.

But it means everything to him.

The first time he met you, he knew. He always knew, from the second you walked into his life with those sharp, tired eyes and that constant aura of detached calculation, of dismissive apathy. You were different. You weren’t swayed by his easy charm, his golden-boy image, his "gentle giant" reputation. You tolerated him, at best. Mocked him, at worst. He hated it.

He loved it.

It made him want to ruin you.

And he would.

Tonight.

✦✧✦✧

Your apartment is quiet.

It’s late. Too late for visitors. And yet, when you unlock your front door, the first thing you hear is the heavy scrape of a chair against the floor.

He’s already inside.

Sitting at your table like he owns the place, long legs sprawled, fingers drumming against the wood. He looks up when you enter, expression neutral, but there’s something in his eyes.

You stop. The keys in your hand tighten. A slow, creeping unease spreads down your spine.

“Caleb.”

His name feels foreign on your tongue. You’ve said it a million times before, but tonight, it’s different. There’s something off about him. The way he watches you, completely still, something restrained simmering just beneath the surface.

He smiles. A slow, lazy thing. “Hey, kid.”

You bristle. “Don’t call me that.”

He laughs. “Still so prickly.” He stands, stretching, broad shoulders rolling beneath his hoodie. He’s always been big—tall, muscular, thick in a way that most men can’t compare—but tonight, it feels different. He feels different.

A predator in your home.

Your heartbeat picks up. You shift on your feet, fingers twitching toward the pepper spray in your pocket. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” He steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing the waters. “Haven’t spent much time together lately. Thought we should change that.”

“You could’ve called.”

“I did.” His smile widens. “You ignored me.”

The air in the room turns suffocating. He’s close now. Too close. His presence looms, and you realize, with a sick twist of dread, that he’s cornering you without even touching you.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“Work. Friends. My own fucking life.” You glare up at him, refusing to show fear, even as your stomach twists itself into knots. “You don’t own my time.”

Something flickers in his eyes.

Then he moves.

Fast. So fast that you barely register it before he has you against the wall, your wrist pinned above your head, his other hand gripping your waist. The pepper spray is ripped from your pocket and clatters to the floor. Your breath stutters.

His grip is firm. Unbreakable. His body is hot against yours, his size overwhelming, the scent of his cologne and something deeper—something uniquely him—filling your lungs.

He leans in. His nose brushes against your temple. “Busy, huh?” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “Too busy for me?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “Let me go.”

“No.”

You struggle, but it’s useless. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he could. That he will. His breath ghosts over your cheek, slow, measured, savoring. “I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “So fucking patient.”

You thrash. His hold doesn’t budge.

“You don’t look at me,” he says, voice rough. “Not the way you look at other men. Like I’m some harmless fucking puppy, like I’m just there. Like I’m nothing to you.”

His grip on your waist drags lower, fingers teasing over the curve of your hip. A shudder rips through you, disgust and fear colliding, twisting into something sick and vile.

“You’re sick,” you hiss. “You—”

A gasp tears from your throat as he presses his mouth to your neck. Wet heat. Teeth scraping. A pleased sound rumbles in his chest when you squirm, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your stomach.

“No more ignoring me,” he whispers against your skin. “No more pretending I’m just your fucking brother.”

Your world tilts. The next thing you know, you’re on the floor, the cool wood against your back, his weight pressing you down.

Panic flares. You kick out, thrash, fight with everything you have, but it’s useless. He’s too strong. Too big. His hands pin you, restrain you, force you open beneath him.

Then his mouth is on you.

Your shirt is yanked up, his tongue dragging over your stomach, trailing lower, lower—

“No—!”

His teeth sink into your hip. Sharp. Possessive. A warning. You gasp, hips jerking, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. His hands part your thighs, grip unyielding, bruising, spreading you wide open for him.

Then his mouth meets your core.

It’s obscene. The way he groans, the way his tongue moves, slow and thorough, as if he’s savoring every fucking inch of you. His grip tightens when you try to twist away, holding you still, forcing you to take it. His tongue dips, presses, curls, and your body betrays you, a traitorous jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine.

You bite your lip, refusing to make a sound.

But he notices.

He always notices.

“Still so stubborn.” His voice is husky, thick with hunger, muffled against your slick. “I can feel you shaking.” A wet, lewd sound follows as he suckles at your clit, groaning into your skin. “God, you taste so fucking good.”

Shame coils in your gut. Your hands fist in his hair, meaning to shove him away, to stop this—but when your fingers tighten, all it does is make him groan.

“Yeah?” he breathes, looking up at you, his lips glistening. “You finally touching me?” He grins. “Bet you don’t even realize what you’re doing.”

Tears burn your eyes. “I hate you.”

“I know,” he murmurs. Then he dives back in.

His tongue fucks into you, slow and purposeful, one thick finger pressing in, then two, stretching you open, fucking you open, ruining you for anyone else.

You gasp. Your back arches, your thighs tremble, but there’s no escaping him. No escaping this.

“Gonna make you cum on my tongue.” His voice is a dark promise. “Then I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll never think of another man again.”

Your breath stutters, and you realize—with horror, with devastation—that he’s telling the truth.

You will never be the same after this.

And he knows it.

Because he’s already won.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲! 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 ✦✧✦✧

There’s blood in your mouth.

Maybe it’s his, maybe it’s yours. The copper sting burns through the alcohol on your tongue, mixing with the bile climbing up your throat.

The air is thick with sweat and spilled liquor, bass thumping through your ribs, but none of it drowns out the sharp slap of his palm against your cheek.

“Bitch, you listenin’ to me?”

Your head snaps sideways, vision momentarily whiting out from the impact, but it barely fazes him. Bakugo's grin splits wide, sharp canines glinting in the dim light, eyes feral as he watches the slow tremble of your lips.

The party roars on behind him. You can feel the weight of bodies pressed into each other, the drunken cheers, the careless indulgence of college students too fucked up to care about anything but the heat of their own bodies.

He doesn’t give a fuck about them.

He only gives a fuck about you.

Bakugo jerks your head back by the roots of your hair, dragging your gaze up to meet his, the burn of his fingers against your scalp anchoring you in place. The red flush across his face isn’t just from the alcohol, not when his pupils are blown wide and his breathing comes in uneven pants. He’s high on this. High on you.

“You really think you’re better than me?” His breath fans across your lips, soaked in whiskey and spite. “Fuckin' stuck-up little bitch—actin' like you don't see me. Actin' like you ain't got my fuckin' eyes on you every shitty day.”

Your stomach lurches as he yanks you forward, the crowd parting around you both like a goddamn spectacle. You try to brace against him, hands weakly shoving at his chest, but he’s immovable. Bakugo only snarls, spinning you around and shoving you against the sticky countertop, pressing the heavy weight of his body against your back.

“Nah,” he breathes, hot and vicious against the shell of your ear. “Not runnin'. Not tonight.”

You barely get the chance to suck in a breath before he kicks your legs apart. One of his arms loops around your middle, dragging you back against his chest while his free hand snakes up your thigh. A violent tremor wracks through you when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down in one swift motion.

“Katsuki—”

He laughs.

“Oh, now you wanna say my name?” His fingers ghost over your exposed slit, barely there, but enough to make you jolt. “Now you wanna fuckin' act like you got somethin' to say?”

He doesn't wait for a response.

Two fingers push inside you without preamble, knuckles deep, dragging out a choked, unwilling sob from your throat. Your hips twitch, trying to pull away, but he presses you down harder against the counter, keeping you trapped between his body and the wood. His fingers curl inside you, rubbing against your walls in deep, slow strokes, his cock twitching against your ass at the way you pulse around him.

“So fuckin' tight,” he growls. “Ain't nobody ever touched this pussy before? Hah?”

You want to scream. You want to thrash and claw and bite.

But the laughter behind you tells you that no one would care.

Bakugo spreads you open with both hands, prying apart your folds to get a better look at the slick beginning to smear between your thighs. He groans, low and hungry, shoving his face against you. The first hot drag of his tongue across your cunt makes your stomach turn, makes your nails scrape against the counter in desperation.

But he doesn’t stop.

He moans like he’s fucking drunk on the taste of you. His tongue laps through your slit, slow at first, savoring it. Then, like a man starved, he shoves his face deeper between your legs, his nose pressed against your clit while his tongue flicks and sucks. You jerk, a stifled cry ripping from your throat when he buries himself into you like a ravenous animal.

Your hands fly back to shove him away, but he only growls against your cunt, nipping at your inner thigh in warning.

“Don’t fuckin' run from me,” he pants, voice ragged. “Ain't gonna let you.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, and your knees nearly buckle. His fingers dig bruises into your thighs, forcing them open wider as he eats you out like a man possessed, like he’s never had anything so fucking good in his mouth before.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

Your body shouldn’t be responding to him, shouldn’t be trembling under his grip, shouldn’t be letting his tongue push so deep inside you it makes your spine arch.

Bakugo laughs when he feels the way you clench, the way you twitch and shake against him, the way your hips push back just a little against his face.

“Yeah,” he breathes, mouth slick with your juices, eyes burning with something wild and unhinged. “Yeah, that’s it, bitch. Fuckin' knew you’d melt for me.”

Your cheeks burn with humiliation.

Because you can feel it too—the slow, creeping pressure building inside you, the traitorous heat pooling between your thighs despite every single cell in your body screaming at you to fight.

His fingers dig into your ass, bruising and possessive, spreading you open for him even wider as he groans against your cunt, the vibrations making your knees give out. He grins against you, eating you out with wet, obscene sounds, completely unbothered by the way your thighs tremble, by the way your hands desperately grip the edge of the counter as he shoves his tongue inside you as deep as it can go.

“Taste so fuckin' sweet,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “This pussy was made for me, hah? Fuckin' perfect little hole…"

Your vision is swimming, the air in your lungs thinning as his tongue drags over your clit, relentless, ruthless, until you can't take it anymore, until your body betrays you completely and your orgasm crashes down without warning.

Your back arches, a strangled sob ripping from your lips as you tremble against him, the shame and pleasure a sickening mix that makes your head spin. Bakugo groans, slurping up every drop of your release, licking and sucking even as your body convulses in his hold, completely and utterly spent.

He doesn't stop.

Even as your thighs twitch, even as your nails carve into the wood, even as tears spill down your cheeks from the overstimulation, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, keeps devouring you like he can’t get enough.

“Fuckin' pussy-drunk off you, baby,” he breathes, voice ruined, eyes dark and desperate as he stares at the mess he's made of you. “Ain't never lettin' this go.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 ✦✧✦✧

You shouldn't have smiled at him.

Atsumu has never been the jealous type—at least, that’s what he’s always told himself. Possessiveness? Disgusting. Clinginess? Even worse. He’s a fuckboy, not a damn sap, and yet here he is, hands clamped so tightly around your wrists that your bones groan in protest, dragging you through the dimly lit hallway of the party like you’re nothing more than a ragdoll.

It’s funny, really.

All it took was a lingering glance at your so-called best friend, and he fucking snapped.

The closet door slams behind you, plunging you into suffocating darkness. The sharp scent of cedar and mothballs invades your nose, but all you can focus on is him—his panting breath, the brutal way he shoves you against the wall, his fingers bruising the delicate skin of your throat.

"Think yer funny, huh?" he hisses, voice thick with something dark, something dangerous. "Batting yer eyes at that piece of shit? Laughin’ at his dumbass jokes? Y’like him or somethin’?"

Your lips part, but the words die before they can escape.

Because Atsumu is angry.

Not the playful irritation you’re used to—the kind that ends with a scoff and an eye-roll. No, this is something else entirely. Something lethal. His fingers tighten around your throat just enough to make your head spin, your pulse hammering like a caged animal against his grip.

"Atsumu," you whisper, voice barely above a breath. "I didn’t—"

"Shut the fuck up."

His knee shoves between your thighs, spreading them wide, pinning you in place. Your heart slams against your ribs as his free hand slips under your skirt, rough fingers skating up the inside of your thigh.

"Y’wanna act like a slut? Then I’ll treat ya like one."

Your stomach twists violently. Panic claws up your throat, but he doesn't give you the chance to fight back. His mouth crashes against yours—hot, desperate, punishing. Teeth sink into your lower lip, tearing at the delicate flesh, the taste of iron blooming across your tongue.

The room is too small, too hot. His scent surrounds you, drowning you in sweat, cologne, and something unmistakably Atsumu. You thrash, nails raking against his biceps, his neck—anywhere you can reach—but he only groans, grinding his thigh against your core like he’s getting off on your struggle.

"That’s it," he rasps, his breath scalding against your cheek. "Fight me. Gimme a reason to break ya."

Your breath stutters when he yanks your panties down, leaving them bunched around your knees. His fingers are on you before you can process what’s happening, rough pads sliding through your folds, spreading you open.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice wrecked. "Always so damn warm. So fuckin’ wet. This for me? Or were ya hopin’ that little shit out there would be the one touchin’ ya?"

Shame burns beneath your skin, hot and humiliating. "Please—"

"Please what?" He sneers. "Y’want me to stop? Then why’s yer pussy beggin’ for me, huh? Drippin’ all over my fuckin’ fingers."

Two fingers sink into you without warning, stretching you wide. A strangled gasp rips from your throat, your body arching instinctively, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Atsumu is everywhere—all-consuming, relentless, insatiable.

"Fuck, fuck—look at this pretty little hole, takin’ me so easy," he murmurs, mesmerized. "Like ya were made for me."

His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing tight, punishing circles that send electricity crackling up your spine. The pleasure is too much, too fast, coiling low in your stomach, threatening to snap.

And he knows it.

"Yeah? Y’gonna come already? So damn easy, holy fuck." He laughs, mean and breathless, curling his fingers just right. "C’mon, slut. Make a mess for me. Show me who ya belong to."

Your body betrays you, pleasure crashing over you in violent waves. A choked sob wrenches past your lips, and Atsumu watches, eyes dark with hunger, as you shatter against his hand.

"Holy shit," he whispers, withdrawing his fingers, watching the slick strings between them. "Yer so fuckin’ perfect. Y’don’t even know."

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s sinking to his knees, shoving your skirt up around your waist. His grip is bruising as he hooks your thighs over his shoulders, pressing you back against the wall.

"Atsumu—"

The first lick steals the air from your lungs.

Hot, wet, obscene—his tongue drags through your folds, collecting every drop of slick you’ve spilled for him. A ragged moan vibrates against your clit as he buries his face in you, licking, sucking, devouring like a man starved.

"Taste so fuckin’ sweet," he slurs against you, drunk on the heat of your cunt. "So fuckin’ perfect, baby. Could eat ya for hours."

You try to squirm, try to shove him away, but he only growls, pressing his tongue flat against you before flicking it over your clit, slow and deliberate.

"Stay fuckin’ still," he snaps. "Let me fuckin’ enjoy this."

Your thighs tremble against his shoulders, nails digging into his scalp as his tongue fucks into you, messy and desperate. Slurping, sucking, swallowing—he doesn’t care how filthy it is, how humiliatingly loud. He wants you to drown in it, wants you to hear how much he fucking needs this.

You feel him rutting against your calf, grinding his cock against your skin like he’s getting off just from tasting you.

"M’so fuckin’ hard," he groans. "Fuck, baby—gonna come just from this. Just from this pretty pussy."

Your head spins. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, your body strung so tight it hurts.

"Atsumu, I—"

He hums against your clit, sucking the swollen nub between his lips, and you break.

White-hot pleasure crashes through you, tearing a scream from your throat. Your body locks up, every muscle seizing as you come, and Atsumu moans, drinking it down like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

"That’s it," he breathes, voice wrecked. "Fuckin’ knew ya could gimme one more."

Your legs nearly give out as he pulls back, chin glistening, pupils blown wide. He looks utterly debauched—cheeks flushed, hair a mess, lips wet and swollen.

"Y’ain’t done yet, sweetheart," he murmurs, standing to his full height. His fingers work at his belt, the soft clink of metal making your stomach plummet. "M’not nearly fuckin’ finished with ya."

The sharp sound of a zipper fills the tiny space.

And then he’s pulling his cock free, thick and flushed, dripping with need. He strokes himself once, twice, watching the way your eyes widen, the way your thighs tremble, the way you shrink against the wall as if that’ll save you.

It won’t.

Atsumu smirks, stepping closer, pressing the leaking tip against your slick folds.

"Gonna fuckin’ ruin ya."

The closet door muffles your scream.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 ✦✧✦✧

You were always a quiet little brat.

Not the loud, obnoxious type. Not the kind that pouted and whined. No, you had your own way of getting under his skin—an infuriating, unreadable defiance that mocked him in silence. It was in the way you held your ground, unwavering, giving him that blank, unimpressed stare no matter how much he towered over you.

And he tolerated it.

Because you were his.

Shouei Barou, king of the field, ruled with dominance. His presence alone forced submission. Opponents cowered, teammates fell in line, and yet, you? You never crumbled.

You, with that little smirk.

That disrespectful little smirk that told him you didn’t take him as seriously as you should.

It drove him insane.

Tonight, you finally pushed too far.

He wasn’t even trying to be threatening. For once, he had been patient, letting you sit on his lap after a match, letting you play with his damp hair. He had let you touch him however you pleased, because for all his pride, for all his control, Barou was addicted to you. Your hands, your warmth, the scent of you—you had ruined him in a way he didn’t understand. So he let you get away with things no one else could.

Then you said it.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He had stilled, jaw locking. You leaned closer, chin on his shoulder, whispering low. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You’re too much of a self-righteous control freak to let anyone touch you.” Fingers trailed down his nape. “Bet you’re scared. All that talk, all that attitude, and you’ve never even had a girl squeeze your cock?” You sighed, deliberately unimpressed. “Tch. Figures.”

You hadn’t expected much of a reaction.

After all, Barou was always restrained with you. A little rough when you got on his nerves, but never violent, never crossing any real lines. He was harsh, cruel at times, but still kind in a way that made you stupid enough to feel safe.

But then, the air shifted.

You felt it before you saw it—that break in patience. A crack splitting the careful lines of his control. His fingers flexed against your thighs.

And then he was moving.

Fast. Too fast for you to process what was happening before he had you pinned to the floor, legs spread wide, breath hot as he loomed over you.

"You think this is a game?"

His voice was so fucking low. That controlled, authoritative tone that made men freeze on the field now sent pure fear rolling down your spine.

“W-Wait—”

Too late. His grip was bruising, hands ripping your clothes aside. A loud tear, fabric shredding under his brute force. Your stomach dropped, realization slamming into you. He’s serious.

Your mind screamed at you to fight, but your body betrayed you, frozen under the sheer weight of him.

“Gotta put you in your place.” His breath came hot against your thigh. “Since you like running that fucking mouth.”

His head dipped, and you barely had time to gasp before his mouth latched onto you.

Oh, fuck—

It was instant, the shock of it, the raw, desperate heat of his tongue. He didn’t even hesitate. No build-up, no hesitation—he dove in, licking into your cunt like a man possessed. Like he had something to prove.

And fuck, he did.

The first swipe sent you reeling, pleasure and horror crashing into each other as his tongue flattened against your slit, dragging upward in one long, hungry stroke.

You yelped, legs kicking, trying to squirm away, but his grip was unrelenting.

"Stay. Fucking. Still."

A sharp slap landed on your thigh, the sting making you jolt. And then he sucked on your clit, a filthy, wet sound filling the room as his mouth devoured you.

It was obscene.

Raw, messy, sloppy.

You had never seen him like this. Never. Barou was always calculated, always composed—but now? Now he was drunk off of you, groaning like he was the one being pleasured, rutting against the floor as he licked and sucked like a starved fucking animal.

"Fuck." His voice was hoarse, barely a rasp. "You're gonna eat those words, brat."

You whimpered, trying to push at his head, but he was fucking relentless, tongue rolling against you with terrifying precision. Your body was betraying you, heat coiling, legs trembling. No. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress it, trying to deny the wetness pooling between your thighs.

Barou noticed.

"Hah. Look at you. So fucking wet for me already?" He chuckled, dark, pleased. "And you had the fucking nerve to mock me?"

His teeth grazed your inner thigh, making you gasp.

“Please, d-don’t—”

A growl, and then he was shoving his tongue inside you.

Your breath hitched, back arching as his tongue fucked into you, slow at first, then fast, messy, each stroke making a wet, lewd sound. His grip tightened, nails digging into your hips as he held you still, kept you at his mercy.

Pussy-drunk. That was the only way to describe him.

Completely lost in it, drowning in the taste of you. His groans vibrated against your cunt, deep and guttural, like he was losing his fucking mind.

"Mine." The word was muffled against your heat, growled into you like a vow. "You fucking hear me?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, choking back a sob. The way he was touching you, devouring you, it was too much. It felt too good, and that made it all the more terrifying.

Barou didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

He kept going, eating you out like it was his last meal, like his life depended on it. Like he was punishing you with pleasure.

His fingers slid between your slick folds, pressing in, stretching you open. The intrusion made you gasp, but your body was so fucked out, so overstimulated, that it barely registered before another wave of pleasure crashed over you.

And Barou felt it.

He knew you were close.

His movements grew rougher, more intense, his lips sealing around your clit, sucking just right—

You shattered.

Your body convulsed, pleasure ripping through you so violently it left you gasping, trembling. Your legs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop, kept licking and sucking, milking every last aftershock until you were sobbing.

Only then did he pull back, panting, lips shining with your slick.

His gaze burned.

Dark. Hungry. A man completely, utterly ruined.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was shoving his sweats down, revealing his cock—thick, hard, twitching with need.

"Hope you’re ready for the real thing, brat."

Your stomach dropped.

You weren’t ready.

But Barou?

Barou was done playing games.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

Character TAG LIST of “HSR Sunday”: @yandere-romanticaa

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

♡ Book 7. Corpus Delicti (CD): Donum Mortis.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In The Serpent's Den.

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Cobra!Suguru, Rabbit!Reader, Biting, Aphrodisiacs, Heat Cycles, Oviposition, Manipulation, Biting, Breeding Kinks, and Predator/Prey Dynamics.

“It’s time to come out, little rabbit.”

 His tone was sickly sweet, lulled into something saccharine and tempting, only slightly distorted by the uncommon shape of his tongue. Despite his melodic coaxing, you curled further into yourself – pulling your thighs flush to your chest and burying your knees in your face, doing your best not to breathe, not to cry, not to make a sound. The temptation to uncurl yourself entirely and run, run, run until you found somewhere small and dark and safe gnawed on the back of your mind, but it never would’ve worked. You were in Suguru’s enclosure, Suguru’s territory, and there was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“I’m losing my patience, little rabbit. If you come out now, I promise I’ll try to hold myself back.”

Why was he even looking for you? It’d been weeks since his eccentric, white-haired owner forced you into the sprawling greenhouse that made up Suguru’s enclosure, and he’d never paid you a second glance. You did your best to avoid him, to make sure you never crossed his path while he was prowling for a meal. You could count the number of times he’d acknowledged you on a single hand, and he’d never so much as lunged at you. You couldn’t imagine why he’d decided you’d make a good meal now, after weeks of relatively peaceful cohabitation. Maybe he’d gotten tired of keeping you around, of having to share his territory with another hybrid – one so far below him on the food chain. Maybe, this was just the first time he’d gotten hungry enough to hunt you down.

You heard branches shift, twigs break, and instantly, all of your thoughts (rational and otherwise) were replaced with a frantic, buzzing static. “You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Suguru went on, and his voice was too loud, too close. You’d tucked yourself into the densest patch of foliage you could find, but your white ears and cottony tail stood out like blood on snow against the vivid greens and blacks of the flora. Suddenly, trying to hide at all felt stupid. Rabbits weren’t supposed to hide. Rabbits were supposed to die and get eaten by the big, mean snakes who preyed on them. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’re only going to be sorry you made me wait as long as I have.”

You could hear the dull drag of scales moving over rough stone, the ebbing ‘hiss’ that formed a slight lisp at the end of each sentence. You raised your head just far enough to see a large, black shape move in front of you, and something buried deep inside of you cracked and spilled open.

Running wasn’t a choice – it was the only option. You were on your feet in a second, sprinting deeper into the greenhouse in another. The direction didn’t matter. As long as you got away from him, nothing else mattered.

Blindly, you vaulted over fallen branches and overgrown roots, rotting leaf litter threatening to steal your balance as you veered away from the beaten path and threw yourself into the tangled wilderness. If Suguru was chasing you, you couldn’t hear him – the world little more than a blur of color and your own racing pulse. You just needed to find somewhere better to hide, somewhere he’d forgotten. A tunnel, or a tree hollow, or a cave dark enough to hide your snowy pelt from prying eyes. You just needed to—

 Your trek came to an abrupt end as your collided with a pane of thick, emerald-tinted glass and were sent crashing to the ground. It took you a second to process what you’d run into – the wall of the greenhouse, the edge of Suguru’s enclosure – and another to remember that you weren’t in the wilderness, anymore, that you wouldn’t find a tunnel or a cave or anywhere else to hide that hadn’t been created deliberately to trick animals like you into to think they were safe. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so desperate. You might’ve gone looking for Suguru yourself, if you hadn’t been too scared to remember what it meant to be caged.

Fighting back tears, you started to scramble onto your feet, but it was already too late. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden pressure against your back and an agonizing pain burrowed into the side of your throat. His fangs were planted in your neck before you could so much as scream, his strong tail wrapped around your legs and his arms crossed over your midriff, keeping your body locked against his as he pinned you to the ground. You expected his venom to burn, to be able to feel death as it flooded into your veins, but instead, there was only a slight numbing sensation around the point of insertion, a distant fog over your senses that might’ve just been your own fading adrenaline. If anything, you felt…

You felt warm.

Suguru took his time pulling away, his ribbon-like tongue flickering over the skin of your throat before he lifted his head. You weren’t facing him, one of your cheeks pressed into the dirt, but you could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, make out the dark hair tucked behind his shoulders, the pitch-black scales littered over his face, his chest. You knew he was a snake, but you thought you might’ve heard his owner call him something else, once or twice. A ‘cobra’, maybe, but you’d never met a cobra before. You felt safer thinking of him as a snake.

He opened his mouth, but you were already babbling. Trying not to cry had been useless. Tears poured down your cheeks unabashedly, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to spit something coherent out. “P-please don’t eat me – I’m really small for a rabbit, and I promise I won’t taste very good, and I—”

“Quiet, little rabbit.” You’d been wrong, before. You didn’t feel warm, no, you felt hot – something deep inside of you beginning to smolder at the sound of his voice. Immediately, you shut your mouth, and he rewarded you with a raspy chuckle. “You thought I was going to… to eat you?” You nodded stiltedly, and he went on. “Ah, no wonder you were so afraid. And here I thought my timid little bunny just didn’t like me very much.”

“…’m sorry.” You must’ve run farther than you realized. A few minutes of sprinting shouldn’t have left you this breathless, this dazed. “You… You aren’t going to eat me?”

“No, bunny. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But, you bit—”

“I gave you a present.” Another dry chuckle, his tongue flitting over the back of your neck. “Just a little something to make sure you wouldn’t be so shy. You should already be feeling better.”

You weren’t sure that you felt better, but you didn’t feel scared, either. A different feeling had taken the place of your fear – the sensation viscous and churning and prone sending pangs of dull, burning pain to the pit of your stomach. You had to make a conscious effort to move your lips, and even then, it was hard to get any sound past your suddenly dry throat. Suguru waited patiently, seemingly more than happy to watch you stumble over your own tongue. “It’s really warm,” you managed, eventually. “I think I might be… tired?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot how easy it is for prey animals to wear themselves out. I’ll take you back to my nest, where you’ll be able to rest safely.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded eagerly. Safe. You wanted to be safe. You couldn’t remember what you needed to be safe from anymore, though.

He uncurled, but didn’t pull away from you. Rather, your smaller body was pulled against his broad chest as he took you in his arms and carried you through the greenhouse. His destination was a raised loft – set above the wild foliage of his enclosure, accessible only by a sparsely wrung ladder you never would’ve had a hope of climbing on your own. His nest wasn’t at all like a rabbit’s nest, either. Rather than a deep, dark tunnel padded with fur and leaves, he’d taken you to a mess of tangled roots and woven blankets, all piled onto one another to form a box-like bed. Your form, limper than you would’ve liked it to be, was laid on a relatively soft patch, and Suguru positioned himself above you; upper body supported by his forearms, his never-ending tail taking up whatever space you left unoccupied. You wanted to sleep, to do what he said you should, but he was still touching you – dragging a single, clawed finger down your chest and over your midriff, only pausing at your waist to draw slow, swirling patterns into your hip. “My venom has a unique side-effect, you know,” he muttered, his voice low and soothing, the tapered tip of his tail lashing from side to side as he spoke. “A full dose would be fatal. It’d be fast, too – a few seconds of screaming, a few seconds of twitching, and then—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—dead, just like that. It’s a little anti-climactic, to be honest.”

Something deep inside of you began to throb. You shrunk into yourself, trying to relieve the pulsing ache, but Suguru mistook your agony for fear. “In controlled portions,” he continued, splaying his open palm over your hip. “The symptoms are much more pronounced. Humans tend to get all feverish and clumsy, but hybrids—”

Again, he paused. His hand drifted lower – first to your thigh, then your cunt. You didn’t realize you were dripping until his cold fingertips skirted over your slit, gathering up the slick already staining the inside of your thighs.

“Hybrids go into heat.”

A cold wave of dread washed over you, and Suguru’s smile widened.

“…heat?”

“Heat, little rabbit.”

His hand lingered on your pussy, two of his massive fingers splitting apart your lips and making room for his tongue to lap gingerly over your entrance. The sensation was strange – not good and not bad, a little ticklish – but your hips bucked as it flickered over your clit. You knew better than to get so close to a snake’s mouth, but you couldn’t seem to move, to think about anything but getting closer, closer to anything that could touch and poke and lick you. “Is heat—” You started, only to be cut off by a cracked whimper as the throbbing in your core intensified. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Only for a while.” His deep voice reverberated against your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself; attempting to rock your hips against his mouth with a high-pitched whine. It was embarrassing to be so needy, so desperate, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind, only ghosting his lips over the inside of your thigh as he pushed you back down. “But, you’ll need a mate to help you through it. Do you want a mate?”

“Y-Yes! Mate!” You’d never felt this empty, before. It was a little like hunger, but not as jagged, not as desolate. It was more of an absence than anything more tangible; a total and complete vacancy that had to be filled. You tried to roll onto your stomach, to scramble onto your hands and knees and present yourself, but Suguru held you in place with minimal effort. Your protest came in the form of a drawn-out whine, a waving sound Suguru mocked with a low coo and an airy laugh. “Please, please, it hurts, Suguru, I can’t— I need—”

“You need cock,” he finished, his tone one of pure, undeniable satisfaction. With a sigh, he picked himself up, straightening his back and towering above you. You felt saliva pool at the bottom of your mouth as the junction between his upper body and his tail came into view – pale skin slowly giving way to ebony scales, the sculpted muscle of his chest meeting the plated armor below his hips. His hand fell away from you, but you couldn’t mourn the loss of contact, not when your attention was so fixated on the thin, almost invisible slit just below his pubic bone. His fingertips slipped shallowly inside of it, and his gaze shifted back to you. “Come, little bunny. I think you’ve earned another treat.”

The encouragement was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were already crawling towards him, your limbs uncooperative and your movements jolting but your resolve absolute. There was still a throbbing emptiness inside of you, getting worse and more demanding with each neglectful second, but all you could think about was settling onto your knees in front of Suguru and drooling at the sight of his fluttering slit. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to use your hands or your mouth, but Suguru didn’t leave much time for indecision. His free hand found its way to the back of your head, nudging you forward until your mouth was pressed against his slit, just starting to leak thick trails of translucent slick over his dark scales. Your tongue darted past your lips hesitantly, at first, but your trepidation didn’t last very long. It couldn’t, not when you had a hollow pit inside of you still begging to be filled.

Suguru’s fingers carded through your hair as you lapped and sucked at his slit. The taste was mildly acidic, but surprisingly sweet – your eyes quickly falling shut as you sank into a pattern of wet sounds and strange textures and point claws grazing over your scalp, scratching at your ears. Throaty moans (the loudest noise you would ever hear Suguru make, in hindsight) and mumbled praise trickled past his lips as you worked, letting you know that he liked the way you were curling your tongue, that the spongy spot you could just barely reach inside of him was particularly sensitive. It wasn’t long before a mix of your saliva and his arousal dripped past the corners of your mouth, before the end of his tail was lashing violently within the confines of his nest. Maybe Suguru was in heat, too. You hoped he was. You didn’t want to be the only one in so much pain.

You felt the tapered tip of something smooth and stiff against your tongue, and Suguru buckled forward, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips as he took your head in both hands and pressed you flush against his abdomen. Confused and panicked, you tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad and it was all you could do to whimper, to sit there helplessly while something filled your mouth – hard and ridged and hot enough to burn. Cock, the pulsing in your core filled in, but it couldn’t be. Suguru had made it sound like something you needed, something you were supposed to want, but you didn’t like the way the blunt head prodded at the back of your throat, the way the ridged underside ground against your tongue. For the first time since he’d caught you, your instincts agreed with your better judgement, both urging you to get away, to run, to put distance between yourself and this newfound threat.

Your pussy, though, couldn’t seem to do anything but chant mate, mate, mate.

You could feel something else, too – not in your mouth, but pressing into your chin, your throat. Reflexively, your hands shot up, wrapping around the thick intruder, and this time, Suguru let go of you entirely, biting back a half-choked groan as he pushed you away, leaving you sprawled out and alone in the center of his nest. The hollowness inside of you was nearly unbearable, and rubbing your thighs together only seemed to make it worse. You tried to look to Suguru, to ask him to do something, but instead, your eyes caught on the long, pale appendage pressed into his lower stomach. His cock. Or, his cocks, you guessed.

You hadn’t expected there to be two of them.

You hadn’t expected them to be so big, either. Even at a distance, it was clear they weren’t meant for a rabbit. Just one would’ve been more than you could handle – as long as your forearm, as thick as your wrist, the end tapered to a steep point but the base absolutely massive before they disappeared into his slit. The color was strange, too – the tip flushed a dull pink while the base was nearly as dark as his scales, creating an ombre that might’ve been pretty, if you weren’t so terrified. You couldn’t see any veins, but both were sculpted with pronounced, perfectly spaced ridges. You couldn’t imagine having something like that inside of you, but you couldn’t imagine not having anything inside of you, either.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent staring up at him, trying to wrap your head around his size, trying to decide if you’d rather be torn apart by his cock or your own increasingly demanding needs. In the end, it wasn’t really your choice to make. His eyes darted from your clenched thighs to your heaving chest to yours, wide and watery, and a grin found its way back to his lips. For some reason, his smile wasn’t as comforting as it’d been, the first time you saw it. “I’m sorry, little rabbit. Did I startle you?” The tenderness in his voice was almost cloying. You didn’t move, didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need you to. “I didn’t mean to. Why don’t you spread your legs nice n’ wide for me, and I’ll make it up to you?”

Your gaze fell back to his cocks. One of his fists had wrapped around both, pumping idly while he stood above you. “Are those supposed to…?” You trailed off, shrinking into yourself. Suguru hummed, and you took it as confirmation. “But you’ll only use one, right? I don’t think I can— I mean, it won’t fit if you—”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were begging to be fucked properly just a few minutes ago.” You stiffened, but he only laughed. “Fine, fine. If that’s what you think you want, I’ll only use one.”

You didn’t think you could trust him, but you could feel yourself getting hot, again, a haze forming over your mind. You could leave when he was finished, you figured, even if you weren’t entirely sure how to get out of his nest, or where to go once you’d escaped back into the greenhouse. After you got over your— your heat.

Hesitantly, you started to listen to the negging mantra still playing in the back of your mind, to obey the near-deafening voice in the back of your head urging you to get on your hands and knees and make him fuck you, but Suguru must’ve decided you weren’t moving fast enough. His tail shifted underneath you, a thick coil catching your side and leaving you bent over one of the thicker lengths, your stomach pressed into his cool scales and your feet barely able to reach the tangled roots of his nest. You scrambled for purchase, but Suguru was there to steady you – his hands finding your hips, his cocks pressing into your ass. The calloused pads of his fingertips pressed into your waist as he aligned one of his cocks – the upper one, you thought, just a little thicker than its twin – with your entrance. He was kind enough to give you a long, slow second to breathe before his hips rutted forward and he inside of you.

Immediately, it felt wrong.

You’d been right when you decided he was too big for you. He was only half-sheathed, and yet, the tip of his cock pressed into the floor of your cervix, the head of his cock alone enough to stretch your pussy as far as it could go. Thankfully, he didn’t try to force himself deeper, but feeling the smooth ridges of rub against the walls of your pussy as he pulled back wasn’t much better. Still, your cunt clenched around him eagerly, doing its best to suck him in despite your physical limitations. Suguru, of course, seemed more than happy to indulge you. His thrusts were slow and lethargic, as gentle as they could’ve been but still forceful enough to leave you pinned to the curve of his tail. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. As he rolled his hips against your ass, you ground back against him, your greedy cunt never warm enough, never wet enough, never full enough. You tried to dig your blunt claws into his tail, to ground yourself, but it was a futile effort; a limping dear attempting to evade a wolf who’d already tasted its blood. Suguru’s only response was a stifled groan, a new roughness to the way he fucked into you. You felt his chest against your back as he bent at the waist, draping himself over you, his dark hair falling from his shoulder and replacing chunks of your vision with a curtain of thick, endless black. It didn’t matter. A fresh wave of tears would’ve left you just as helpless, not that Suguru seemed to mind the way you sniffled and sobbed between moans.

“They say— fuck, you know what they say about rabbits, don’t you, bunny?” His voice was barely audible, but it seemed to echo on and on and on in your overly sensitive ears. His cock ground against something softened and vulnerable inside of you and your back arched, your pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him. “That’s it,” Suguru encouraged, as you tried to pry yourself away from his freezing tail and chase the gentle warmth of his chest. “They say bunnies make the best sluts. Knock them up once, and they’ll never stop begging for it.”

Kits. A strong mate. A safe nest. The thought alone had you crying out for nothing, your convulsions growing that much more erratic, and Suguru chuckled in-turn. “Like that? Want me to make you into my little mate-whore?”

“Want it, please, w-want it so bad.” It was all you could do to force yourself to speak, to spit something out through the daze of lust and exhaustion and total, unrelenting fullness. You’d never been more sure of anything than you were in that moment, never knew something as deeply as you knew that you wanted Suguru’s kits inside of you. “Please, wanna be you mate, wanna—Suguru—!”

One more thrust, one more scape of his sleek scales against your clit, and you were coming undone around his cock in jolting, erratic convulsions. Suguru let out a ragged grunt and straightened his back, but the distance was short-lived. Strong arms snaked under your knees, spreading your legs and hauling you up to his height. Your back remained pressed against his chest as he pulled out of you entirely and slammed back in. Even through the overstimulation, the wrongness hit you immediately. His cock was too big, too thick, and—

And he was inside of you.

Completely inside of you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, letting your head fall forward limply. The shock was minimal, but still devastating – both of Suguru’s cocks buried inside of you to their pitch-black bases, their outlines just barely visible against the plush flesh of your lower stomach. “You—You promised you wouldn’t—”

His face was buried in the dip of your shoulder, his lips parted as panted against you. You felt his teeth catch on your skin before sinking into you, had time to process the pure heat of his venom seeping into your veins. Instantly, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue, your mind going utterly, entirely blank save for a single thought: mate.

Your mouth fell open, your thighs spreading that much farther. Suguru pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the injection site, then pulled away, grinning wildly. “A few drops, and you’ll want everything I have to give you,” he muttered. “That’s better, isn’t it, bunny?”

Much better. You could feel something swelling at the base of his cock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge anything other than the utter bliss as a small, round shape was milked up the length of his cock and emptied into your core. Kits, you thought, and did your best to settle onto his twin cocks, to hold still as another egg was forced through your tight pussy. You stopped trying to count after the fourth – giving in completely to the shuddering, splintering euphoria every new member of your little family brought you. By the time the final egg was safe and snug inside of you, you were limp, twitching, and so full, it was hard to imagine ever feeling empty again.

As the last aftershocks started to fade, Suguru sucked in a stilted gasp and pulled you flush against his chest. You felt his second cock twitch once, then twice inside of you before something warm and thick flooded into your pussy. You whined miserably as he pulled out of you, but he didn’t stay gone for very long. Your pliable body was turned around in his arms, his cocks slid back into your leaking cunt as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor of his nest – your body laid on top of his. You strung your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, closing your eyes and giving in to your well-earned exhaustion.

You lasted just long enough to hear him mutter something about mates and clutches before your consciousness faded entirely and your mind went mercifully, blissfully silent.

~

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of a low, long whistle. “Really did a number on the poor thing, huh, Suguru?”

It took you a second to blink your eyes open, to raise your head and glance toward the man standing at the top of the ladder that led to Suguru’s nest, and another to recognize him as Suguru’s owner. His white hair was in a state of disarray, his eyes hidden behind circles of tinted glass, and for some reason, he was looking at you. You shrunk further into Suguru, but he only laughed – the noise loud and piercing to your foggy senses.

Suguru’s cocks were no longer inside of you, the flushed tips just barely visible at the base of his slit. You were still on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your waist, his hold loose but possessive. There was a small bump over your lower stomach, and you weren’t sure whether to grimace or beam at the feeling of Suguru’s eggs shifting inside of you with every little movement. He was already awake – had been for some time, judging by the unimpressed scowl pressed into his lips. Something sharp and icy lodged itself into your chest, but his glare was directed towards his owner, not you, and the very tip of his tail curled around your ankle protectively as his owner stepped into his nest.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk into a serpent’s den?”

“I don’t think it counts if I own the den.” He straddled the bulk of Suguru’s tail, then gestured to you. “Turn the pretty baby around. I wanna see the damage.”

You shook your head vehemently, clinging to Suguru’s neck, but his own response was an exasperated sigh, a fleeting hiss to your cheek as he flipped you over; leaving you slayed across his chest and exposed to his owner’s prying gaze. “Five minutes,” he said, as his owner shrugged the waistband of his pants down just far enough to free his cock, already half-hard, already enough to send a bolt of pure dread from your heart to the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want your scent on my mate.”

You opened your mouth, ready to whine that you were sore, that you were tired, that you didn’t want anyone but Suguru and your kits inside of you, but the words withered into nothing on your tongue as his owner eased himself into your dripping pussy, as Suguru caught you by the chin and pulled you into a shallow, lingering kiss – the points of his fangs just barely scraping over your bottom lip. Looking back on it, it had been silly to ever worry that he’d eat you.

You should’ve been worried that he wouldn’t.

[moonstruckme]

Hey! 👋🏼 Ty for taking the time to write such eloquent and inspiring fluffy works for us!

I'm a writer as well, and what I've read of yours (most of your marauders in the last 2 days 🫣) has scratched an itch I've had for inspiration! This is greatly appreciated!

I was wondering if you'd mind writing something for Gn!reader and poly!Wolfstar where one of them aren't well (a cold or flu perhaps?) and reader cares for them, convinced they won't catch whatever the other has. But, it inevitably happens anyway and then they're all miserable and help each other through it? Muggle AU or whatever you're comfortable with. :)

If not, no worries! I just love your writing style and it's refreshing!

Have a fantastic day!

Thanks for your request babe <33

poly!wolfstar x gn!reader ♡ 711 words

“Rem.” You kiss your boyfriend’s temple, trying to wake him gently. “Remus.” 

He hums, a tired, croaky sound. His face turns further into the pillow. 

“Sorry, lovely. Your soup’s going to get cold.” 

Remus cracks an eyelid. “Oi,” he grunts. “Get away.” 

You let out a breathy laugh, sitting up. “Gosh, you’re so sweet when you’re sick. Aren’t I lucky?” 

“You’re going to be sick too if you’re not careful,” he says, though he scoots into an upright position against the pillows of the bed once he sees the soup you’ve made him sitting on the nightstand. You pass it to him. “Thank you, love.” 

“Don’t mention it.” You lift your hand, brushing some hair aside to feel his forehead. “How’s your throat?” 

As if reminded to do so, Remus makes a gravelly throat-clearing noise before blowing on a spoonful of soup. “Better, I think.” 

You make a pitying sound, stroking your thumb over his temple. 

There’s a tsk from behind. You turn to find Sirius carrying in a cup of tea. He levels you with a reproachful look. 

“You’re begging to get sick.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not.” 

“S’what I told them,” says Remus. 

“I never catch the flu,” you defend yourself. 

“Just…” Sirius sets Remus’ tea down on the nightstand, taking you by the hips to pull you a few inches down the bed. “Let’s keep some distance from patient zero here. Not that I don’t love you,” he says to Remus with a saccharine smile, “because I do, but I don’t need to miss my work party on Friday because this one felt cuddle deprived.” 

“Totally understand.” Remus slurps his soup. 

You frown. “It’s nothing so wholly selfish as cuddle deprivation. If I wanted those, I could just get them from—” You’re cut off when a bit of phlegm gets caught in your throat. You clear it hastily. “From you.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows have inched upwards. “No, I don’t think you could. You’re catching it already.” 

“I am not,” you say, but you can’t help coughing a couple of times. “Sorry, there’s just something stuck in my throat.” 

Remus groans. Sirius pins you with a glare. 

“Get in the bed.” 

Unfortunately, despite Sirius’ best efforts, Friday morning finds all three of you sniffling and foggy-headed, each too warm to tell if the others have a fever. 

“Two blankets is plenty,” Remus reasons with Sirius. 

“I’m freezing.” 

“I’m sweltering.” 

“I’m going to make tea.” You haul yourself upright, dragging one of Sirius’ three requested blankets with you like a cape. 

“Oh.” Remus sounds hesitant. “I’m sorry, lovely, I ran us out of honey last night. I’ll go to the co-op.” 

You try not to let your shoulders slump too obviously with disappointment. Or to curl up on the floor, or to start crying, or any of the things you’d really like to do. 

“That’s alright,” you say. “I can just dissolve a cough drop in it. It’ll work the same.” 

Sirius whines. “Baby, that sounds pathetic.” 

“I’ll only be a few minutes.” Remus starts to rise. “We need more tissues anyway.” 

“No,” you and Sirius say at the same time. 

“The last time we let you go on an errand,” says Sirius, “we found you nearly passed out in the lift.” 

Remus’ already flushed cheeks turn a deeper pink. “I did have all the groceries, though.” 

“I’m calling James,” you announce. 

“No,” Sirius and Remus chorus. 

“Why not?” 

“Lily said if we got him sick, she was going to take Harry to her parents’ and leave us to take care of him.” 

“James invented the man cold,” Remus tells you, sniffling. “It would be awful.” 

“Fine, then I’ll go to the store.” 

“No, come here.” Sirius reaches for you, wrestling you back down onto the bed. His warm cheek presses to your clammy forehead. “I’ll do it, I’ll call James. We’ll just tell him to leave the stuff outside the door.” 

“You know he’s going to want to come in,” says Remus, though he reclines against the pillows again with a relieved sigh. 

“Yes, well.” Sirius sets his lips to your temple. “Better to risk a whiny James than one of you keeling over on the sidewalk, I suppose.” 

“I did not keel over.” 

“Hush, darling. You’re growing delirious.”

[shokopan]

8:47 PM  | L. ACKERMAN ⤷ levi x reader, modern au

“uber for y/n?” you ask, ducking into the car.

“you’re actually not funny, did you know that?” levi side eyes you, expression looking completely unimpressed and borderline apathetic. his hands tell a different story, reaching over for your cheek, waiting to be able to bring you in for a kiss.

“levi, don’t lie. its not good for you,” you counter, hovering over his lips before he’s able to kiss you, though its clear as day that levi’s starting to get impatient.

“yeah sure whatever you say,” levi rolls his eyes, “i guess you’ll just have to take care of me if it makes me sick or some shit,”

“no thanks, that sounds like so much work. ugh but i mean, i guess i have to because i love you and you’ll die without me,” you groan teasingly, relenting and finally kissing levi, who now looks even more unimpressed.

“i guess so,” he mutters under his breath, pulling his hand away from you and returning it to the gear shift and then the wheel as he begins driving, “fucking sue me for loving and wanting to be with my partner i guess,”

“your choice of words is pleasant and polite as always,” you comment, resting your elbow on the center console as you gaze at him through your eyelashes, amused smile tugging at your lips.

“oi,”

“don’t worry, i love you and always want to be with you too, levi,” you sing, your smile morphing into a more genuine, loving one. levi glances over momentarily, and silently curses to himself, wishing he could stop the car and just stare at you and your current saccharine sweet expression for hours and hours, or at least take a photo.

“i didn’t say i always wanted to be with you,” levi looks away, failing to hide the warm tips of his ears that burn red, “just said i wanted to be with you,”

“you know you meant always,” you tease again, eyes lighting up when levi moves hand moves from the wheel and holds it out for you to take, which you happily do, “and case in point”

“shut up,” he mutters, his thumb gently rubbing the side of your interlaced hand.

“if i feel like it,” you hum in return, leaning back into your seat as you let your intertwined fingers rest against the center console.

“you look beautiful by the way,” levi states, eyes still focused on the road, “you always do yeah, but that color looks good on you. makes your eyes look bright ‘n shit even though its fucking dark out,”

the car at the red light and he turns to face you, a subtle smirk playing at his lips when he sees how speechless you are. its a plain curse how perfectly timed his compliment was, giving him enough time to bask in your momentary shock and for you to unfortunately provide him with the exact desired reaction.

“shut up,” is all you can muster, before you collect yourself and suddenly feeling weirdly shy, “you look good too. i like seeing in dark button downs,”

“like you said, i’ll shut up if i feel like it,” levi teases, tapping your knuckle with one of his interlaced fingers and his smirk growing wider.

“you know what, i think you’re actually the worst,” 

[evieelyzabethh]

I'd DIE for more arcane collage au.

thinking thoughts of collegeau!Jayce who is too big for his own good. His huge thighs are barely contained by the lecture hall chair, a problem made even worse by his instinctual habit to manspread. He already sits impossibly close in class, damn near on top of you in the back of the classroom where he sits so his height can't be a problem for those behind him. His size is a problem everywhere. He hates sitting in big, old lecture halls, so old that the desks are barely big enough to accommodate a single notebook and writing utensil and the seats are closed in, forcing him to sit with his legs crossed at the ankles and arms pressed into his sides.

collegeau!Jayce who takes advantage of classes who don't have a strict attendance policy. He tells himself that it's not skipping if he's using the time to get coursework done for other classes, which is how it usually starts, him sitting at his desk with his laptop open and you sat on his bed reading some book for your class. And then he gets antsy. His leg starts bouncing, he gets stuck on the same paragraph for five minutes, his eyes drifting from line to line, from you back to his laptop, until he sits with his head resting on his palm staring at you.

"Babe", he calls out, to which you hum in response, still focused on the studying you both agreed to be doing. "I can't focus." You roll your eyes. You should've known better. Not only is Jayce is physically big, he's also a big liar, which is exactly how you end up riding his cock as he babbles into your neck. What was supposed to be a little make-out session, which even that had to be argued for, evolved the second his hands tugged at your his shirt and his dexterous fingers unbutton your jeans, and you couldn't find it in yourself to tell him no.

"Just the tip", he bargains, snapping you out of your slight trance. "N-No, Jayce. You said you were going to study." He groans, rutting into your clothed pussy, a wet spot already forming in his boxers the longer he put off the inevitable. "I'll study later. Need you - fuck - now. Please" And you underestimate your resolve, feeling it steadily slip the more his hips buck into you and his groans get louder as his tip gets stickier and his cock gets harder. "F-Fine", you whisper out breathlessly, but he was so eager to hear those words from your pretty lips it was deafening.

He makes quick work freeing his dick, the head red and angry at having to wait so long, but at least it is just the tip...at first. His eyes glaze over, and his jaw goes slack, looking up at the smooth ceiling because he knows if he looks down at you, seeing the way your face scrunches up, how your pussy swallows him up, he'd ending up pounding into you until he bruises you from the inside out. But the way you feel around him, wet, and warm, and goey, and gods he doesn't even realize he's pushing in further until your hands scratch at his stuttering hips and your breath hitches. He's gone as soon as your open your mouth, saying nothing but pretty whimpers of his name. collegeau! Jayce who's just so big he splits you open before he even bottoms out but he's just so sweet about it.

Hips stopping as soon as his cock hits your cervix, he at least tries to slow down, cooing out saccharine apologies. He just can't help it. And he leans down to place wet apology kisses in between the valley of your breasts, along your collarbones, his thumbs wiping the hot tears that bubbled from your eyes before kissing your eyelids and your lips until your breath even outs and the intrusion of him in your guts feels less heavy. The pervert in him likes to rest his hand on your tummy for the still moment, it sets off something in his brain being able to see the imprint of his dick in you. And when he presses down you clench against him, causing him to hiss, but he's determined not to move. If it can't be just the tip, at least you can cockwarm him for the time being. He certainly doesn't deserve a reward, but who's to say it can't be your reward for being such a pretty studious girlfriend.

it's not even five minutes before he's ramming into you and painting your guts white

[jaggedamethyst]

clandestine

viktor (arcane) x stripper f!reader

pairing: viktor (arcane) x f!reader

content: 18+ minors dni, smut, not thigh but lap riding, strip club obviously, some cursing, porn some plot idk, established relationship, secret relationship, not proofread

notes: i am not personally a stripper, but I have somehow seen a lot of movies and youtube vloggers explaining the culture and mindset they have…about doing this to get them to a next phase of their life. some people may not feel that way at all, and just do it to feel empowered….or literally just because its a job. no reason is more valued than the other, and I hope I did this justice because I have the utmost respect for every job. please let me know if anything isn’t hitting the way it should in that regard and i will make the edits <3

also, not an au… this was kinda inspired by lest. idk if it was ever confirmed, but the character kinda reads to me as a sex worker and I do love that. normalize including those stories in media.

word count: 2.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Stepping into the building always felt particularly specific for Viktor. The music was melodic but slightly too loud. Flashing lights almost always sent him off balance, leaning into his cane. A vibration pulsed—bouncing off every wall hard enough to make him physically swat the feeling away with his head. Yet, whenever he’d find his seat and glance across the room—all of it faded away.

Had there not been a physical spotlight, Viktor could still find you a mile away. He was completely entranced, mesmerized by the way you moved—even more so by the fact that it was an act. You were sweet, saccharine even, and you never showed it. That side was all for him. Only him.

When you were at the club, there was a veil over you—projecting a unique exterior. Dancing allowed you to disconnect and channel an identity you didn’t in everyday life. Often, you were misunderstood. Even more common was for you to be ignored—it wasn’t like that at work. You were respected and held at the same regard as everyone else. There were rules, and everyone followed them. You were an equal and you appreciated that.

Regardless of that feeling on stage, the money was also damn good. You grew up in the Undercity and you knew what it was like to have nothing. This fact was something you and Viktor bonded over initially. Later, both of your intellect and fondness for academics. He empathized, too, with you having no family…even more the fact that you started this venture to pay for your studies. That’s how the two of you found yourself dating. There was an unwavering kindness about Viktor, you loved that. The secrecy made every interaction all the more interesting, especially in the confines of the Piltover club.

The shift started like any other. You were on stage, moving to the rhythm of your song, Lest in your peripheral. You’d often recall how she was the first person to make you feel truly comfortable. She’d linger during your sets, calling security when needed, even speaking up for you when she realized you couldn’t. Lest gave you the push to take control, and the money really showed it.

You glanced down a bit, seeing some of your money get swept to the side. Lest had your labeled basket in her hands, grabbing some out of the way for you. In that split second, you saw a glint toward the back corner. You smirked, seeing your boyfriend spread on a chair—observing you through low eyes. You sped your tempo up, the stage now cleared enough for you.

Viktor noticed your arched a brow and stifled a chuckle. As you picked up the pace, he leaned back more comfortably in the chair. A hand held onto his cane, knuckles paling at the forceful grip. His other hand rested on the chair. His legs spread entirely, something he knew you loved. He was locked in, eyes roaming over every inch of your body as you danced. Your back was to him, then, ass shaking seductively in a way he’d always appreciated. You bent simultaneously, making a show of your legs before dropping into a split. You rolled your neck, looking toward Viktor. He watched your hand trace over your leg before tapping on it twice with a smile.

You’d definitely seen him back there.

Lest gave a knowing smirk, nodding over her shoulder “I see you spotted your regular.”

“Sure did.” You laughed at that, swinging your legs around. “It’s gonna be a fun night.”

“Oh I can tell.”

Lest didn’t know the two of you were dating, nobody did. That was the allure. Viktor could be the “regular” who showed up and dotted on you while you played the helpless stripper who so desperately needed his money. Neither were true, except that Viktor did love to spend his money on you.

Lest spoke up again, “You should head back there, before he gets restless…you know how they are.”

You moved to stand, doing a final spin and wave to the audience. “You’re right…can’t miss out on the money.”

“Exactly.” You moved to help add the rest of your money to the basket, Lest gripping it for dear life. “I’ll put this in the usual spot. We can do count after you rake in the big bucks.”

You high-fived Lest, watching as she turned immediately. You turned away, too, knowing that the chance of any of your money being taken was close to zero. You’d trust her with your life—so much so that you often debated telling her more about yourself outside of the club. Part of you figured she knew about your relationship and just played along. The thought of that made you love her friendship even more.

There was a drag in your step. You purposely made your strides slow as you inched toward the corner Viktor had chosen for tonight. His eyes had yet to leave you, but his free hand circled the arm rest. He was pent up, which was perfect, you thought.

He watched as you finally reached him, standing over his seated figure with your hands on your hips. You spoke first, yelling a bit over the music. “Funny seeing you here.”

He played along, eyes raking over your body. “I frequent here relatively often, do I not?”

You shrugged, looking away, “One could say that.”

He smiled, moving to stand up. You were a bit shorter than him, but slightly taller now thanks to your heels. He glanced down at them in adoration, loving the feeling of looking up at you. “You were stellar, love.”

You raised your head, flicking your hair. “Thank you, baby.” Your eyes lingered on one another, the genuine feeling of affection sitting between you both. Leaning down to whisper in his ear, you broke that sweet feeling. You played to his true intention; you knew why he was here. “Wanna go somewhere more private?” You let your lips linger for a second, hands coming up to rub his neck and behind his ears with your thumbs. “I know a place.”

He watched you pull back, looking up through his lashes. The smile on your face absolutely melted him. He reached down, slowly searching his pocket. He flipped up a bill that was settled between two fingers. “Lead the way.”

You plucked the money from him and grasped his now empty hand. The exchange had its own unspoken rules—Viktor would always pay, you would let him. The inherently degrading nature never found its way to your relationship but was instead a way to keep up appearances. For Viktor, it was yet another way to show his love for you. He’d give it all if he could—you deserved it.

He followed you, stalking behind your enticing figure. You’d shift every so often, your reflection moving with the tone of the lights. The sound reverberated off of you both, pulsing between your interlocked fingers. The bass slowly faded as you walked down the long hallway, even more so as you entered the secluded room.

The lights were low, a quiet music lulling in the room. Candles lit the area and added a hint of vanilla to the air Viktor appreciated—it smelled like you. He closed his eyes at the thought, enveloped by the scent and feeling of your skin on his palm. You glanced up, observing that the light on the cameras had been switched off. You huffed gratefully, knowing you had to thank Lest again later.

Viktor felt the pull of your hands and mindlessly followed until his back met the couch. He cleared his throat, looking over to you beside him. “So,” he paused, “How was your day?”

“Do you actually want to know how my day was?” You pursed your lips, sarcasm riddled all over them. “Or are you just indulging me so you seem like a gentleman?”

Viktor was frazzled at that, “What? No…” He brushed a hand to move his hair out of his face, “No! I would like to know-“

A kiss to his cheek interrupted him, “I know.” You nodded slowly. “But you should just ask for what you really want…I’m a busy woman after all.”

The flicker in his eye was one you genuinely loved—the switch from caring boyfriend to infatuated client.

“And what is it you think I want?” A hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb slowly finding its way to your lips. He looked down, rubbing his fingers across your skin.

You reached down, then, a hand firmly landing on his thigh. You maintained eye contact as you spoke—sliding a hand further up his leg. “I think I have a pretty good idea…”

“Is that so?” Viktor leaned back further to adjust his lap and purposely push his hardened length into your palm.

The two of you leaned in closer, the pull of each other undeniable. Slowly, your lips collided. There was an urgency, yet neither of you acted on it—an attempt to savor the moment. You maneuvered then, lips still connected. Viktor hummed against your mouth—a sound that left you smiling as you pushed a leg over his lap.

The once soft push of your lips together was now bordering on frantic. Every so often, Viktor would move to pull and suck on one of your lips—urging you on. You were lost in the motion—in him. Your hands snaked up the back of his neck and tangled with the hair at the base of his neck. With a forceful tug, you pulled him back. He was looking at you now, face flushed and lips completely swollen and glistening. Looking at him this way already had your underwear dampening. You refused to break eye contact, lowering yourself just on top of Viktor. Sucking in a breath, he tilted his head back—leaning into the couch cushion.

You began to circle your hips. The friction of the restrained material had you feral. “Fuck…” You continued, slowly circling and moving up and down his erection. “Fuck, Viktor.”

He matched you motion suddenly, circling his hips up into you. The motion had your insides pulsing. You couldn’t keep up the act, leaning down into the warmth of his neck. You felt him kiss and suck on your neck. He trailed kisses up and around your ear—moving around your hairline. His hands found your back, pulling you into him even more. Erratic breaths filled the room. All that was missing, you thought, were the lewd sounds of slapping you so desired. You’d give anything to be fully naked right now, letting him work all over you. But there was no time. The thought only spurred you on.

He spoke suddenly, “I needed this.”

“I know,” You push and pull into him faster, “Me too.”

The fabric barrier between the two of you was soaked now, a mixture of both of you. You slid back a bit, arms length distance away from Viktor. His mouth was agape from the lack of sensation, but quickly lost any will to argue when you began to swirl on his tip. He was always so sensitive there—and you were close. The rubbing on your clit had your breath shallow, your motions less rhythmic. He noticed, grabbing your waist to guide you to a speed that had both of your eyes rolling back.

“I’m close….”

Viktor pulled you into a kiss and mumbled into your mouth. “I am too.”

With a few more pumps against each other, you were finishing all over each other’s clothes. You accidentally broke the kiss, gasping for the breath that escaped you at the burning sensation in your body. Viktor didn’t stop, though, pulling you in impossibly closer. He worked the both of you through, choking out a whine as he shot out ropes into his pants.

The two of you sat there, embracing each other for a while. The feeling of each other was enough in the moment—drowning out the sensory overload of the club. Your finger tips traced over his features. You smoothed over his brows, the moles by his eye and lip, the divets in his cheekbones. He was entirely mesmerized by you—a devotion all over his face.

Light taps at the door broke the moment. You knew it would be Lest; she’d often drop by when you took a bit longer than management would like for just one customer. Opening the door a crack, you saw a pile there—a change of clothes for you and a smaller hand towel. You scooped them up quickly, moving back into the room.

Viktor was still watching you, a hand finding its way back to his cane. His grasp wasn’t as tight as before, you smiled to yourself at that.

You stripped quickly, moving to clean yourself and change your clothes. “Missed you today.”

Viktor pushed himself forward in the seat. “And I, you.” He staggered over to you, a hand pushing in and out of his pocket. He held up a bill again, “We should do this again sometime.”

A small chuckle escaped you. “Sure, baby.” You pecked a kiss on his cheek as he walked by you. “I’ll see you at home.”

[sunnystrollblog]

branch had a rough day <:(

[yescking]

me and my sibs au in which sm is a streamer and is obsessed with some random gardener youtuber

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[reidphobic]

there’s no such thing as bad thoughts (only your actions talk) - s. r.

in which you need to ruin your pretty boyfriend, and you know just the toys to do it with. 3988 words. part of the neighbor!au

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, mommy kink, oral (f and m receiving), sex toys, ass play (m receiving) (please don’t look at me), praise, very very mild degradation

You can tell Spencer has something on his mind, distracted even as you trail siren-red lipstick marks down his neck. You’re only kissing him for kissing’s sake, both of you unwinding and content to simply be in the other’s presence. Still, though, when you bring your lips back up to his, you pout down at him. “What is it, honey?” you say tenderly, trailing your fingers down his cheek.

“It’s nothing,” Spencer says, but he flushes crimson, so it’s not classified. Which means you’ll get it out of him one way or another.

“Spencer,” you chide gently. “You know you’re going to tell me. I know you’re going to tell me. So why don’t we skip this little song and dance, and you can just tell me, hm?” You gaze up into his pretty, sparkling eyes, smile slyly as you dip your head to kiss at the hollow of his throat. “Or I can take you right to the edge, over and over again, and I won’t let you cum until you tell me,” you say with a saccharine smile. “Both ways are fun for me.”

Spencer shudders, swallows. You start to work your way down his body, trace your fingers over his chest until you’re lying between his legs. “Please,” he murmurs.

You press a kiss against his tip through his pants. “Go on, honey. Don’t be shy. Tell Mommy, baby,” you coo. Spencer gnaws on his lip, looking for all the world like the picture of innocence, but you know him better by now; know the exact shine in his eyes, the precise shade of red he flushes when he’s thinking about something dirty.

He hisses as you pull his cock free, lick along the vein at his underside. You keep teasing, gently encourage him with gentle whispers and soft praise. He’s whimpering, putty in your hands, when the confession spills free. “I can’t stop thinking about your… about the…” He trails off, but his eyes flicker towards your bedside table, and you smirk wickedly.

“My toys? S’that what you’re trying to say, honey?” you purr, gazing up at him. “What are you thinking about? Watching me use them? Using them on me?” You pause, smirk. “Or do you want Mommy to use them on you?”

He goes stiff, flushes a deeper red, nods shakily. You raise an eyebrow, and Spencer gently nudges you up. Obligingly, you crawl back up his body, drape yourself on the pillow next to him. “I, uh… I had… I thought about it, and then I couldn’t stop, and I…” He clears his throat. “I watched some… pornography.” Your lips stretch wide in a smile. Oh, this is getting interesting. “Of, um. A girl— a woman— using a… a vibrator on…” He whispers the word vibrator like it’s something dirty, and you just have to do something about that.

“And that’s what you want, sweetheart? You want Mommy to take a vibrator and press it right here?” You swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, drooling with precum. Spencer nods, writhing pathetically under your touch, but his eyes keep drifting warily. “What’s bothering you, sweet?” you murmur, tracing circles into his thigh. And then it clicks. “I promise it’s all sanitised, never been used on anyone but me. But we don’t have to do anything you’re not up to, alright, pretty?” You smile up at him. “We can go shopping, get whatever you want nice and new for you, yeah?”

Spencer smiles sheepishly. “How do you always..?”

You giggle, kiss his inner thigh. “I know you, honey. And I know sex. So I’m sort of a genius here,” you tease. “Now, why don’t you tell Mommy everything you want me to do to you while I get you all stupid for me, huh?” Spencer nods frantically, pleads softly, as you wrap your lips around his tip. His quiet fantasies tangle with breathy moans, stumbling haltingly from bitten-red lips. Every word sends a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, and you moan happily as you lose yourself, lose everything but the point where your body meets his.

“Thank you,” Spencer mumbles when he’s regained his sanity. You’ve stopped telling him not to thank you, because it doesn’t work. Climbing back up his body, you tuck your head into his neck, kiss at the soft skin there. You trade slow, lazy kisses until he’s relaxed, soft and pliant under your hands.

Falling asleep in Spencer’s arms is the simplest and greatest pleasure of your life, contented and comforted just from existing in his presence. The steady thump of his heartbeat soothes you as you stir awake, blinking blearily and finding his gaze already on you. “G’morning, honey,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly, skimming a hand across your back as you smile peacefully up at him.

Your eyes flicker to your alarm clock, and you gasp. “Shit, Spencer, it’s, like, eleven o’clock! What are you still doing here?”

Spencer only smiles. “I took a couple days off. I’m flying out to meet the team on Thursday, and they’ll call if they need me before then. I wanted to spend some time with you in the daylight,” he adds with a soft little laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty, not in the least because of the rush of joy that runs through you. People out there need him, and you’re here playing the clingy girlfriend. “You’re sweet,” you say, curling into his chest. Slowly, you wander out of bed, pour coffee and trade lazy kisses over cereal — neither of you are particularly proficient cooks — simply content to exist in each other’s presence. “Still wanna go shopping, baby?” you tease.

To your surprise, Spencer nods. He’s still too shy to give any voice to it, and his cheeks tint pink, but he nods nonetheless.

Grinning, you get to your feet. “We better go take a shower, then. C’mon, Reid, day’s a-wasting,” you tease, pulling him by the hand.

You swear you’ll never get over the sight of him naked and dripping wet, soft and delicate under the shower spray. You kiss him indulgently, sloppy and messy and passionate, until you’re in danger of the water running cold. Spencer does a pathetically poor job of hiding his fixation with your panties, so you let him pick out what to put on under your clothes.

“It’s your color,” he says simply, holding up a pair of delicate red lace panties. You gasp softly when he goes to his knees in front of you, shudder as he drags them up your legs. His slack-jawed gaze is fixed on the lace against your skin, and you go hot all over as he leans in, presses a delicate kiss to your waistband.

“Spencer, honey,” you say, a gentle warning. “If you wanna get out of this house at all today, you’re gonna have to stop that,” you murmur, sliding a hand into his hair as your thighs clench.

Pouting, he gets to his feet. “But you’re so pretty,” he says, eyes soft and pleading.

You giggle. “Mmm, I know. But think about how much fun we’re gonna have later, yeah?” You brush a loose piece of hair behind his ear. “You’re pretty too,” you add, kissing the tip of his nose as his cheeks dust pink.

It takes several attempts and minutes of long, needy kisses to pull him out of the door and into your car. Spencer rests his hand distractingly on your thigh as you drive, looking innocently out of the window every time you turn to face him. But you get your revenge as you lead him into the shop, decorated in tasteful gold lettering and tucked away down a side street.

Spencer’s jaw hangs open as he gazes around, eyes shifty and sliding like he doesn’t know where to look. He looks as though he’s been caught somewhere he shouldn’t, and you giggle, take his hand. “Where d’you wanna start, honey?”

He opens his mouth and closes it several times before any words come out. “I— I don’t…” he murmurs, burying his face in his hands.

You press a kiss to his cheek, heart fluttering in your chest. “It’s alright, beautiful. Don’t get caught up in that pretty little head, okay? We can start nice and slow,” you promise. “What do you think of these?” you ask, holding up a pair of semi-realistic handcuffs.

You can see his thoughts whirring, pointing out every inconsistency with the real thing, but when he speaks, it’s timid. “What would you… use them for?”

A salacious grin spreads across your lips. “We can use them for whatever you want, sweetness. But I can’t say I never dreamt about Agent Reid putting me on the ground and cuffing me,” you tease, and Spencer shudders. “You like the sound of that, gorgeous?” You drop the cuffs into your basket when he nods, the thought of it washing deliciously over you. And, who knows? Maybe he’ll come around to your restraining him… Your thighs clench as you imagine it.

You wander around the shop, delicately explaining every toy and its purpose as Spencer’s cheeks burn deeper crimson with every word. You stack your basket with every toy he shows so much as a passing interest in, and a few more that you don’t dare bring up to him yet. But Spencer’s eyes keep sliding back to the lingerie in the back corner and then darting away like he’s been burned. 

Delicately, you pluck up a white, lacy pair adorned with a soft, pink bow. “Pretty, huh?” you say, careful but with a hard enough edge that Spencer swallows. “I think so too. You’d look gorgeous in them, honey.” You grab his jaw when he tries to look away. “Baby. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve “lost” at least a dozen pairs of panties since we started dating. And I’ll bet I know where to find them,” you sing-song, poking him playfully in the chest.

“An underwear fetish doesn’t automatically prelude crossdressing, actually. It’s got more to do with—” You press a finger to his lips.

“Sweetheart, do you wanna wear them or not?”

Spencer sucks his bottom lip into his mouth tantalisingly. “Yeah… Yeah, I do.”

“Good boy,” you coo, stretching up to kiss his cheek. Getting Spencer to express his desires outwardly is always an uphill battle, so you lavish him with praise whenever he voices them. “Gonna look so beautiful, baby,” you promise, tucking a few more pairs into your basket and dragging Spencer to check out. The associate throws you a knowing smirk at the way he tries to hide behind your considerably shorter frame, slouching his shoulders and pulling at his sleeves, and you toss her a grin back. Spencer gulps as he spots the handful of toys you picked out without showing him.

You tuck your hand into his as you leave the store. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m just future-proofing a little. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” He nods. “That being said…” you add, a grin creeping across your face. “You’ve got such a pretty ass, honey. I hope you’ll let me, one day.”

Spencer chews on his bottom lip, looks at the floor, but blushes in a way that suggests he’s not totally opposed. You drag him in for a kiss that borders on public indecency, just because you can, giggling into his mouth when you break apart. Deliberately, you fluster him, get him worked up all the way to your apartment until he’s clad in nothing but his boxers on your bedroom floor, hands grasping needily at your hips.

“So cute, honey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek. “C’mere, sweetness.” You lead him to the bed, sit cross-legged against the pillows. “You’re spoilt for choice, pretty.”

“But I don’t… I’m…”

You pout mockingly at him. “We can sit here as long as you like, honey, but nothing’s gonna happen until you tell Mommy what you want, huh?” One day, you’ll get him to dom you, and he’ll be the sweetest pleasure dom you’ve ever had your hands on. You can see it glimmering under his nervous, awkward exterior, sometimes so close to the surface you could reach out and touch it. And every time you get him to tell you what he wants instead of asking, you get a step closer to letting it free.

“I want…” Spencer trails off, breathing ragged. He picks up the fleshlight, inspects it, trails his fingers over the silicone. “But I want you to teach me how to use it,” he adds, a soft little smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah?” you murmur, slowly crawling towards him. “You wanna learn from your Mommy? Such a good boy, Spencer, doin’ so good for me.” One of his hands slides along the back of your neck as you trail yours down his chest, squeeze his cock through his boxers. You press your thumb against the patch of wet fabric, bring the digit up to his lips.

Obediently, he wraps his lips around your thumb, sucks softly. “Please,” he whines as you hook your fingers into his boxers, drag them down so he’s naked under your touch. You sit up, reach over for a bottle of lube, drench the toy with it.

Shuffling down the bed until you’re resting on your elbows between Spencer’s legs, you lean down. “S’gonna get a little messy, honey. That okay?” Spencer nods frantically, legs trembling. You drip spit down his length, and, unable to resist, you kiss his tip. His cock jumps against your lips, and you giggle softly. “You ready, beautiful? Words, please,” you add when he nods.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. M’ready. I want it, Mommy, please!” he whimpers, eyes glossy and trembling with desperation.

“That’s my good boy,” you murmur, pumping his cock once before you slowly bring the toy down. Spencer gasps, his eyes fluttering closed as a keening moan slips from his lips. “Feels good, huh?” Nodding, Spencer squirms, resists the urge to fuck into the toy as you slowly drag it up and down his cock. God, he’s so well-trained.

Arousal coils between your legs, your skin flushed with heat. You stare unabashedly, drool pooling in your mouth at the sight of Spencer disappearing into the toy. “Fuck, ohmygod, so good,” he slurs out. Slick, wet noises fill your room, mingling deliciously with Spencer’s soft whimpers and your helpless moans.

Groaning, you reach for his hand, cover yours with his. “You can move, honey. Make yourself feel good, okay?” With your permission granted, Spencer jerks his hips frantically up, fucking wildly into the toy. After a minute, he settles into a familiar rhythm, moaning at the slick slide against his cock. “Does this feel good, baby? You like fucking a plastic pussy?” Spencer shudders at your lurid, filthy words, nodding after a beat and whining your name. “Does it feel as good as my pussy, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” he gasps. “Nothin’s as good as you, Mommy.”

“Good answer,” you grin, taking your hand off the toy and letting him pick up his own rhythm. “Are you close, pretty?” you ask, slowly sitting up until you’re eye level with him.

“Mhmm,” he says, drawing the words out into a broken moan.

You lick your lips, cunt clenching at the sound. “Where d’you wanna cum, honey?”

Spencer’s jaw is clenched tight, body jerking with every movement of the toy, and it seems to take him a moment to find the words. “In your… in your mouth, Mommy, please,” he whimpers, and you’re only too happy to oblige.

Whining, he pulls the toy off himself, discards it on your sheets as you lean down and coat your fingers in the slick mixture of lube, spit and precum coating his cock. “So pretty for me, sweetness. Such a good boy,” you murmur, licking a slow stripe along the vein at his underside. Spencer thrusts up into your mouth as you sink lower, and you swallow your gag with practised ease. Slowly, you trace your wet fingers up his thigh, along the curve of his ass until you meet his hole. He hisses, tenses up, but relaxes again after a second. “This okay, baby?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I trust you.”

You fucking melt against him, nuzzling your cheek into his thigh affectionately. “Such a sweet boy for Mommy, baby. I…” You pause, bite your tongue. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. You love him. What a crass fucking moment for that realisation, with his dick in your mouth and your fingers pressed against his asshole. You swallow around the words, shove them down to think about later. “Can I give you a little more, sweetheart?”

Spencer nods eagerly, faintly murmurs “Please.” You take him to the root in one motion, swallow around him until he’s dangling helplessly at the edge. Then, oh-so gently, you push just the very tip of your finger inside. Spencer cries out, clamps down on you like a vice, gives a strangled little cry of your name. You press just slightly deeper, flick your tongue across his head, hollow your cheeks. “Oh, my God, I’m gonna— fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chokes out, cum spilling down your throat as he twitches and whines.

You swallow, rock back on your heels. “Hi, honey,” you say when Spencer blinks blearily up at you. “How do you feel?”

“Like, um…” You watch the muscles in his throat contract as he swallows. “Like I want more,” he whispers. “Is that okay?”

Pressing a kiss to his thigh, you sigh softly against his skin. “Sweetness, I wanna give you everything you want. My fingers feel good like this?” you coo. “Have you ever been touched like this before?”

You know the answer. You just want to hear him say it. “No. Never. Feels really good, Mommy, I need—“ Spencer cuts himself off with a choked gasp as you press your finger in deeper.

“Yeah, honey, I know. Mommy knows what you need, baby.” Gently, you pick up a rhythm, slowly kissing your way up his body to soothe him as he twitches and writhes under your attention.

Greedily, you swallow every breathy little whimper and needy little moan from his lips, feeling his cock twitch valiantly between his thighs. “Faster,” he whines, meeting your lips in a kiss that’s mostly spit and teeth, so lust-drunk he can barely control his body.

“Can you take one more, pretty?” you murmur, and he pleads for it, and you’re all too happy to oblige. Cautiously, you press a second finger into him, pump them faster, until he’s so hot under you that you swear he’ll melt in your hands and his cock is hard and leaking.

You crook your fingers a little, and Spencer’s entire body jolts. “That— Oh, God! Again, do that again, please, God, don’t stop, baby, oh, fuck!” And, God, who are you to deny him when he begs so prettily?

You brush your fingers against that spot over and over again, until he can barely form words and tears are leaking from his eyes. “So pretty, honey. I’ve ruined you, huh? Never gonna get off without thinking of me again. ‘Cause you’re mine, got it? Mommy’s good, sweet, slutty boy.”

He doesn’t even manage to pull together a warning, just a garbled sound that might be Mommy as he comes. His face contorts in pleasure, legs trembling and eyes rolling back. The sight of him so lost in pure ecstasy is endlessly erotic, your neglected cunt pulsing with need as you watch.

It takes Spencer a little longer to come back to himself this time, but the dazed, blissed-out look on his face is well worth the wait. “Oh, sweet boy,” you murmur. “This is gonna feel a little weird, sweetness, just breathe, okay? I’ll take care of you,” you promise, cautiously slipping your fingers free. He whines at the loss, body jerking involuntarily. “God, you’re so pretty like that. You gonna be okay if I go wash my hands, honey?”

Spencer nods feebly and you race to the bathroom and back in record time, scrambling back into bed before the chill in your apartment sets in. “Your hands are cold,” Spencer pouts, and you laugh.

“Then I guess I’d better stop touching you, huh?” you tease, but make no move to lift your palm from his chest.

His hand skims down your back. “Can I make you come?” he murmurs, quiet and soft. “I want to.”

Your chest clenches. God, he’s so sweet. “‘Course you can, honey. Such a good boy. You wanna let Mommy sit on your face?”

Spencer moans, head thudding back against the pillow as he grasps greedily at your hips. “Please.”

“Won’t take long, sweetness,” you promise, climbing up his body and kneeling with your thighs on either side of his jaw. “You got me all worked up, how pretty you look, how gorgeous you sound. Such a sweet boy, baby.” Spencer flickers his tongue over your soaked cunt and you gasp, fists clenching in your sheets.

You shove your hips down against his mouth, grind on his tongue as he buries it deep inside you. Pleasure throbs in the deepest corners of your body and Spencer moans into you, whimpers out a plea. The sound vibrates through your body, toes curling and eyes screwing shut. “Just like that, baby, c’mon, I— fuck!” you cry, collapsing forward on your elbows when Spencer wraps his lips around your clit, sucks softly.

He eats you like he’s been starved, switching between fucking you with his tongue and licking over your clit so fast it makes you dizzy. You clench around his tongue, rock your hips against his mouth, whine incoherently as pleasure pulls deep in your belly.

“God, honey, doing so good, so good for Mommy, don’t stop,” you moan, writhing and trembling on top of him. Spencer tongue-fucks you with renewed fervour, trying every trick you’ve taught him to pull you over the edge. You cum with a whimpering little scream, cunt pulsing against his mouth and hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets. Pure bliss wipes you clean, your muscles going limp and your body slumping against his.

You feel Spencer smile against your thigh, press a soft kiss there before you climb off him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, the words softly familiar.

“I should be thanking you, gorgeous,” you say, tracing your fingers across his lips and gathering up your arousal. “This is all you, honey,” you add, slipping your wet fingers into his open mouth and smiling softly as he sucks them clean. “You were such a good boy tonight, you know? I know trying something new can be stressful for you, but you took it so well, sweetheart.”

Spencer sighs. “But it wasn’t, though. I… I trust you. I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I like trying new things with you. You make me feel safe.” His cheeks are burning red, but he sounds so earnest that you can’t hold it back anymore.

“I love you, honey,” you say, quiet but firm. “You don’t have to say it back, I just… I do, and I want you to know.”

Lips parted and brow scrunched in disbelief, Spencer turns to you. “Are you kidding? Angel, I love you so much. I didn’t want to say it too soon and freak you out, but… I love you.” Your lips curve into a smile, and you kiss him frantically, pouring frenzied passion against his lips.

Spencer laughs breathlessly when you break apart for air, practically glowing as you gaze at him. “Hi,” you giggle, stretching out your stiff legs. “Think we need a shower, honey.”

He nods, but makes no move to get up, pulling you closer and hooking one of your legs over his. “In a minute.”

[ximiiixx]

down, boy!

in which cove has cravings, which is nothing out of the ordinary. but it's what he's craving exactly that might be a bit out of left field.

♡ nsfw, no au, fem + afab reader ♡ gentle dom top cove + sweet sub bottom reader ♡ pre-established relationship, oral sex (reader receiving), cove talks way dirty in this but in a pathetic way ehe, very much inspired by @sugar-omi's pussy hungry cove drabble <3

you'd never really voice it out loud ... but sometimes, cove reminds you of an excitable puppy.

from the way he lights up to how his smile stutters into something so much more jovial to how excited he gets when talking about his favorite things - the centerpiece of which, most notably, is you; as long as he feels comfortable, he brings a shimmering light to the function that nobody else could hope to replicate.

you'll be watching him go about his business with one of those rare ear-to-ear smiles, and you're sure you can imagine a tail wagging so hard it smacks against anyone within two feet of him. it's so cute, you can't help but to think.

and the way he responds to your praises, oh. you wish you could muster up the courage to ask if you could maybe record him going down on you sometime, if only to immortalize how he looks when the saccharine of your honeyed words seeps into him with miniature jolts; every time he squirms and whimpers and nods fervently when you stroke his hair and tell him he's doing so good, he's being such a good boy for you, he's making you feel so good and fuck, you're gonna cum-

he just looks too cute.

you wish you could spend every hour of every day letting him fuck into you, fingers and tongue and cock burying themselves against your gummy walls as he wails and moans and begs you to praise him more, love him more, cum for him just one more time-

but alas. work has had you tangled up lately, and you've only now managed to pull away from your third overtime in the past week. you'd barely managed to make it through the door before your (im)patiently awaiting boyfriend had snatched you right up from the porch and pushed you up against the wall without a word.

and that's where you find yourself now, pressed haphazardly against the wall with your ...

...pants yanked down unceremoniously, pooling at your ankles.

...skirt hitched to your tummy, shoved carelessly up your thighs.

cove's long since made himself comfortable between your plush thighs, nosing your panties out of the way and latching his mouth onto your clit without so much as a hi, how was your day.

which you're normally not opposed to, but it's been a long day at work ... you haven't even put your bags down yet!

"c- cove, c'mon," you protest weakly, unable to put up much of a fight when his tongue's raring to rock against your wet folds. he peers up at you, brow crumpled in a furrow as he whimpers against your cunt, pulling off of you obediently - even if he doesn't seem pleased to have to do so.

you're grateful for the chance to catch your breath ... but you can't help but mourn the loss of his warm, willing mouth.

still ...

"god- what's got you so excited?" you mumble incredulously as you attempt to gulp in a lungful of air without being interrupted by a moan or a whine. "i wasn't gone that long...?"

cove whines, face still pressed against your inner thigh. with how he's refusing to pull off, you could swear he's trying to nuzzle against your skin. "missed you. you were gone so long, and i just missed you, and- please, can i go back to what i was doing? please, please?"

you're no stranger to hearing him beg, but out of nowhere is a little unprecedented ... even as your arousal is practically dripping down your leg, waiting to be cleaned by an eager mouth.

before you can speak, he's grasping onto your thighs with eyes wide and pooling with desperate wetness.

"PLEASE, oh please-! c'mon, i'll be so good for you! i PROMISE!" he cries, gripping your thighs almost hard enough to bruise. "don't i deserve you 'n- 'nd your pretty pussy? haven't i been good for you?"

the mumbled whimpers are accentuated with kiss - and tear - marks against your inner thighs, sending rivulets of pleasure cascading down your spine as you shiver. still, your silence is taken as unrelenting refusal, and cove lets out a sob.

"please, PLEASE just let me fffFUCK you already-! i'll- i'll do anything-!" he nearly wails, sea-blue eyes imploring and needy, so needy. "i'll make you cum 'til you can't walk, i'll- i'll tongue fuck you so good, so GOOD-"

all this filth that's leaving his mouth is making your head spin. you hadn't known cove was capable of saying such degenerate things - even if you find it completely sexy.

... well, today was stressful anyway.

the feeling of your thighs tightening their hold around his face has him perking up almost immediately, a wide - and very grateful - smile overtaking his earlier simper. before you can even warn him to take it a little slower, he's practically nosediving into your cunt and eating you out without so much as a pause to let you prepare.

high whines, moans, and whatever may come between fill the entryway to your home as your boyfriend fucks into your pussy with as little decorum as he usually does when he's eating. the door behind you trembles with every rock of your hips against his face, grinding your cunt against his pliant mouth.

you're sure the neighbors can hear both of you at this point. you're not entirely sure you care.

"god, fuck- 's been so long, 's been forEVER," cove snivels out in a muffled moan against your puffy folds. "fuck, i missed this SO fucking much. why did you keep this from me, WHY- fffffuck, do you even love me anymore-?"

even through the din of your lust and the struggle of your day melting from your shoulders, you can't help but scoff affectionately at his dramatics - which is immediately followed by a loud cry as you feel his tongue curl up into you, as if trying to remind you of all the sensations you had been denying yourself of the longer you denied him.

his tongue only continues to fuck into you at a brutal pace, desperate to drink up everything he'd missed out on since the last time you two had done this - which could not have been more than, what...a couple days ago? god, he's insatiable.

"fuck, waited so long for this- SO fucking long, you have no IDEA- waited too fucking long to feel your tight pussy sucking my tongue back inside you," cove whimpers, each word pushed out against your cunt as he drives his mouth back against you between every pause, as if he can't bear to pull away from your dripping sex for even a moment. "god, feels like it's been AGES. missed you so much, fuck-"

you've never heard him curse this much ... ever. the vulgarity of it all, the obscenity of the slurping sounds beneath you mixed with the thrill of all that filth he's talking - it's enough to tip you over the edge, a moan just shy of a scream muffled into your palm as your vision explodes in stars, your orgasm hitting you so hard your ears ring.

he lets you ride it out on his tongue, drinking up your juices with all the greed of a depraved, starved man. his hands remain firmly fixed on your thighs, a vice grip that could have left marks if he wanted it to; his way of making sure you know you're not going anywhere until he's had his fill of you.