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vivwritescrappythings · 7 months ago

Text

take it all

toxic!simon riley x afab!reader

You meet Simon at a pub and go home with him.

an: i imagine this as after Soap’s death (sorry if this is a spoiler) and Ghost is trying to cope the best way he can. also i personally think Ghost is bi, sue me.

part 2

tw: smut!, toxic simon, afab and fem reader, drinking, mild dubcon (they were both drinking), biting, dry humping, oral m!receiving, cum play (in not a fun way), not proofread and bad writing.

word count: 2.6k

masterlist

MDNI!

—

Simon wanted nothing to do with you at first. He was at a pub on university night and you’d been dared to go up to the man sulking at the edge of the bar by your friends. You accepted with a nervous giggle, going through the methodical motions of fixing your hair and adjusting your top and making sure you had nothing stuck in your teeth before you approached.

You didn’t even get to open your mouth before he grumbled at you. “Not interested.” He didn’t even bother to look your direction, gulping down his Guinness like it was water and flagging down the bartender for another. It was hard to hold your scoff, your brows furrowing in indignation.

“Arrogant of you to assume I was coming over here to talk to you,” you snapped, arms crossing over your chest and your posture straightening. The force of your glare could’ve seared a hole in the side of his head as you focused on the ridge of his nose. It looked like it had been broken in the past. His fair skin was littered with scars that varied from shiny white tissue to an irritated red hue.

That made one side of his mouth lift into a smirk, dark brown eyes glancing at you out of the corners. It was a look you promptly ignored. You moved to the stool on his other side, sliding onto it and ordering another drink. The man next to you slid the bartender a bill before you had the chance to grab your wallet out of your purse. A form of olive branch, you assumed.

Somehow the night devolved into more drinks and a clumsy, vague introduction before you were following Simon back to his home. He lived walking distance away, his thick fingers circled around your wrist like a bracelet—or a shackle. He didn’t slow his stride for you, making you nearly jog along with him until he got you to his doorstep.

It was a whirlwind. He caged you against the front door, forearms against the painted wood above your head as his face dropped into your shoulder. His lips sucked and nipped at your neck like a madman, scraping his teeth over your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“M’not a good guy, don’t want nothin’ more than a shag,” he mumbled into your throat. You found yourself nodding despite the fact that you firmly didn’t believe in one night stands. And you didn’t believe in going home with random men you met at bars. Simon had a way to convince you into things without even trying.

Your mouth sought his, desperate for a touch of his lips when his calloused fingers gripped your chin, turning your face away from him as he continued to pin you to his front door. “No kissin’,” he muttered against the curve of your shoulder in a way that didn’t leave any room for negotiation. You felt dizzy as you looked at the lights in the building across the street, your eyelids fluttering as his teeth dug into a sensitive spot on your neck.

“You gonna let me inside or try and screw me out here on your front step?” you asked, your voice sounding more strained than you would’ve liked. You could already feel how soaked your panties were getting, Simon’s thick thigh was shoved between yours—you wouldn’t be surprised if there was already a spot forming on his dark jeans.

He barked a harsh laugh against your ear, one large hand cupping the curve of your waist while the other produced a sparse key ring from his back pocket. It only took a bit of fumbling to thread it into the door. Opening it was a precise and smooth motion, keys getting dropped in a dish near the door and his hand swooping up to flick on the light in practiced moves.

The neatness of the space added a check mark to the box you’d already suspected he fit into: military—or serial killer. Only necessities were present, empty walls aside from the coat hooks near the door and the pot rack in the kitchen. It should’ve made you nervous, should’ve set off some sort of alarm bells. But Simon’s hands were all over you the instant the door clicked shut and he didn’t give you a second to breathe. He yanked the pretty denim jacket off your shoulders smoothly, hanging it up before crowding you further inside like a cattle dog nipping at your ankles.

Before you knew it, you were perched on his lap on the black leather couch and your purse was discarded on the coffee table. Simon’s hands found their way to your hips, rocking you against him as you planted sloppy, wet kisses on the wide column of his throat. He was so solid and warm beneath you, the skirt you were wearing pooling on his couch as the thin fabric of your panties continued to catch against the zipper of his jeans.

Your hips rolled against his as you desperately sought the friction. Pretty, soft moans fanned against the scarred, tattooed skin of Simon’s neck as your hands pressed against his broad, barrel chest for some stability. A heartbeat was already pounding between your legs, your clit nudging against the hard ridge of his cock with each glide of your pelvis against his. His fingers dug into the fat of your hips so hard that you were sure there would be bruises in the morning.

It wouldn’t take you much more to come, as pathetically fast as that was. The hazy smell of him had your chest bound in knots, dirt and cigarette smoke and the sharpness of his citrus-scented soap. You sucked a mark behind his ear, laving your tongue over it to soothe the reddened skin.

You were on the edge of it, mewling and twisting his shirt in your fingers as electricity raced up and down your spine. The alcohol made you feel so warm, your cheeks heated and eyes partially lidded. You didn’t know if it was the booze or the company or both, but everything was buzzing and it made you almost too sensitive.

Simon ripped you from the precipice before you could enjoy the sweet release. His hand closed around your throat and the other locked on your waist, stilling you on his lap. “No!” you yelped, your palm hitting his chest as your brows pinched together. The sound was strangled, his calloused fingers squeezing just enough to tighten your windpipe without truly choking you.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you on your perch. “You’re not comin’ ‘til you use that pretty mouth of yours,” Simon grunted, manhandling you until you were on your knees between his legs. Again, there was no space for negotiation or protest.

You swallowed thickly, still reeling from your orgasm being ripped away so suddenly. The blistering euphoria fell away from you, wax melting from its feathers as it plummeted back to the earth and left you cold.

You watched Simon’s hands begin to undo his belt, your mouth going dry. His hands were divine, huge and veined along the backs of them. Nails were bitten to the quick and clean, thick and calloused fingers moving deftly to open his belt and unbutton his jeans. There were lines of tattoos on his wrists, faded and feathered from age.

You could’ve been a deer caught in the headlights with how you were staring, eyes wide and your weight back on your heels. If another man acted like Simon was, you would’ve scoffed before picking yourself up off the floor and storming out of the apartment. But there was something about him that made you stay, kneeling obediently as he reached into his blue and gray checkered boxers and pulled himself out.

Simon had a pretty cock, to say the least. It was thick and curved a little to the right. Your gaze traced a thick vein up the length of it, making you swallow. His tip was a flushed red, almost purple. It made you wonder when the last time he came was. You were willing to throw away years of promising yourself that you would never let a guy use you again just to get your mouth on a cock like that, saliva pooling on your tongue.

You didn’t make him wait long, your hands settling on his thighs as you moved forward to take the hot tip of it into your mouth. It tasted like salt and clean skin, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. You were rewarded with a groan, his hands tightening into fists on either side of your head.

Letting out a breath through your nose, you sucked as much of his cock into your mouth as you could. Lips tucked over teeth and cheeks hollowed out, you always felt like you were in your element when you were giving head. There was something about the ability to bring a man to his knees with just your mouth and hands that delighted you, it made you feel like you had the power.

Simon was the same as the rest. He grunted pretty for you when you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, moving it in tandem with your mouth. You couldn’t fit him all without choking, drool and spittle already leaking from the edges of your mouth and making the entirety of his shaft a slick mess. It was all over your lips and jaw, your foundation starting to rub away in places and your lip gloss smeared across his shaft and on your palm.

You had to take breaks to breathe, jerking him off as you sucked in desperate breaths. It was the only time you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes looking through you. He made all the right sounds, the grunts and the whimpers that he didn’t mean to let out. But he looked at you like you weren’t quite there, weren’t quite real.

It was the last time you looked up at him, your gut twisting in a way that you didn’t like but could blame on the alcohol.

Simon’s hand fitted to the curve of your jaw, three fingers stretching to the nape of your neck as he guided your mouth back to his cock. He bucked his hips up to cram more of himself down your throat, the hand on the nape of your neck keeping you in place.

His cock cut your airways off with every thrust, making your lungs burn. You focused on sucking in short breaths through your nose in between, your hands clenching against the hard muscle of Simon’s thighs. It was then your suspicions were confirmed, definitely military. There was no room for mercy in the palm of his hand as it molded to the top of your spine.

You choked and spluttered, your saliva turning viscous as his dick churned your throat. Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. The soft sound of him sighing met your ears, a hushed “fuck” muttered under his breath.

His eyes were shut tight, his head resting on the back of the couch as he fucked up into your throat. It almost hurt to turn your gaze that far up, but you felt too unmoored—you needed to see him. His free hand was wrapped around what looked to be two sets of dog tags around his neck, holding them so tight his knuckles turned white. You didn’t even see them earlier, they must have been tucked into his shirt.

Simon’s curses became louder, his hand squeezing around the back of your neck and giving you no escape. The laminate wood floor was imprinting its pattern into your knees, the caps of them aching. You still didn’t even try to get him to let you up, working on relaxing your jaw and throat and wanting to take it all. Something about him made you all too complacent, leaving you slack-jawed for him to fuck into like a fleshlight.

His nails dug into the skin behind your ear as he pushed you down all the way, your nose pressed firmly into the soft, curly blonde hairs across his pubic bone. He was so hot and heavy in your throat that it made you want to beg him to ruin you. Your jaw and throat burned, but you melted into the pain as it licked at you.

“Gonna fuckin’ come.” The words were rushed and low as they spilled from Simon’s mouth. You felt battered and bruised, your throat raw and aching. He took from you, and continued to, grinding his hips against your face to move his cock millimeters deeper into your throat. You swallowed obediently to milk his shaft, hearing him moan out a disgruntled name. Johnny? Maybe? You’d have to ask to know, your own heart pounding in your ears muffling the rest.

The pleasure of satisfaction still bloomed in you at a job well done, but it mixed with something nauseating when you realized he was thinking of someone else the whole time.

Simon’s cock pulsed like a wound against your tongue when he came, liquid pleasure like molten lava spilling down your throat with each breathless groan. “That’s it, take it all.” It didn't feel like praise anymore, his blunt nails scratching at the back of your neck combined with his grunts making you feel like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over you.

You didn’t swallow a drop, eyes screwed shut as he dumped rope after rope of come into your throat. Swallowing would’ve been the good thing to do, the obedient thing. But there was so much, some of it spilling out the seam your lips made and disappearing into the scratch of his blonde curls. It was insane, you wondered for the second time how long it had been since he even jerked off.

His hand dropped off you, letting you pull away in an instant. You thought to run to the bathroom or kitchen and spit into the sink, the salty white liquid dripping from the corner of your mouth starting to taste vile on your tongue. You just wanted to get rid of it like the memory of this night.

Simon was already tucking himself away, leaving you sitting like an idiot between his legs. You knew a half-assed apology was next, a pathetic fake compliment about how your mouth felt too good and made him blow his load early. It wasn’t his fault, it was yours. But sorry, no shag tonight.

Rose colored glasses were exchanged for red ones as his dark brown eyes met yours. They were blank, dark rings beneath them almost making him look like a corpse. He didn’t even have the good manners to pretend to be sheepish, his gaze settling on you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You couldn’t even process what you were doing before you spat the mouthfuls of his come onto his black long-sleeve shirt. The white liquid was frothy from being mixed with your saliva, viscous as it landed on the center of his sternum and splattered. You spat again for good measure, making sure it landed on the silver dog tags before you wiped your mouth on your sleeve.

“Asshole,” you seethed, rolling yourself to your feet before you could even take in his surprised expression. Or the way the corner of his scarred, chewed up mouth twitched like he was going to smile. There was a flicker of recognition in his eye, like you reminded him of someone.

“Next time you just need to come, how about you call that Johnny fella or get a goddamn toy or something,” you hissed, not bothering to look at Simon as you stormed toward the door. You had the good sense to grab your purse, rummaging through it to find some gum as you saw yourself out. The slam of his front door was deafening, leaving the two of you in silence on either side of it.

You didn't realize you forgot your jacket hanging neatly on the hook next to his door until you woke up in the morning.

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x female reader #toxic simon riley #cod mw2 #tf 141 #call of duty

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blue-jisungs · 9 months ago

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JAM & BUTTERFLY

author's note. i love wonwoo so much?! also this songs is so cute wtf:(

summary. just a sweet morning with your boyfie<3

word count. 1036

warnings. may appear as a slightly suggestive if u squint :3 and! shirtless wonu (blame @slytherinshua)

warmth spread on your skin, sunlight peeking on you through the window. as you slowly stirred awake, you embraced the feeling of coziness – fresh air, comfortable blanket and duvet, fluffy pillow… warmth, so much of it.

but in a pleasant way. a way that hugs you and surrounds you in a bear alike grasp.

and you knew that another source of it was your personal teddy bear boyfriend wonwoo.

finally peeking an eye open, you saw the man himself. and, as per usual, mere seconds after waking up you were already stunned by his beauty.

he had his glasses on, resting on the ridge of his pretty nose. plush lips were parted as he was focused. wonwoo was reading a book, holding it with his right hand – pinky and thumb holding the pages down as the rest of fingers were supporting the weight. his upper back was pressed against the headrest, probably not the most comfortable position.

the sunlight fell on his figure, usually ebony eyes being now lighter, reminding you of pools of honey. they moved as he scanned the letters, fully emerged in the text.

sliding your gaze down, to his attractive neck and collarbones… down to his bare chest. you couldn’t help but smile, the gesture probably imprinting on his skin.

that is always a signal that the weather has shifted and it’s warmer: wonwoo is sleeping without his shirt. not the flowers blooming or astrological signs… just wonwoo and his lack of upper piece of clothing.

”someone’s awake, hm?” he hummed, his deep morning voice sending shivers down your spine. you’ll never get used to this - even though his voice (and laugh) might be the most beautiful sound in the whole universe.

“mhm…” you purred, too lazy to form words yet.

you just realised wonwoo’s left hand was holding you. it snuck under your (his) oversized t-shirt and moved in soothing motions on your bare back.

deciding to get even more of him, you shuffled closer and tucked your head in the crook of his neck.

“i made breakfast, it’s still warm” wonwoo announced softly and you could feel the vibrations coming from his neck when he spoke.

whatever he did, it always gave you butterflies. whether it was… breakfast in the morning or just washing the dishes for you. he made feel like a teenager again; all sweet inside.

“in a sec…” you grunted, letting your eyes close again. you were just so… comfy… so…

“hey, misses, don’t snooze” wonwoo chuckled, his chest buzzing. a smile sprung on your lips but your eyes remained closed.

“you’re reading either way, i’ll just nap” replying, you weren’t sure how he understood you: half of your words came out as a slurred speech.

but he understood, he always did.

you felt him move a bit, probably to put the book away. then, it was all sudden but oh so soft, his right arm wrapped around you as well. your face momentarily squished into his chest (not like you minded) before he quite literally manhandled you – rolled over a bit closer and then made you sit up on his lap. trapping him between your thighs, one hand resting on his chest and the other rubbing your eye in a sleepy manner.

this was apparently very funny because wonwoo laughed wholeheartedly, hands squeezing your sides.

“what?” you huffed, trying to act annoyed.

“you’re just so cute, baby” he replied with that boyish smile of his.

there was a certain way in which he looked at you. for a while you didn’t realise, only when your friends pointed it out: wonwoo admired you, looked at you as if you hung the stars yourself.

“don’t look at me like that” you giggled, realising he’s doing it now. sure, he wasn’t doing it in purpose. but wonwoo just couldn’t help himself but scan your pretty features, take in your appearance in front of him – basking in sunlight, having messy hair and a bare face.

“why?” your boyfriend teased, poking your sides gently.

“because i’m shy” you let out a grunt and hung your head down, trying to hide your face from him.

“ah…” he sighed, amused. you moved closer and pecked his forehead, taking his hands off you in the meantime.

and then you tried to escape, to brush your teeth.

keyword: tried.

because in no time wonwoo’s cat-alike instincts trapped you in his hold again.

“where are you running off to?” he teased and patted the spot were you were sleeping. you sat there, crossing your legs and as you yawned loudly, he placed down the breakfast on a wooden trace.

fresh strawberries and some watermelon (no blueberries, though), toast with jam, croissants with chocolate and coffee.

“when did you prepare that?” you asked and reached for a strawberry. wonwoo shrugged and grabbed the toast.

“i woke up quite early, couldn’t sleep. i went on a run and on my way back i made the coffee. i decided to leave it here and read a chapter or two… and then you woke up” your boyfriend explained casually but your heart was racing like crazy. he’s saying it like it’s nothing but… you were whipped. wonwoo was like honey, you were like a bee – not only was he sweet but it would always make you stick to him. maybe it was a cliche metaphor but that’s how you felt.

you noticed a bit of strawberry jam in the corner of his lips and you just smiled, reaching for the croissant.

“thank you, i appreciate it” you hummed before taking a bite.

“anything for you, angel” wonwoo smiled sweetly.

after finishing the breakfast and putting away the plates, you decided to stay in bed a little more. you grabbed a tissue and cleaned wonwoo’s face from the jam, giggles and chuckles escaping from both of you.

“a big baby, hm?” you cooed, cracking a grin. wonwoo just rolled his eyes dramatically and after you threw away the tissue, he pulled you closer. capturing your lips in a kiss, you could taste the sweet, sweet strawberry jam. smiling into the kiss, melting upon the moment you came to a conclusion that what’s what dating wonu feels like. like jam and butterflies.

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver,, @eternalgyuuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

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cherryredstars · 1 month ago

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PT 2 on Hobie where he is now dealing with the Venom symbiote and became the new host and managed to warn the Spideys to NOT go to his universe for any means and he's struggling for control to the point he needs to see his pretty angel ballerina who is cuddling with her stuff animals he gives her everytime she wins a gold medals or got the lead part and practically cuddles her to calm himself down and tooooottalllyy not threatening her to take away her precious stuffies if she dares open her eyes as he fucks her dumb since the symbiote is trying to see what's the hype on why it's host is so protective and loving towards reader.

Bonus if the reader discreetly opens her eyes without him noticing and actually starts to enjoy Venom!Hobie fucking her dumb as he still holds her close like he's going to loose her?

Pairing: Venom!Hobie Brown x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mirror Sex, Monster Fucking (???), Squirting

A/N: Hey so… it’s been a while

Unedited

You’re not completely sure what you’re looking at.

Of course, the mirror is dirty, but not dirty enough to so heavily distort Hobie like this. The thing behind you is vaguely molded to your boyfriend’s form, shiny and black bulges of muscle wrapping like dead vines across his body. Your eyes can’t seem to rip away from it, even as your drool starts to leave the fuzzy fur of your teddy bear uncomfortable against your face.

You can just peak over your arm as he pounds into you, eyes hazy as they track his body in the glass. You can feel the thick saliva on your back before it lands, the thing behind you drooling horribly as it’s bulging cock spears through your folds. Hobie has always been huge, but now it feels nothing short of monstrous. You can feel the stretch, knowing if he were to pull out you would be left gaping. Each drag of his cock is a rub against your clit, and you barely clench around him before it feels too tight.

But fuck, it feels so good.

“H-hobie!” You hiccup, grabbing onto the soft fur of the bear in your arms as you try to climb off your boyfriend’s cock.

A rumbling, almost purr like noise sounds from behind you. Deep and dark and nothing like your boyfriend. You hiccup again when you feel the needle-like nails of the creature press into your hips, dragging you back down to the hilt and pressing against your ass.

It’s clingy, you realize. It’s weird hands massaging and grabbing at every inch of soft skin available. Its slippery tongue lapping against your spine and savoring the ridge of every vertebrae. You can’t escape too far before its pulsing tip is snug against the opening of your cervix again.

Each twitch of its cock is more like a fully body shake. You can feel the heaviness inside of you, weighing down against your walls as each stroke leaves you feel like you’re floating. He hits everywhere- every tiny, sensitive spot imaginable. You’re like a frail leaf in his hold, body sinking into the army of stuffed animals below you as your body succumbs to an unearthly amount of pleasure.

“Please!” You gasp, back arching as a rapid stream of lava rushes through your body. You sob when it reaches its destination, body locking and trapping his cock inside of you as you explode.

You can feel your release dampening the sheets, and you whine when one of Hobie’s large claws cups at your sex and makes it splatter against your skin as he collects it in his palm. You’re lightheaded, mind dizzy and blank and he grows and thrusts shallowly inside of you. You almost miss the overflow of warmth flooding and bloating you, your walls pulsating in a slow squeeze to have him fill you.

You sigh sleepily as his climax dies down, micro thrusts encouraging his seed to stay inside of you before pulling out. Your body shudders, cunt weak and quivering and it tries to close up and safeguard his release. The furry animals under you are damp in drool and sweat and tears, but you ignore it as you huddle close to them. You’re too exhausted to care, and Hobie can always buy you new ones if they’re beyond saving.

Your eyes flutter as you watch the creature, slowly receding until the familiar sized-frame of your boyfriend is back in the mirror. His hands, not as large as before, shakily try to wipe away at the pooling of saliva on the small of your back. You sigh deeply, shutting your eyes as he mumbles small, breathless praises.

You’ll let him tell you when he’s ready.

#cherry's requests��#hobie brown x you #hobie brown across the spiderverse #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown smut #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader smut #hobie fanfic #hobie x reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #atsv hobie #astv hobie #venom au #venom!hobie #venom symbiote

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recareels · 2 months ago

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warnings: 18+ for mature themes, mentioned intoxication, implied student-professor relationship, sunday is a little too jealous for a big brother, sunday is taller than reader words: 939

honestly just can’t stop thinking about sunday catching you, his precious baby sister, getting ready for a university halloween party, knowing full well your favourite professor mr. reca is probably going to be there, despite the fact that you will neither confirm nor deny this notion (*ﾉωﾉ)

Sunday knows, the instant he sees you busy primping yourself in the gilded hallway mirror—dainty fingers fussing with your feathers, a cute little pout of concentration molded to your lips—that you’re up to no good; that you’ll be up to no good tonight.

Call it a Big Brother’s intuition.

“Really? An angel?” Sunday leans a shoulder up against the cased opening, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Don’t you think that’s a little…” Obvious. “Cliche?”

Your eye catches his through the mirror, ministrations halted, a small frown deepening your pout, corners of your lips twitching downward.

“No, I don’t.” Your gaze darts back to the reflection of your hands, careful as you fluff up your faux wings, twisting a little this way, then that, admiring yourself. “Besides, it’s fitting, no?”

Sunday chooses not to answer that.

“And where is this Halloween party being held again?”

“At some club in the Moment of Stars.”

“Which club?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sunny,” your eyes capture his again, holding his stare through the glass. “The university is throwing it; I’m sure you can find out the exact location on their website, or their socials, or something.”

Lips pressing into a thin, hard line, Sunday watches you finish up in silence, his sunset stare scalding on the back of your head. The hinges of his jaw flex as his molars grind together, Adams apple bobbing with a reflexive swallow. It’s nipping at the tip of his tongue, the question that’s been clawing at the walls of his skull since you first brought this damn party up several weeks ago.

Is he going to be there?

“Look,” you turn towards him after you’re done, palms finding their rightful place on his shoulders. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just going to be a fun little Halloween party with some friends from school.” You raise up onto your tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Faculty will be present; it will be safe.”

His entire form stiffens at the word faculty—a visceral reaction—and you sigh softly, tender hands smoothing down his shoulders, then drifting over his pecs, ironing the ridges from his jacket and the stress from his muscles—a silent reminder to stop slouching.

His spine snaps into submission, straightening up immediately and raising him to his full height—shoulders rolled back, chest puffed out just a touch, The Head of The Family resurrected once more.

“I promise I’ll be back at a decent time.”

Another kiss—this one softer, longer, closer to the corner of his mouth—and then you’re off, bouncing out the door towards a friend’s car, idling in the cobblestone horseshoe of the mansion’s driveway.

“Be good!” he calls after you, desperation straining his voice, heavy with the things he wishes to say, the things he dares not speak, lest it make them true.

“Always am!”

But Sunday knows better. Sunday knows you will be anything but Holy tonight.

And Sunday was right; right to be concerned, right to harbour suspicions.

Because hours past the time you promised you’d be back, well into the early morning when Sunday’s eyes are bloodshot and burning from glaring at a screen, lips chewed raw by incessant incisors tugging at superficial skin while meticulously refreshing your socials—and those of your friends, and that of the university—he finally receives the confirmation he was looking for, his worst nightmares come to life.

Because there you are, drunk or high or both on heavens knows what and decidedly fucked up, dancing with some man in a devil mask on a friend’s social media story.

The mask was clever—you must’ve thought ahead, a coordinated act rather than a coincidental encounter—but it isn’t enough to conceal the man behind it.

Nothing ever will be.

Because Sunday would recognize those sharp crimson eyes anywhere.

Jealousy froths in his chest as he replays the short choppy video over and over again, stupidly hoping his eyes are playing tricks on him, as if rewatching the godforsaken clip enough times will cast some sort of spell, will magically cause it to morph into something more favourable.

A special type of fury churns his stomach, an anger doused in envy, and he feels ill, thick saliva slimy as it pools beneath his tongue. Emotion bubbles up his throat, acidic and bitter, to gnaw away on the back of his tongue, burning his flesh as he tries to swallow past it.

The man—presumably Reca—has got his arms locked around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder, staring directly into the camera as you shout something, garbled and bleary. Your bodies sway as one to some indistinct beat blaring in the background, nothing more than a distorted pulse of noise as it filters through the device’s microphone.

Then you’re turning in the arms of your professor, his large gloved palms flattened at the base of your spine, deft fingers splayed so the tips of his pinkies rest on the swell of your ass; and you’re giggling, obnoxiously knocking your forehead to his and pressing sloppy kisses to the mouth of his mask; and Sunday sees it, the final nail in the coffin of confirmation, a mere millisecond before you’re devoured by the cresting crowd of partygoers.

Your fingers, twining in a flash of ivory hair at the nape of the man’s neck—curling, tugging, knotting; closer, closer, closer.

Sunday’s changed his mind; your costume is fitting—an innocent angel, corrupted and seduced by the likes of Satan himself; a sweet seraph, fallen from grace and dirtied by the hands of evil.

Ruined, forever.

#mr reca x reader #mr reca x you #mr reca x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you #let’s pretend i am not posting this two hours before halloween is over #this idea came to me right before dinner so of course i had to write it asap #HEHEHE #more big brother sunny!!!!!!!#inky.sunday #inky.reca #prof!reca

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quickiesgirl · 1 year ago

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In the Kitchen - Wanda Maximoff

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, Semi-Public Sex, Kitchen Sex, Cunnilingus, 50s Theme, Alternative Universe, My Shitty Writing.

Kinktober 1 - Kitchen Sex

You weren’t entirely thrilled receiving an invitation to the summer block party, thrown by your neighbor, Agnes. As fun as it may seem to fellow Westview residents, you rarely cared for the large, interactive crowds.

Instead, you enjoyed being in the presence of your family, whereas your wonderful wife, Wanda, was a social butterfly. Yet, even with these different traits, you still found some interesting ways to work around them.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder watching you walk through the kitchen door, well-dressed, and fresh out of the shower.

“Almost ready, my love?” She asked with the sweetest, most loving tone, untying the white, laced apron around her waist to lay it on top of the countertop, watching as you walked through the kitchen door, well-dressed, and fresh out of a shower.

“Almost,” You repeated, leaning into the side of the counter, feeding the thin, leather belt through your trousers, noticing the silence that filled the active household, “Did the boys already head outside?”

“Yeah, they’re out on the lawn playing with Señor Scratchy.”

You took a moment to admire the missis. She looked absolutely stunning, standing there, dressed in her new blouse, bought specially for this occasion, and a bright, flowy pencil skirt that stopped mid-knee, hugging her hips in just the right places.

You came up from behind and wrapped your arms around her waist, chest pressing into her back while your chin lowered upon her shoulder with pursed, pouty lips, “Sure we can’t stay home today?”

“Honey, we have to show up to the block party, Agnes is counting on us to bring the pies. I just hope I followed her grandmother's recipe correctly..." She said, glancing down at the recipe card, squinting her eyes, and knitting her brows together at the barely eligible writing scribbled across it.

Wanda quickly caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her attention was now set on the warmth spreading through her entire body as your lips began to lay kisses along the back of her neck, her floral-scented perfume filling your nose as you hummed softly and allowed your hands to caress her round, curved hips.

Wanda sighed softly, cheeks growing a shade of scarlet as she tilted her neck to the side, allowing you more space to do as you please.

Intoxicated by your touch and attention.

You move up slowly, soft lips brushing against the ridge of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, whispering in that dominant tone, “mhm, least I’ll have my gorgeous wife by my side,”

She spun around in your embrace, laying her hands upon your clothed frame and sliding from your waist up to your breasts to adjust the collar of your long-sleeved button-up.

“You know, no one would mind us being a few minutes late,” You suggested knowingly, inching your face closer to hers, “Just a little taste, baby?”

Wanda immediately looked around seeing the many open windows surrounding the two of you, along with the frequently used door leading into the kitchen, “In here? W-what if someone sees us, or the kids walk in on us?”

“No one will catch us, darling. I’ll be listening for the door the entire time.”

That look on your face tells everything she needs to know, all your wants and desires, without even having to read your mind. It made her ache for your touch. “Promise?”

“I promise.” You smirked, watching her slowly move in, lacing her arms around your neck and connecting her lips to yours for a deep, intimate kiss.

Before she could think, you pinned her to the kitchen counter and grabbed ahold of her upper thighs to swiftly place her on top, causing a soft gasp to escape her lips. Your action sends a wave of heat between her thighs. She loved it when you’re forceful.

Wanda slowly kicked off her pearl-colored kitten heels, dropping them to the floor as she draped her arms over your shoulders, feeling your hands massage the underside of her smooth legs, the metal of your wedding ring cold and prominent against her skin, reminding her of the undying love you share for each other.

With a twist of her wrist, her fingers blazed with red translucent energy, using her powers to suddenly close the kitchen shutters that looked in on the dining room table and living room, giving the two of you some much-needed privacy.

Wasting no time, you pushed her skirt up and discarded her white panties to the floor, kneeling down, face inches away from her pretty, hairless pussy, already glistening with arousal.

Eyes fluttering shut, taking in her sweet aroma with each breath before pressing your warm, wet tongue just above her entrance, licking a long, teasingly slow strip between her folds till you reach her sensitive bud, feeling her pulsate beneath your touch.

Wanda sucked in a sharp breath, instantly dropping her hands up to grab ahold of your hair and push you deeper, showing you exactly where she needed you the most, causing you to devilishly smirk at your beautiful wife before pulling her hood back ever so slightly to reveal her swollen, sensitive clitoris, finally giving her some well-deserved attention.

The second the tip of your tongue swirled around, a pretty moan escaped her lips. Her head arching back as she squeezes your hair between her fingers, feeling the heat already pooling in her stomach. The weight of her gorgeous thighs now strung over your steady shoulders.

“Best keep those eyes on me, sweetheart…” You said in less of a suggestion and more of an order, “I wouldn't want you to miss the show.”

Wanda’s heavy gaze lowered, lashes batting as she watched your tongue work and maneuver her sweet spots between those pink, puffy lips, licking and teasing till her legs were trembling around your head.

Your mind was set on one thing, getting a taste of that sweet cum gushing across your lips.

Her little pornographic sounds began to build, more and more, until they were spilling out of the kitchen. She was struggling to remain quiet.

Wanda bunched the beautifully old-fashioned material of her dress in the palm of her hand, digging her long, painted nails into the fabric as her other hand reached down to grip the edge of the wooden counter, searching for any form of support so she could roll her hips on your tongue.

A coil lay in her stomach, tensing and tightening, pulling her closer to release.

“Mhm, that’s it, pretty baby,” You growl, grabbing hold of her hips over the soft material of her skirt to arch her pelvis forward and hold her still while you sink into her wet, tight hole, allowing your tongue to side in and out relentlessly, stroking her velvety walls while you fucked her forcefully.

“Please, I'm gonna come! Y-you're gonna- make me cu-mmuhh~” She reached her tipping point, eyes rolling to the back of her head and her body tensing under your touch, unable to hold back any longer.

Her cunt contracted, releasing her sweet juices along your tastebuds, painting your tongue like so many times before, yet every time, it was just as sweet as the last.

You happily cleaned her up, and slowly dragged your hands down, planting gentle kisses along her plush inner thigh while you ogled your wife, who was beautiful as ever with that dazed, euphoric look across her face.

The sound of the front door slamming shut instantly caught your attention. Your eyes broaden, listening to Billy shout from the living room, “Mom? Mom? Hey, where is everyone?”

Wanda gasped, hurriedly standing to her feet, hands flattening down her skirt, and slipping back into her heels as you swiped her panties from the floor and tucked them into your back pocket.

“We’re in the kitchen.” You spoke up, dragging your thumb over your bottom lip, collecting the rest of her juices to lick away before gazing in her direction, “We’ll be finishing this later.”

She blushingly smiled, trying to hide it as soon as Billy and Tommy rushed through the swinging door with pure excitement on their faces.

You made her needy, sick thoughts begin to wander, anticipating sundown when the kids are tucked away in bed, peacefully asleep while their moms finally have some alone time.

Wanda Maximoff Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @wandsmxmff @cantthinkofauserlololol @pikachupepito2 @Natashamacimoff69 @likefirenrain @olsensnpm @cristin-rjd @demxnicprxncess @acimadetudorubron

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#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda mcu #wandavision #quickiesgirl writing

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bogleech · 1 year ago

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i keep wanting to draw anthro maggots but they end up looking like beetle larvae instead- any ideas on how one might stylize a maggot person to make it a little more distinctly A Maggot? it's especially hard to me bc maggots are like THE MOST featureless insect larvae.... which i suppose counts as a defining feature in and of itself- but i dunno. im mostly just curious to hear your approach!!!

Yeah beetle grubs, caterpillars and a lot of other insect larvae have armored heads with complete jaws structures as well as six little legs, plus they often have a defined looking "top" and "bottom" with ridged and wrinkles almost like they got soft armored down their back

But maggots are weird! They streamlined EVERYTHING down to where they have no legs at all, not even vestigial ones, and their body segments almost evolved towards something like radial symmetry by being the same all the way around!

Then there's the fact that they sort of lost most of a "head." Not only is there no exoskeletal cranial case (bug skull) to protect it but there are no jaws and never any eyes; there's just a little hole for drinking liquefied food, a pair of tusk-like hooks for gripping surfaces, and a pair of eye-like knobs that are actually chemosensory (noses)

The weird, tiny walrus-face is totally unique! They don't have any chewing mouthparts because they only need to "drink" the particles of rotting matter they live on, and like adult flies, they help this along by secreting digestive enzymes!

Maggots also have these very distinct, furry looking bands at every segment, which help them grip surfaces like a tire tread or the sole of a shoe. If you compare this photo with the one above you'll also notice how the segments can retract in and out like a telescope!

The last special thing about common maggot anatomy is that they are technically semi-aquatic animals, because maggots evolved to be buried head-first completely in their own food as much as possible and rotten corpses are WET. In order to breathe, maggots have a pair of breathing spiracles on their rear ends, which they try to keep exposed to the air!

There are exceptions to all of this, though; there are species that can be fully aquatic, fully terrestrial, herbivorous, parasitic or predatory, and some ancient fly groups (including mosquitoes!) whose larvae still have fully armored heads and even eyes. Everything above is universal to the maggots you find in rotten stuff though, so what most people think of when they hear the term :) When I designed a hybrid human and blowfly maggot for the Mortasheen setting I deliberately made it look like a doofy cartoon Walrus, and I gave its segments large spines that can be seen in some parasitic maggots, including botflies:

And when I made a maggot character for my webcomic Awful Hospital I designed her like a little spacesuit or a parka (the resemblance to Kenny was an accident)

Actually I don't think I ever shared this most recent "main artwork" of Maggie. I don't know what idea inspiration any of this might provide but basically a maggot is a prickly living sock with fangs. Or I guess from a design and engineering perspective, a maggot is a biological drill. The tiny end starts a hole, the rest of the body is just a flaring cone perfectly equipped to keep making the hole deeper.

#biology #animals #nature #science

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starryhyuck · 2 years ago

Text

twilight. (m)

pairing: vampire!jaehyun + afab!reader

words: 3.3k+

summary: you’re 100% sure your boyfriend is a werewolf. surprise kicks in when you discover he’s a different kind of monster.

genre: smut

warnings: dubcon, squirting, choking, anal, reader gets thrown around like a ragdoll, crying, public sex, blood drinking, creampies

You’re a passionate fan of the Twilight series. Most of your friends know this, so your declaration that your new boyfriend is a werewolf comes at no surprise.

“Is it just because Jaehyun has a six pack?” Seulgi muses, chewing at the end of her fork thoughtfully.

You roll your eyes. “No. Although, that is a nice bonus.”

Johnny sighs at the other end of the table. “Is this just like last year? You know, when Taeyong dressed as Edward Cullen for Halloween and you were convinced he was hiding in plain sight?”

Your gaze drifts to the boy mentioned as he sits across the local diner, where most of your university frequents. Taeyong is laughing at something Jaehyun said, and guessing by the blooming red of Doyoung’s ears, you assume they’re teasing him again.

“No! Listen, my Taeyong theory was very good even though none of you entertained it, but this is different. Trust me, I know Jaehyun is a werewolf. I sleep right next to him,” you try to say convincingly.

Your friends offer you dead gazes. They’ve heard it all before from you, and were thoroughly pleased at how dumb you looked when you shoved Taeyong in the sun to prove diamonds would glitter off his skin. It merely resulted in your bashful apology to Taeyong, who was more than happy to laugh and forgive you.

“Maybe we shouldn’t try to mess this relationship up when it’s just started,” Minjeong says carefully, eyeing your reaction.

It’s true — you had only started dating Jaehyun two weeks ago after months of senseless flirting. Johnny was about to lock the both of you in a room just to get you to realize how much you like each other, but luckily you confessed before it got that far.

A pair of arms encircle your waist, and a kiss is pressed to the shell of your ear. “What are you scaring them with today?” A throaty chuckle sends shivers down your spine.

“Someone has another supernatural theory,” Seulgi responds to Jaehyun’s question, one eyebrow raised. You glare at her and give her a warning look not to spill your suspicion.

“Oh really?” You can hear the smile in Jaehyun’s voice. He knows all about your Taeyong debacle from last year. “Who are we targeting this time?”

“No one!” You quickly respond, spinning in his hold and plastering a smile on your face. You kiss his cheek and grab his hand, tugging him away from the table and out the diner. “They’re just being silly. Why don’t we go back to your place?”

Jaehyun laughs, lips ghosting the back of your neck.

“Yeah? Baby wants to go back to my place?”

You whimper at the tone of his voice, knowing exactly what he plans to do to you.

“Yes, please, daddy.”

—

It feels like you’re on Cloud 9. Jaehyun’s hand is tangled in the back of your hair, your face is shoved in one of his comfiest pillows, and his cock is brutally fucking your pussy. Before Jaehyun, no other guy really knew how to ruin you like this. Jaehyun was the first one who turned you into a dumb, drooling, cockwhore mess.

“Pillow princess,” he sinisterly laughs above you, watching your mouth fall open in ecstasy. “Never wants to do any work. Always wants daddy to take care of her.”

You feel his fingers brush the strands of hair away from your face, and his mouth grazes your cheek. His balls slap against your clit lewdly, his bedroom filled with the sounds of your squelching pussy.

“Now, tell me about this supernatural theory you have, baby.”

“Ungh,” you cry, barely able to remember your own name. You can feel every ridge and vein of his cock hug your walls, preventing you from thinking about anything else.

“Is it about Doyoung?” He murmurs in your ear, ignoring your cries when he picks up his pace. You know for a fact that you’ll be sore tomorrow.

“How about Mark?”

You swear you feel him in the back of your throat.

“Yuta?”

He applies pressure to your clit, rolling the nub between his thumb and forefinger. You see stars.

“Ten?”

The pressure is building, building, building, and-

“Is it about me?”

You hopelessly crash, crying loudly as you reach your orgasm. Your nails dig into Jaehyun’s arm, holding him close while he helps you ride your high.

You’re offered no time to recover, Jaehyun manhandling you onto your side while he presses up behind you. His fingers grip your thigh roughly, hoisting it in the air and allowing him to slide back in your dripping cunt.

“S-Sensitive, daddy-“

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growls, hips snapping into yours. It almost sounds like he’s mad at you. “Tell me about the theory you have on me.”

You feel wetness falling down your cheeks and faintly register that you started crying. You’re a blubbering mess, begging for Jaehyun to slow down.

“What do you think I am, hm? Gonna shove me in the sun like you did with Taeyong?”

All you can manage is a string of moans, your second orgasm approaching quickly. “M-More, daddy,” you beg, desperately looking back to try and get him to kiss you.

“You’ll get more when you answer my question, baby,” he hisses, prodding his fingers against your lips. You take the hint, opening your mouth wide and allowing him to slide his fingers in. You suck at his digits lewdly, trying your best to please him.

He groans at the sight of you. “Fucking hell. So what is it, baby? Wizard? Elf? Bigfoot?”

“W-Werewolf,” you choke against him, finally admitting it. You grow warm and prepare yourself for the upcoming embarrassment.

There’s a pause in Jaehyun’s thrusts before you hear him laughing maniacally. His fingers leave your mouth in favor of digging into your hips, finding leverage so he can pound into you harder.

“Werewolf? Seriously, baby? You’re dumber than I thought.”

You struggle to defend yourself when your climax suddenly hits you, your cunt squirting all over Jaehyun’s sheets. You think you’re screaming, trying desperately to push him away as he shows no mercy on you. You nearly topple over when he harshly grabs your hair, pushing you forward until half of your body is dangling off the side of the bed.

Jaehyun slides in even deeper than before, if it was humanly possible. “Listen to how wet you get for me,” he hums, enjoying the loud squelch of your wetness. “Remember when I first fucked you? Could barely take an inch before you were begging to stop.”

You remember it very clearly. You and Jaehyun hadn’t made anything official at the time, yet you couldn’t keep your hands off one another. He had taken you in the back of the university library, your fingers holding onto the bookcases for dear life while he tried his best to fit his cock into your tiny pussy.

“I couldn’t believe how lucky I got to find an obedient whore like you. You’ll let me take you anywhere I like, won’t you, baby?” He chuckles when your only response is an outcry of his name. “Too bad you’re so nosy. Sticking your face into things that aren’t your business to begin with.”

He leans over you until your palms hit the floor. His cock pushes deeper and deeper when his teeth hovers over your neck.

“Daddy-“ you whimper, feeling restless. “I c-can’t.”

“You can and you will,” he says, and his tone indicates that there’s no room for argument. “After you tell me why you think I’m a werewolf.”

You make your best attempt at pushing forward an explanation as to why you think your boyfriend can secretly transform into a four-legged animal, but it comes out in stutters and half-sentences.

“Sick and I-I thought- you didn’t w-want to t-talk to me- just l-like Jacob did w-with Bella-“

Jaehyun, somehow, is able to piece your explanation together. “When I was sick last week and ignored you, you thought I was going through my transformation like Jacob did with Bella in Twilight?”

You nod shyly, afraid to look back and see the mocking emotion on his face. You squeak when you’re manhandled again, this time being pushed on your back and forced to look up at your boyfriend.

“You have to stop reading those silly books, baby,” he says, his voice gentle even though his hands work their way to your throat. He squeezes it and you choke. “They make you so dumb.”

“Y-You like me d-dumb, daddy,” you whisper, voice hoarse from the screaming and the weight crushing your windpipe.

“I do, baby. You know me so well,” he smiles. You’re about to smile back when you suddenly feel the tip of his cock prod against your other entrance, causing you to gasp. Jaehyun has only tried anal with you one other time, and that was after hours of preparation and lots of lube. He’s never done it dry before. “Don’t worry, baby. Just trust me.”

The pain is overwhelming and you cry, ignoring the scratch of your throat. “Daddy, it hurts!”

“It’s your punishment,” he says meanly, venom laced in his voice. You’re starting to get whiplash at how fast he changes his emotions. “For thinking I’m a fucking werewolf. How stupid are you?”

“S-Sorry! I’m sorry!” You whimper, kicking your feet to try and get away from him.

You sob louder when his cock continues to stretch you open, and you feel like you’re going to be split in half. The feeling, however, is overshadowed when you abruptly feel a pair of sharp teeth pierce the flesh of your neck. You scream, trying to make sense of what’s actually happening, but Jaehyun is fast to pin you down and ensure you can’t move.

The pain quickly shifts into pleasure, and your body is overtaken by a tingling sensation that spreads from the bottom of your toes to the edge of your fingertips.

“What-“ you mumble blearily, eyes shifting out of focus.

You find yourself struggling to stay conscious, mind blanking while you tumble into darkness.

—

“Johnny!”

The tall man looks behind him, trying to find the source of the voice calling his name. He squints when he sees you behind a pillar, dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses. He jogs over to you, eyeing your choice of outfit.

“Dude, what are you wearing? It’s literally a hundred degrees.”

You shush him, looking around frantically while pulling him behind a nearby building so no one can see you.

“Have you seen Jaehyun?”

Johnny scoffs. “No. Shouldn’t you know where your own boyfriend is?”

You lower your sunglasses so you can look him dead in the eye.

“Johnny, listen to me. Stay away from Jaehyun. I was wrong about him being a werewolf, okay? He’s a vampire. A fucking vampire.”

You receive four rapid blinks. “Haven’t we already gone through this before? I’ll burn your copies of Twilight, I’m dead serious.”

“Johnny!” You scold, frustrated that he isn’t taking you seriously. You quickly unzip your hoodie and show him the markings on your neck, two bright red indents that show where Jaehyun bit you.

“Woah, what the fuck? Did Jaehyun hurt you? I’ll beat his ass, just give me the go ahead.”

“No, no, he didn’t hurt me,” you insist, feeling embarrassed. “I actually kind of liked it.”

Johnny gags. “I didn’t need to know that. Look, you know I love you, but this is clearly you and Jaehyun exploring some nasty kinks that the rest of us don’t need to know about.”

“I’m being serious, Johnny! Jaehyun bit me and it was a vampire bite. He had fangs!”

“You saw his fangs?”

“Well, no. I passed out because his cock was in my ass and-“

“Fuck!” Johnny yells, fingers at his temples in an attempt to erase what you just told him. “What is wrong with you? I don’t want to know that Jaehyun’s dick was in your asshole!”

Students start to stop and stare at the sight of you and Johnny bickering, briefly catching onto the tail end of Johnny’s despair.

“Shut up!” You hiss, clapping your hand over his mouth. “I’m telling you this because it’s important! Jaehyun is a vampire and he got really pissed at me when I told him I thought he was a werewolf. When I woke up, he was gone and I haven’t seen him for days! He’s going to eat me, Johnny!”

He slaps you away and rolls his eyes. “You need to seek counseling, I’m not playing around. Just go tell your boyfriend you don’t like it when he bites you. Problem solved.”

You try to protest again but Johnny finds a way to escape from you, running until you can no longer see him on the other side of campus.

You huff, getting ready to trek back to your apartment and hide from the rest of the possible supernatural world. You freeze when you suddenly feel a presence behind you, and a hand dances around your waist.

“My pretty girl, are you telling the whole world about me?”

The voice sends chills down your spine, and Jaehyun’s lips suck at the lobe of your ear.

“J-Jae-“

He shushes you, pressing you against the wall of the building and out of view from prying eyes. Your heart beats loudly in your chest, and you know that this is it. This is how you die — in the hands of your extremely hot vampire boyfriend.

“I had to spend a few days away from you,” he confesses, fingers wandering up your shirt. “Almost lost myself when I finally got a taste. Your pussy is magnificent, my love, the best pussy I’ve ever tasted in my life but your blood — mmm, it doesn’t even compare.”

“Please don’t kill me,” you beg, crying in distress.

“I would never kill you,” he says with conviction, angry that you would think such a thing. “I would never let anything harm you. You know why?”

You tremble, feeling his fingers push down the band of your sweatpants. “W-Why?”

“Because then I would never get to feel this pussy again. Feel how good she is wrapped around me. Trust me, baby, I’ve lived for a very long time and I waited just to find you.”

Your sweatpants drop down to your ankles, leaving you in nothing but one of Jaehyun’s favorite thongs. You’re far from humiliated, being caught in more compromising positions with Jaehyun before. Your only concern is the fact that you’ve learned your boyfriend is a real-life Edward Cullen, and you have entrusted him with your mortality.

“Are you going to turn me into a vampire?”

“Only if you want to,” he replies, pushing the fabric of your underwear aside and lining himself up to your entrance. “If you want to feel this good for eternity, just say the word, baby.”

You groan when he pushes into you. The stretch is almost like a welcome home. If you’re being fully honest, you wouldn’t last a day if you and Jaehyun broke up. You crave his cock almost every hour of every day, no matter how desperate that makes you sound.

“Tell me you want me, baby. Even if I’m a vampire,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, and you jolt at the thought of him biting you again.

“I want you, daddy,” you sniffle. “Please don’t leave me, daddy.”

“Would never leave you, baby.”

You hear the faint sound of skin slapping against skin, and you moan as you brush your hair back, fully exposing your neck. Jaehyun discards your hoodie to the floor and kisses you gently.

“Want to be marked again, baby?” He asks you and you nod, mewling at the thought. You feel him grin against your skin. “Taeyong thought I was an idiot, you know.”

“Hm?” You hum softly, longing to have him kiss you again.

“You were right about him from the get-go, he’s the leader of our coven in fact,” he says, balls brutally hitting your clit with every thrust. “Everyone mocked you for getting your resources from that shitty book of yours, but I was so proud of my girl. So smart even when everyone else doubts her.”

“Y-You said I was d-dumb!”

He chuckles. “I was just teasing you, baby. But you know I love you dumb. Now show that pretty neck for daddy.”

You tilt your head to give him full access, and his thumb rolls against your clit as a reward. Your eyes dart down in time to see his fangs pop out, and he licks his lips before descending on your neck. Just like last time, there’s no discomfort or pain. Your body almost sings when Jaehyun bites you, and you feel complete in an odd way.

The intimacy helps the coil inside you snap, and Jaehyun groans when he feels your pussy tighten around his cock at the strength of your orgasm.

His teeth sink deeper into your neck, eagerly chasing his own high. You don’t even care at this point if he drains you completely, only focused on his cum filling you to the brim.

“M-More, d-daddy,” you cry, hips meeting the force of his thrusts halfway. “Fill me up. Want to feel your cum spilling out of my tiny pussy.”

He retracts his fangs from your neck and you moan at the sight of your blood spilling from his lips.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he groans. “Want to fuck you forever, baby.”

The sound of footsteps approaching makes you whimper, nails digging into Jaehyun’s wrist. “Faster, daddy, hurry. Someone’s going to see.”

It only takes a few more snaps before ropes of white fill you, Jaehyun groaning loudly into the back of your neck. If you didn’t just fuck him a few days ago, you would have guessed he hadn’t cum for over a year with the amount of his seed he empties into you.

Luckily, whoever was approaching heard your sounds of pleasure and decided it was better to leave you alone. You giggle and turn your head to kiss him, and Jaehyun smiles softly.

“Missed you,” you whisper. “Why did you disappear? I thought you had plans to eat me.”

“Maybe I still do,” he teases, fingers brushing your folds as he pulls out. “I was worried about your reaction. And honestly, baby, you thought I was a werewolf. It was insulting.”

You laugh and kiss him again. “Sorry. I just didn’t want another Taeyong debacle even though now I know I was always right!”

“That you were,” he hums, helping you pull your sweatpants back on. He tucks himself back into his pants and presses a kiss to your neck, licking at his bite and cleaning you up. “I would appreciate it, however, if you didn’t go around and tell everyone.”

“I promise I won’t,” you swear, making yourself presentable. “As long as the only blood you take is mine.”

He laughs. “Someone wants to be a little blood bag, hm? Jealous of me drinking from someone else?”

You frown. “Of course I am. I thought you said my blood tastes divine?”

“It does,” he growls, still licking at remnants of your blood on his lips. “That week I told you I was sick — it was because I needed to feed. If I spent one more night with you, I would have drained you dry, I’m sure of it.”

“You can drink from me everyday, I don’t care,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “As long as you let me have my Bella moment in the forest.”

His grin is blinding. “Whatever my baby wants. How about we have round two in the woods as well?”

Your eyes sparkle. “Deal!”

#nct smut #jaehyun #jaehyun smut

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storiesoflilies · 10 months ago

Text

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I think you guys really will too. Ehe! It might be easier to guess about the interludes after you’ve read this chapter, so please feel free to guess and comment your thoughts!! Ko-fi.

Next Part - Chapter 8.

-•-

Chapter 7

Y/N was awoken by the sound of screams, pulling her consciousness from the depths of slumber.

When she opened her eyes, her vision was bathed in a fiery red hue, and she was convinced that she had gone blind. It was harrowing to be stuck in this limbo that seemed to be eternal, condemned to travel through all the shades of crimson known to the universe. Amidst the all-consuming glow, it took Y/N much longer than it should have to realize that the blood-curdling screams were emanating from within her own throat, with such raw force that it ignited her lungs in agony.

“Easy, Y/N. Easy. You’re hurting yourself.”

Large, calloused and warm hands firmly enveloped both sides of her wrists, whilst thick heavy legs hooked with her own, effectively anchoring her in place. She felt his shallow breaths tickle her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine, as the weight of his body pressed into her; tangible and solid against the swirling tempest of red and pain.

Y/N didn’t need to see to know it was Toji.

“Easy,” Toji repeated, his rumble a soothing balm. “I’ve got you.”

He has me.

Y/N ceased her screaming, and her lungs cried out in relief as she was released from the initial suffocating grip of terror. The red veil began to wane, allowing her to discern the dark silhouette of Toji’s figure hovering above her; a beacon amidst her tumultuous sea. Each breath she took was a battle against the ebbing tide of red, ragged and ungraceful, as a blooming pain started to spread on one side of her face. The rough ridges of his hands ignited sparks of electricity against her skin, sending tingles coursing through her skin that rose into a lightning storm. Y/N found solace in the heat of Toji’s touch as she finally gazed into his blazing eyes.

“C’mon, c’mon. You can see me, I’m right in front of you,” Toji coaxed, his voice smoky and deep as he leaned his forehead against hers. “That’s it, focus.”

Y/N could feel his breath trembling just as much as hers. Here was Toji Fushiguro, a King of Hell, brought into such a state of desperation and frantic urgency. She was so engulfed in the whirlwind of his various sensations, tantalized by the possibility that if he bent down just a little lower, then their lips would touch and meet as the universe always intended. But the pain persisted, wrathful and intent on cutting their red string of fate.

Oh, the pain.

She gasped and whimpered, instinctively bringing a hand to cup the vulnerable side of her face, but Toji’s grip on her wrists tightened. His face remained impassive, yet his emerald orbs burned with such fierce determination; pupils blown so wide that she could catch her own reflection in them. For a moment, Y/N almost forgot about her pain, or why she was feeling it in the first place.

“You really need to stop nearly fucking dying on me,” Toji breathed out shakily, in a whisper that was so frighteningly unlike the way he usually spoke. “Stop making me feel this way, I can’t handle it anymore.”

It was the way his voice cracked, and his eyes communicated with her soul in a thousand ways his words couldn’t, and it softened Y/N like a tender summer’s breeze. Toji’s emotions were crystal clear through their bond, and he wasn’t hiding anything from her; bare and vulnerable as she was lying there. Y/N knew then for sure that he never thought she was insignificant, or ever cared that she was Fallen – to him, she was his very soul. The kaleidoscope of everything that made up her being also moulded him.

Toji’s lip twitched, and Y/N noted just how painfully deep his scar was embedded. His lips moved closer by a hair, and Y/N really thought he was about to kiss her.

Until screams pierced through the air, coming from right outside her bedroom doors.

Geto burst through, wild and twistedly feral as his eyes locked onto Toji, and Nanako’s cries reached a high pitched cresendo as the door gave way. His lips curled into a snarl, Y/N sensed he was about to strike, and her body bristled in preparation for a fight.

And yet, Toji was so much faster.

A black flash hurtled towards Geto, and his weight was no longer on top of her.

With such force that shook the room, Toji pinned her brother against the wall, his forearm pressed against Geto’s neck. With gritted teeth, he snapped, “This wasn’t me.”

Geto struggled against him, but Toji’s iron grip was unyielding and far superior in strength, and a vein popped in his forehead from the strained effort.

“M-mahito,” he choked out, sputtering as he glared daggers at Toji. “Nanako s-ugh-saw him fleeing.”

With that, Toji released Geto from his grasp, who roughly shoved him away. The two kings stared each other down, eyes brimming with violence, neither willing to yield to the other’s intimidating display. However, Toji’s patience was wearing thinner by the second; Y/N could feel it, his essence dominating the atmosphere in a chokehold.

“Go on,” he goaded, chin tilted upwards as he looked down at her brother. “You want to try this again, huh?”

Geto audibly growled, chest heaving – he was cornered, and he knew it. But that didn’t seem to deter him; shadows gathered and danced in the room, as the host of Curses gathering to her brother’s defense snapped and snarled. Toji simply smirked, unperturbed by her brother’s offensiveness, and Y/N knew Suguru would be crushed in an instant if she didn’t intervene.

She sat up abruptly, her bones screaming and aching as if they hadn’t been used in an age, and desperately rasped, “Toji, please.”

Toji stiffened.

He waged a battle of sheer will within himself, torn between surrendering to his instinct to win and immerse himself in the thrill of combat, and the rational part of his soul that was tethered to her – urging him to yield and fight another day.

And he did.

A great king of Hell yielded to a Fallen Angel.

Toji took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender, wearing a sly smirk directed at Geto, who was slowly refracting his shadows while still maintaining an offensive demeanor.

“Did you know?” Geto hissed, like a coiled viper.

Toji’s eyes narrowed, his expression wiped from any cockiness as he turned deadly serious. “You seriously think I would give them my approval for this? No.”

“Then why didn’t you pursue him?”

“Why the f- because my mate was fighting for her fucking life.”

Her brother’s eyes flitted over to her, taking in the lines of red over the right side of her face, and he scowled. “Are you alright now? Can you fight?”

Y/N got up from the bed, trying to ignore that her decency was compromised in her sheer nightdress, and was about to respond when Toji interjected with a harsh tone. “She is not in any state to fight, are you mad?”

“I didn’t ask you, did I?” Geto snapped, quickly ramping up his offensive stance, his fists clenched and muscles tense. “Don’t forget where you are, Fushiguro.”

Concentrated effort… restrained anger.

Toji deadpanned, completely unimpressed. “I haven’t, but see reason, Geto. Nobody understands how Mahito’s power works. Do you want to risk Y/N’s life again?”

Geto clenched his jaw, and Y/N could almost sense the whirlwind of emotions raging within him. He craved a fight, his thirst for vengeance threatened to turn him into a harbringer of justice, and it was making him not think straight. A faint tremor rippled through to his tightened fists.

“I can fight, Suguru. I feel just fine,” she said firmly, displeased at the two Kings talking over her like her voice didn’t matter. If she was going to die, it would have happened by now, surely they both knew that.

Toji gave her a hard look. “Not a chance.”

“Mimiko is dead,” Geto murmured to her, low and almost shameful, completely ignoring what Toji had just said. “Mahito touched her as he was fleeing.”

Her heart dropped.

Oh no, not her.

Poor Nanako.

Tears swelled in her eyes, and fury ignited in her chest. Her green eyed Curse looked at her with a softer gaze, expression filled with pity for her loss.

“He’s killed a member of your court, and tried to kill me,” Y/N hissed, voice thick with malice. “We have to find him and make him pay for what he’s done.”

Geto shook his head. “No, Fushiguro is right. You need to see a healer and make sure your soul hasn’t been harmed.” He shot Toji a loathsome glare, and snapped, “Take care of her, or so help me, I will tear you apart.”

Before either of them had time to respond, her brother surged out the door, barking orders with a crack of his whip. The bustle of activity outside Y/N’s bedroom shifted away as Geto’s subordinates were driven into action, and Nanako’s wails dissolved into an eerie silence.

“I would like to see you try,” Toji muttered, mostly to himself. His gaze settled back on her, and he asked. “Who’s the best healer in this place?”

She swallowed heavily, exhaling deeply. “Dead.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tch, of course. Well, come with me then.” Toji’s eyes briefly roamed her figure, before he looked away and cleared his throat. “You’ll want to change first.”

She ignored his last comment, and asked suspiciously, “Where?”

“To find a healer. The rest of yours are going to be occupied with the casualties of war, and I’m not risking subpar idiots trying to help you.”

War.

Here it was, once again.

Only this time, she had become the very thing she had once fought.

And this was to be a war unlike any other she had ever faced.

“So this is it, then. It’s begun?” Y/N whispered, as the weight of the events of the past day and night took its toll on her.

“I’m afraid so. Mahito has obviously sided with Jogo, and an assassination attempt is a clear declaration of war,” Toji replied simply, almost casually. “Now, are you coming or not?”

Y/N knew the rational thing was to go and ensure there was nothing fundamentally wrong with her, and yet, the thought of leaving Geto on his own to fight made her physically ill. But it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter; Toji would probably drag her kicking and screaming wherever he wanted to go.

“Y/N,” his voice called, snapping her out of her thoughts. Y/N’s breath hitched as Toji regarded her with that same gentleness he had not moments ago, and he murmured. “This war isn’t your fault.”

She scoffed. “Of course it is, I’m not stupid. I owe it to myself and Suguru to make sure they all pay for this.”

“And you will,” Toji agreed, annoyingly placating. “But you won’t be much use if you burst into pieces, hmm?”

Burst into pieces.

Just like Nanami.

Her stomach churned.

Bubbling anxiousness …

Y/N couldn’t say anything against that. And so, in addition to feeling Toji’s palpable fear for her through their bond, she relented and sighed.

“Wait for me on the balcony, I’ll be ready in a minute.”

-•-

Y/N hadn’t expected Toji’s healer to dwell somewhere so… dark.

Toji had vanished into completely into the inky black mist they had stepped into from the portal, causing Y/N’s heart to race frantically at the thought of losing him. She whipped her head around frantically, consumed by irrational dread, fearing that she was doomed to the darkness forever. Suddenly, he reappeared right in front of her, completely spooking her, with a sly smirk on his face.

“Need some help?” he teased, and she scowled.

“Why’d you bring us here?” Y/N grumbled. “What’s your healer doing in a place like this?”

“I called in a favor while you were getting dressed,” Toji answered, as if that explained everything, and held out his hand for her to take.

She took it.

Tingles and sparks danced between them, each electric connecting sending Y/N’s heart pounding with a frenzy so fierce that she thought it would leap from her chest and settle inside him instead. Toji’s green eyes seemed to almost glow in the darkness, captivating Y/N so deeply that she had to avert her gaze. He cleared his throat, evidently as affected by their intense connection, and began to guide her through the mist.

“A favor?” she whispered, breaking the tension.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Mei-Mei will be there to mediate the exchange.”

Mei-Mei? Exchange?

Her heart stung at the mention of Toji’s second, and yesterday’s argument rushed to the forefront of her mind. “Sure,” Y/N said flatly.

She knew Toji could feel her coldness creeping back in, and he gripped her hand tighter. “You know, I-” he started, searching for the right words to say. “This isn’t the time to talk about yesterday, but I just- I didn’t mean to be so...”

“Cruel?”

Toji visibly looked uncomfortable, almost shameful, and he nodded. Y/N sighed heavily, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s get this over with.”

He pursed his lips, and she knew he had so much more to say, but he didn’t. They pushed on farther into the mist, and Y/N’s eyes adjusted to the midnight darkness the longer they walked, although she could have sworn it was getting even blacker.

Plop!

Y/N recoiled sharply as her foot was submerged in water; unnervingly warm and thick.

No… not water.

She sniffed the air, and squinted at her foot.

Blood.

A strange sense of déjà vu hit her.

“Toji… where are we?”

“At the borderline with Sukuna’s territory. We’re going to meet with Uraume.”

“What? Uraume doesn’t serve you.”

“No, they don’t. That’s why this is a favor.”

She was going to meet Sukuna’s second. What sort of things had Toji done to earn a favor from the King of Curses? Y/N almost didn’t want to know, and her previously uneasy feelings were now sprouting into a full-blown panic.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing me here?” she hissed in a hushed tone, as if the mist would carry her words all the way to Sukuna’s ears. “How can we trust them?”

“Do you trust me?” Toji stopped abruptly, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, because it was the truth. “Yes, but-.”

“Then trust that I’d kill them if they try to hurt you,” he swore in a low, voice as dark as the mist surrounding them.

She shivered.

A loud caw of a crow sounded above them, followed by the sloshing sounds of someone moving through the water towards them. Y/N gripped Toji’s hand tighter, and he returned the gesture. Mei-Mei’s slim figure came into view, a sultry smirk on her lips as she balanced a great battle-axe on her left shoulder.

“Uraume is just ahead,” Mei-Mei announced. Her gaze flicked down to their joint hands, and the corner of her lip curled upwards.

“Are they alone?” Toji asked.

Mei-Mei hummed in response, casually shrugging her shoulders. “They killed most of my crows that got too close. I can’t see.”

He made a sound of displeasure. “Fine, let’s go.”

Toji pulled Y/N forwards, and as they past each other, she and Mei-Mei exchanged a tense glance. Something deep within her gut told her that the lilac-eyed Curse looked down at her, as if she were no more than a speck of dirt on her pristine boots. The mere thought of Toji even kissing her filled Y/N with horror and a burning rage she didn’t know she was capable of feeling.

Within a few moments, the mist cleared ever so slightly, and the slight figure of Uraume came into view. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how small and delicate they appeared, like a tiny porcelain doll amidst a sea of blood. But much like Mei-Mei, they obviously concealed their violent tendencies with beauty; although, theirs was a quiet and ancient kind of strength. The bones of various creatures floated about in the blood, and some formed clusters that had somehow caught flame, burning in brilliant shades of red and blue. The air was far hotter here, and Y/N wondered just how blistering the heat must be at the center of Hell.

“Your mate needs my help.” Uraume’s voice sounded out from the distance, cutting straight to the point.

“You know the Curse, Mahito?” Toji’s voice echoed across the blood sea as he responded. “He touched her skin.”

Uraume cocked their head to the side, their air cold and intelligent. “She looks alive and well to me. Why did you bother calling for me?”

“I need to make sure he hasn’t latched himself to her soul,” he boomed back. “You’re the only one who can see.”

Their unique deep pink orbs settled on Y/N, and she straightened her back. It was if they were deciding whether or not to help, and Toji shifted impatiently beside her.

“You may approach me, Y/N,” Uraume finally said, and gave Toji a pointed look. “Alone.”

With that, she let go of Toji’s hand and stepped towards Uraume, remaining acutely aware of the dagger beneath her sleeves she could whip out if she needed to. But the way they looked at her, as if they knew what she was thinking, dared her to try it. Y/N knew better than to stand against a force she didn’t understand, and so she stood rigidly in front of them.

Uraume suddenly gripped her chin, their fingers seemingly made of ice and frost, causing Y/N to shudder.

Uneasiness…

The Curse turned her face side to side, observing every single little detail as if it were of vital importance. “You don’t remember?”

“I was asleep,” she answered, and Uraume shook their head, leaving Y/N with the feeling that she had answered the question incorrectly.

They hummed, letting go of her chin. “You soul is intact, so you have nothing to fear.”

Relief…

Uraume’s fingers ran down her face, like tender icicles melting in the sun, and Y/N felt the tenderness of where Mahito had touched fade away. They pulled their hand away and looked at her as if admiring their handiwork, while Y/N grazed her own fingers over her face.

“Do you know how I survived him?” she asked Uraume, a shot in the dark.

They raised an eyebrow at her. “You remember nothing anyways. It does not matter how you lived, only that you did.”

“Is it because my soul has the power of two? Because I’m Fushiguro’s mate,” Y/N asked desperately. She was on borrowed time, and Uraume seemed to have all the answers. “Does it mean that I could still survive should Mahito touch me again?”

Uraume held up a hand, silencing Y/N. “You survived, and that is the end of that. I would, however, advise against allowing Mahito the opportunity to place his hands upon you again.”

The cold Curse appeared to be in no mood to linger any longer than necessary, and to say that she wasn’t disappointed was an understatement. Y/N disliked being left in the dark; she much preferred to know exactly how and why everything worked the way it did. For Uraume to knowingly withhold information about her own body from her was absolutely despicable.

But what could Y/N do against the general of the King of Curses?

Not a thing.

That notion alone was maddening.

“One more thing, before you leave,” Uraume added, reaching into their pocket to bring forth a small box, and offered it to her. “Lord Sukuna has asked me to give you this.”

What?

Toji was next to her in a flash, watching like a hawk as Y/N hesitantly took the box from Uraume. She could feel him preparing for a fight, the energy coursing through his veins mirrored hers, but why he was so on edge she didn’t know. Y/N opened the box to reveal a dainty golden ring, the gleaming metal twisted and curled, prompting a deep frown from Toji.

“Why is he giving her this freely?” he asked, his words laced with confusion and suspicion.

“Lord Sukuna,” Uraume corrected icily, before continuing. “Told me to give Y/N this ring if her soul had no cursed energy.”

“That doesn’t tell me why,” Toji interjected abruptly, as she plucked the ring from the box and inspected it closely.

“That’s none of your concern. Do not question Lord Sukuna’s motives; just accept his gift,” Uraume bit back, casting a pointed glance towards Y/N as she said the last sentence.

Too unnerved and perplexed to form a coherent sentence, Y/N could only stare at the gift from Ryomen Sukuna himself. She felt even more in the dark than before, overwhelmed by a wave of confusion and apprehension. With a sudden gesture, she snapped the box shut as if hoping to conceal her unanswered questions within.

Mei-Mei cleared her throat and spoke for the both of them, “Thank you for this, Uraume. We are grateful for you and Lord Sukuna taking the time to help us.”

Uraume’s gaze swept over the trio, and Y/N could have sworn the blood beneath their feet was freezing over as they replied. “You owe him a great deal, Fushiguro. Don’t forget it.”

Toji’s nostrils flared, and he grumbled. “Sure.”

Uraume didn’t seem to appreciate his response but said nothing. They gave Y/N one last look, before they stepped back into a portal and disappeared.

Mei-Mei let out a small breath in relief, and commented, “That went well.”

She hovered closer to them, as if anticipating something, and Y/N tensed. Toji rolled his eyes, and reached into his back pocket, tossing her a small bag. Mei-Mei caught it effortlessly with one hand, and the bag clinked loudly – the noise betraying its valuable contents.

“Thank you. Do you need anything else,” she offered, and Y/N realized this was the first time she had glimpsed a hint of real emotion from the Curse at receiving her payment.

“No. You can go,” Toji answered, and Mei-Mei was gone in an instant, leaving the two of them alone standing in the ocean of blood.

Y/N opened the box again, carefully observing the ring. She noted the minuscule featherlight markings adorning the band, perhaps an inscription of some sort, but she couldn’t make out the words. “What is this?”

Toji sighed and extended his left hand, displaying a thicker gold ring resting on his pointer finger that Y/N hadn’t noticed before. “It’s a ring, just like this one, and it’s imbued with Sukuna’s cursed energy. It allows Curses like us to conjure portals.”

“Why would Sukuna make something like this for us? How did you manage to even get one, then?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. He came to visit me when I became King and gave me it. Said I was strong, and that I was the prime example of a perfect Curse. I apparently… fascinated him.”

It was the way Toji hesitated, looking visibly uncomfortable as he recalled his encounter with Sukuna, that intrigued Y/N. His emotions swirled with mistrust and nerves, and she realized that her seemingly invincible green-eyed Curse was almost afraid. It was a frightening reminder to her that Sukuna’s strength, particularly now in the absence of Gojo Satoru, was probably the only threat to Toji’s life.

“I suppose he’s given you a ring because you’re my mate,” Toji murmured, although it seemed as if he was thinking aloud.

“You don’t seem so sure,” Y/N replied, closing the box once more and safely tucked it away.

Toji’s expression darkened. “I’m not sure of anything Sukuna does, or why. I’d prefer to avoid anything to do with him as much as I can.”

It was no question as to why he was afraid, but Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to have been in the presence of Ryomen Sukuna.

“Well, it seems I’m not going to die,” Y/N joked lightly, wanting to lighten the tension that was gripping them both.

Toji snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “So it seems. I’m glad.”

The ring on his finger glowed a faint golden color, and a portal of the same shade materialized in front of them. He looked at her expectantly, cocking his towards it. “Let’s get out of here”

-•-

“Welcome to my city. I know that you and your brother are more traditional than me, but I still hope you’ll like it here.”

It was a pleasant surprise to find Toji’s city bustling with activity. The streets, although well-paved and smooth, had veins of molten lava coursing through it, casting a bright orange and red glow that illuminated the area. The buildings eerily reminded her of Heaven, but in a polar opposite way. Grand dark stone towers stood tall amidst the midnight sky, adorned with intricate carvings of strange and grotesque creatures.

Toji led her to the main marketplace, bustling with various stalls and shops selling food, clothing, and trinkets. It was teeming with all manner of Curses; some resembled her and Toji, some a mixture that blended both monster and humanoid features, and others were more horrid and twisted in appearance. As they passed, the Curses immediately took notice of their Kings presence, their stares burrowing holes in the back of Y/N’s head. But none dared to approach them directly, which was a relief. This was quite a public display of their bond, but with their secret out in the open, Y/N supposed it didn’t matter much anymore.

She decided to voice her inner thoughts. “This reminds me of Heaven.”

Surprise…

Toji looked at her as if she had grown two heads, one eyebrow comically raised. “Huh?”

“Yeah, your city is like Heaven, but flipped the opposite way. I don’t really know how to explain it, maybe Geto would disagree with me.”

“Is it… a bad thing?”

“No! It’s quite beautiful, actually.”

Toji appeared gladdened, as relief washed over his face, though Y/N could sense his underlying nervousness and shyness through their bond. She had to stop herself from smiling, because it was quite endearing. Following his lead, they strolled through the streets of his city, which he seemed to know like the back of his hand. She understood now why he was so determined to protect his people; Toji provided and protected them well, ensuring they wanted for nothing. This contrasted starkly with Suguru’s citizens, who often exuded an aura of sadness and neediness due to their struggles. Food was scarcer, skirmishes and raids along the border were common occurrences, and they had lost their King, whom they had known for centuries.

Of course, not having to worry about an impending war would certainly help.

Toji broke the silence with a question. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m curious. Do you miss it? Heaven, I mean.”

Did she?

Did she miss those first moments of the day when she lay in her bed, watching the first rays of the dawn filter through her window? There something so profoundly peaceful about that time, so uniquely ethereal, that it was one of her reasons for getting out of bed everyday.

Did she miss those moments when she and Nanami used to sit together on the lush meadows after a sparring session? When they would enjoy the cool breeze and the sun on their faces, and she would watch the wind flow through his golden locks.

Did she miss those times when Gojo used to gather a feast of figs from the trees outside his tower for them both to enjoy? He would always peel the fruits for her, a smile on his face as he let her have the best ones.

It would be a lie if she said no.

“Sometimes,” Y/N admitted quietly, not wanting to acknowledge the magnitude of how much she actually did miss it. “Parts of it.”

Toji hummed. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, it was your home for…”

He suddenly started to chuckle, and she looked at him quizzically. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, but I don’t actually know how old you are.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“I asked you first, but I’m somewhere in the middle of the eight-century mark, I think.”

“I’m five hundred and seven.”

“Oh, very precise.”

“And you’re very old.”

Toji barked out a laugh. “Why should I bother counting, then?”

“So you don’t accidentally say you’re older than you actually are. You could be fifty years younger and you’d never know.”

“Pft! Fifty years isn’t much.”

“Fifty years is a lot.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll ask if Mei-Mei has some old records from the Zenins. See how old I am exactly.”

Y/N’s mood turned sour at the mention of her, and her smile vanished from her face. She recalled their argument yesterday, and how Toji had told her she had no business knowing anything about him. Yet, here he seemed to have had a complete change of heart. Her near-death experience shouldn’t have been a requirement for him to allow himself to open up to her – something he still seemed reluctant to do. Was she not deserving enough to know who he really was? Would she ever be?

If not, then what was the point of fate – God – bringing the two of them together?

Toji sensed her mood shift, of course he did. It was still new to Y/N, the idea that her emotions could be sensed without his essence overpowering her psyche, the way Gojo’s had done in his Infinite Void. But Toji remained silent, which disappointed Y/N. They had reached a grand staircase leading up to what could only be Toji’s palace, as there was no other building they had passed that was as large as this one.

“I’m assuming you’re hungry,” Toji remarked, pushing open the oversized dome-shaped doorway to the palace. Y/N nodded, and he motioned for her to follow him.

The Curses dwelling inside the palace stared at them with wide eyes, bowing respectfully at Toji as he passed, their hushed voices whispered excitedly after the pair passed. Y/N could have sworn she heard the words ‘mate’ and ‘Queen’ being whispered, and that filled her with alarm. Toji led her to a balcony overlooking the city, dimly lit with smoldering lanterns, complete with a table and chairs.

“This is where I usually eat,” he explained, his voice gravelly. “It’s nice. A good view of the city.”

Y/N hummed in agreement and took a seat. Toji did the same, and servants immediately came in from the inside to place platters of steaming food in front of them both. They looked at her strangely when she thanked them and respectfully bowed at both of them as they left. It was awkward silence, to say the least, as they ate. Y/N could feel Toji glancing at her often, trying to lock eyes with her.

Toji finally spoke, pushing his plate away from him, and Y/N could feel his leg bouncing rapidly beneath the table. “Look, I’m not good at these things. But about yesterday, I couldn’t say all the things I wanted to say the way I wanted to – the right way, you know?”

“You’re not obligated to tell me anything, Toji.” Y/N replied evenly, though she was quite taken aback that a King of Hell was rambling. “Just how I’m not either.”

“No but you… you share things with me anyways. Freely. You don’t hide yourself from me, and I’ve never felt you do it.” Toji admitted, his voice slightly strained, his gaze fixed on his lap as his leg bounced faster.

He’s so nervous.

“What I’m trying to say, it was both of us that suffered a loss yesterday. We were both vulnerable, but I was so angry that we were so exposed. Because it was me who should’ve killed Mahito when I had the chance.”

“Toji, you said it yourself. Killing him would have warranted too many questions.”

“Yeah, but this outcome is so much worse because it was something neither of us could have controlled. Killing him would have been controlled.”

Toji sighed, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter, and it’s not what I’m trying to say. I should have been there. I should have stayed. I wanted to ask you to come with me, to stay here with me. That’s why I came to you yesterday.”

“I know, Geto told me,” Y/N said gently, as if revealing some embarrassing secret.

“Oh, right. I forgot about that,” he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “I suppose that was me being desperate.”

“Clearly,” she giggled, her laugh tinkling like bells, and Toji’s eyes lit up. “You really think Suguru has that much influence?”

His face fell a little at that. “So, you won’t stay? Not even after what happened last night?”

Y/N could see it again now, Toji’s soul laid bare and raw before her. He was choosing vulnerability this time, laying his emotions on the line for just for her. It was truly what he wanted, for her to stay with him. Y/N couldn’t help herself, she reached over and placed her hand over his.

“No, Toji. It would be running away and leaving my family to fight a war that I caused,” Y/N replied softly, afraid of breaking him apart into tiny pieces.

“You wouldn’t be running, not to me,” Toji murmured, his eyes fixed on her hand over his.

“I know, but I would never forgive myself if I left them now.”

Toji stared at her, and she sucked in a breath. “You have such a fire in you now, you know? You know exactly where you need to go, and what you need to do.” He gripped her hand, sliding his fingers between hers. “Don’t ever put it out.”

She blushed heavily, feeling any lingering tension she had for her green-eyed Curse crumbled into dust.

“But if you need me, then call for me. I’ll come to you,” he continued lowly, his voice rumbling and almost sultry, as he squeezed her hand.

Y/N smiled shyly. “Thank you, Toji.” She looked over to the city, shying away from the intensity of the moment. “I can see what you’re trying to protect here.”

“They don’t deserve to be dragged into my… feelings.”

They sat together in comfortable silence, their hands still firmly in each other’s grasp, and Y/N had to fight to keep the smile from spreading widely across her face.

“You, uh-,” Toji cleared his throat, hesitating before continuing. “You asked me if Mei-Mei and I eve-.”

Y/N cut him off, waving her other hand quickly at him. “No, no Toji! You were right yesterday, and it’s something I don’t want or need to know.”

He sighed, rubbing his thumb on her hand. “Well, I didn’t mean that. But you should know that I never did anything like that with her.”

The relief was so immense that Y/N had to refrain herself from sighing loudly.

Anxiousness…

Toji mumbled, “Did you and Gojo ever… do anything?”

Y/N giggled wildly, and it was his turn to look at her quizzically. “I think you forget seraphim don’t do anything like that until after marriage.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, seemingly embarrassed. Perhaps he didn’t know, and Y/N wondered how much Curses really knew about Angels. After a minute of silence, Toji added. “So, uh, you- are you? Tch!”

She found his flustering quite endearing. “What?”

Toji sighed pointedly, gathering his thoughts to formulate a proper sentence. “Would you still prefer to do things that way?”

Y/N frowned. Toji was making her consider aspects of her old life that she had never thought of before. Would she remain pure until marriage? She’d embraced everything else about being a Curse – the freedom, the bloodlust – so why was this any different? And yet, strangely enough, Y/N couldn’t imagine doing it any different.

“I think… I think so yes,” she finally replied, her words slow, as if she doubted them herself.

Toji hummed. “And what about other things?”

Y/N almost choked on her own spit, her cheeks flushing bright red again. He smirked at her, and she pursed her lips indignantly. “Stop that.”

“What?” Toji said with mock innocence. She gave him a sharp look, but a smile was threatening to break out over her wavering lips. “Okay okay! Fine,” he conceded, a handsome smile lighting up his features as he laughed.

In that moment, Y/N thought Toji was the most gorgeous creature she had ever been blessed to lay eyes on.

“Tell me what Heaven was like then, if you don’t mind,” Toji asked, leaning in closer to her from across the table, his hand still deliciously warm.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “That’s quite a long story. I think I’ll need to hear more about you afterwards.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @moonwingeys @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature @katsvgou

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crowfootwrites · 3 months ago

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Day 22, breeding, goes to Dukat, the man who has NINE children by the end of DS9. 🙄

Kinktober Masterlist

Taglist: @horta-in-charge

Day 22: Breeding Kink - Gul Dukat x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI; breeding and talking about it a bunch | Words: ~910 | Song: Such a Whore (Stellular Remix) - JVLA

The Replimat. The Habitat Ring. Quark’s Bar, but that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. The Klingon restaurant. The Promenade. Sisko’s office.

These were all the places you’d run into Gul Dukat in the last two weeks. Each time, you’d done nothing more than exchange pleasantries. It seemed as though Dukat wanted to speak with you more in depth, but every time you bumped into each other, you were in a hurry or being called away by someone. After a few days of this, you couldn’t help but let your eyes linger over his intimidating form as you moved on, wishing you had time to ask him… something. Anything, really, just to get him to say what was on his mind. You were dying to know if he had the same thing on his mind as you did.

So after two weeks of increasingly familiar greetings and tentative glances, you decided to make your intentions known. And it was though, your decision made, the universe was inclined to pave your way.

***

The turbolift groaned to a halt at the Promenade’s lower level, and you stepped on, eager to head home after a long shift. As you turned back around, your eyes locked on the now-familiar figure of Dukat striding on to join you before the lift departed.

“Lieutenant,” Dukat greeted, smirking as he turned to stand beside you.

“Gul Dukat,” you replied as the lift lurched, moving down toward the habitat ring. “It’s good to see you again.” You peeked at him out of the corner of your eye.

“We seem to be running into each other quite a bit,” he teased.

You took a deep breath, trying to remind yourself to be bold and take what you want. “I must say, I’ve been looking forward to our run-ins,” you said, your words coming out in a murmur. In your periphery, you spotted Dukat’s eyebrow ridge raised in surprise.

The lift shuddered to a stop at your level of the habitat ring before Dukat could formulate a response.

You stepped off, but turned back to face the imposing Cardassian. “I’d love to see more of you,” you admitted, your limbs tingling as your heart raced inside your chest. You took a step backward, away from the lift as Dukat grinned.

“H5-A, chamber 1504.”

You watched as the turbolift proceeded downward again, Dukat shooting you a smug smile just before the lift carried him out of sight.

***

And that was how you’d wound up in your current position - your face buried in the pillows and your ass in the air as Dukat fucked you ravenously, your paired grunts and moans filling the air around you.

Dukat had shown up late enough that you’d begun wondering if he was actually going to show up, and you’d practically worried a path in your carpet with your pacing. But your anxiety and doubt had been forgotten the moment he entered your quarters and pinned you to the wall like he couldn’t wait another second to feel you against him.

A particularly harsh thrust pulled a cry from you, his fingers digging into your hips with bruising force. Sweat beaded along your hairline. Your fingers twisted in the sheets of your bed to keep you stable as Dukat bore down over you, groaning his pleasure.

“I can’t imagine… leaving this cunt… empty,” he growled between thrusts. “You’re just begging to be filled.” He planted a hand beside you, leaning forward to drag his lips along your spine. Your back arched at his touch, his Cho’Ch hitting right where you needed it the most. Tears sprang to your eyes at the wave of pleasure threatening to engulf you.

“Ah, you like that, don’t you, my dear?” he taunted. “The thought of letting me fuck you full of my seed, belonging to me?” You clenched around his length at his teasing, the idea sounding very appealing in your current state. Your satisfied whine was muffled by the pillows.

Suddenly, Dukat’s arm looped around your midsection, hauling you up against his chest. He buried his face in your neck, one of his hands grasping at your hip like a lifeline while the other came to rest, almost tenderly, on your belly.

“What I wouldn’t give to see a pretty Human like you round with my child,” he muttered, as if to himself. His lips traced the curve of your neck as his hand moved down from your hip, circling your clit with practiced precision. The scales on his chest pressed into your back as he fucked you, his Cho’Ch throbbing against the roiling heat at your core. It pushed you higher, your head tipped back against his shoulder in your ecstasy. Moans poured forth from both of you as you climbed, your climax just out of reach. You could feel Dukat’s desperation in the stuttering of his hips.

“Perhaps I’ll take you back to Cardassia with me,” he grunted, his words punctuated by his thrusts. “Make you bear my children, keep you bred like a good little Human slut,” he offered, his fingers pressing into the fat of your stomach below your navel. Arousal pooled in your tingling limbs, your legs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up and, as his fingers traced tight circles against your clit, you shuddered as you came, crying out Dukat’s name. It was followed by a sharp hiss from Dukat, who promptly spilled inside you, keeping his word to fill you up.

#star trek #star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #star trek fanfiction #deep space nine #cardassians #st: ds9 #gul dukat x reader #dukat x reader #gul dukat #dukat #dukat x fem!reader #gul dukat x fem!reader #i officially have cardassian brainrot #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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thatpunkmaximoff · 11 months ago

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Book Two of...

Story: 3 out of 5 Smut: 5 out of 5

I still can’t wrap my mind around these college kids being so lethal. I know it’s all fictional, but it’s just a little too much.

Don’t get me wrong, the story and smut is still entertaining, but it’s just not my cup of tea. I’m sure lots of you will enjoy it though.

Each character is enjoyable up to a certain point. There were many times I hated each character, but they redeemed themselves. Mostly.

And while I said that this wasn’t really my cup of tea, I still wanna read book three. I need to find out about Crystal and House Tartarus.

Now here are my rambling thoughts…

* Oh shit. I just realized that Lana is Felix’s little sister 🤦🏻‍♀️

* This fraternity rivalry is ridiculous. Like why does the Phantom Society wanna hit back at the Skull and Serpent Society? You guys fucked around and found out, and now you’re pissy?

* “Now make your choice, little kitty. What’s it going to be? Keep your secret or your body?” // “Secret.” // “Good choice.”

* Damn. Kai really took out his frustrations on Lana. Felix is gonna rage if he ever finds out.

* Wow. Kai’s keeping this a secret from his boys 👀

* Ew. Jason’s a lousy fuck.

* Damn. He really did lick her like a lollipop 😂

* As of right now, I like Kai, hate Nathan, and don’t trust Milo.

* Nathan wanting Milo to record everything Kai does to Lana so he can extort her is pissing me off. Felix should have killed him in book one.

* *sighs* I don’t know how I feel about these guys.. I like Kai well enough, but the other two suck. And don’t even get me started and Lana’s badassery. It’s just too much.

* Nathan’s really pissing me off. Kai got her to agree to be your fuck toy and you still wanna extort her for money? Fuck you, dude. I hope Kai kicks your ass when he finds out.

* “Are you going to tie me up again? Use me like your friends did!” // “No…” His knees slowly cave in on him, and he sinks to the cold, hard stones right in front of me. “I want to submit. To be punished, to be hurt… to be used. Command my body. I am yours.”

* Damn. Milo really is twisted. I only love him when he’s not being Nathan’s little bitch.

* Fucking Nathan extorting her for 2K and Jason abandoning her the moment he saw the pic. Fuck both these dudes.

* “It’s a matter of life or death.” // “Then die.”

* Wow. Lana actually had a semi-vulnerable moment with Nathan and Milo, and Nathan had to go and ruin it. I almost feel bad for Milo.

* Fuck. Jason knows. Jason knows and he’s gonna blab. If not him, then definitely Crystal. Lana is so fucked.

* Oh no. Poor Milo.

* Damn. Lana straight up murdered all those people when three guys couldn’t do it 😂

* Well fuck. Lana got recognized and now they’re gonna be after her. Is this where I start to really love the boys? The touch her and die vibes coming in?

* Lol Jason’s bitch ass got what he deserved. I can’t believe he told Felix everything. Fuck that dude.

* Why do I have a feeling this Caleb dude found that folder of Lana’s pics on Nathan’s laptop and is gonna use them for his gain 🤦🏻‍♀️

* Nathan’s parents ain’t coming out of prison. Damn. Oh well.

* Fucking called it.

* And now she’s been kidnapped. Awesome.

* So if Caleb didn’t send the pic, who did?

* Oh shit. It was Crystal. Accidentally, but still.. fuck.

* Damn. So Crystal got taken and now I gotta read book 3 to find out what happened to her 😒

#spine ridge university series #spine ridge university #evil boys #clarissa wild #lana rivera #kai torres #nathan reed #milo fletcher #dark romance #mafia romance #booktok book review #book review #bully romance #romance

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just-horrible-things · 24 days ago

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Nikef III - Annihilation

[Prev]

The Annihilation is transported to the combat zone in a truck full of soldiers among many trucks full of soldiers. She wears fatigues just like all the others. Her helmet looks just like all the other helmets. The body armor under her fatigues has had the hard edges sanded carefully down so that it doesn’t create obvious ridges in the fabric. The bulk it adds to her narrow frame makes her look more like the other soldiers, not less. She is still small for a soldier. But her squad mates are not tall either, so that they do not make her smaller by contrast.

Her handler sits beside his charge, dressed in the same fatigues, wearing the same helmet. It’s unusual to redeploy an amputee, so his combat prosthetic is covered by a carefully adjusted pant leg down to where the ankle would be. It bends in the wrong place and the rubber foot looks more like a strange hoof than a boot. But at a distance, in a truck full of soldiers, it does not catch the eye.

The target was a university building once, before it was gutted and repurposed as a fortress. The stone walls were raised in a time when people built to last. The windows were built high and narrow to keep out the heat, which well suits occupants hoping to keep out bullets and grenades. The great carved doors stand locked and barred, and the street around and before them has been turned into a killing ground.

The perimeter fence is built of corpses. Arm-long spikes of bone jut from ribcages, from spines, from the ragged stumps where limbs have been ripped from torsos. The bone forms a dense thicket of spikes interlocking at all angles. Flesh festers black and red and purple between the spines, disgorging swirling clouds of flies. Faces bloated by rot stare blindly out from the prison of bone, eye sockets plundered by rat and crow, mouths hanging open as if still screaming.

The first truck disgorges smoke grenades ahead of itself as it approaches, filling the narrow street with thick, choking white smoke. Gunmen behind the high, narrow windows open fire at once, even before the vehicle itself pulls into their obscured view. The soldiers in the back have no protection besides the smoke screen. Curled over their guns, they begin to die. The truck accelerates straight at the gruesome barrier and crashes through. The bone thicket, while sharp enough to deter infantry, shatters before the momentum of a tonne and a half of moving metal.

The second truck carries the Annihilation. Her skin lights up a split second before they emerge from the cover of the surrounding houses into the line of fire. Blue-white light blazes from her eyes, her mouth, her fingers, so bright that the accompanying soldiers cover their eyes and flinch away. The air fills with the screech of tearing metal. Sharp metal filings begin to peel from every exposed surface. Soldiers drop their guns, reluctant to hold onto them as sharp edges spontaneously develop. The truck driver slams on the acceleration, and everyone is thrown backward into their neighbours.

The light of the Annihilation attracts fire instantaneously as the enemy realise their approaching doom. Their bullets disintegrate in the air, turning to powder. A few splinters survive to bore holes into flesh, but the narrow wounds do far less damage than bullets.

The first truck is just ahead of them, disgorging soldiers and more smoke into the paltry cover offered by the shadow of the walls. The remaining vehicles are hard on their tail. The truck brakes hard, and skids on the gore-slicked paving, and clips the building just before it can judder to a stop. Undeterred by the bone-shaking jolt of collision, the infantry leap from the truck bed, following the Annihilation closely like the aegis against death that she is.

The great carved doors are old wood, dark with varnish and the weight of years. The blue light of the Annihilation casts them almost black. She raises a blazing hand. The first cracks ring out as loud as the gunfire – the deafening sound of a great tree breaking and falling. They’re followed by a great splintering tearing as the varnished facade is abruptly mazed with a dense paving of fine white cracks. The whole bulk of the doors – almost three metres high and as thick as a man’s wrist – collapses all at once, falling to the ground as a rain of splinters, each no longer than a fingernail, no thicker than a grain of rice.

The pile of splinters is shin-deep, but poses no obstacle to the infantry as they rush forward with a roar of triumph. The Annihilation is at the front of the charge, radiating light. The enemy fall back in dismay and are felled swiftly. Guns detonate in the hands of their wielders, exploding into razor-edged shards of metal. Grenades explode on their belts without the pins ever being pulled. Each blast expands only backwards into the ranks of the defenders, leaving the attackers unscathed.

The crazed momentum of the charge dissipates as soon as the entry hall is secured. The enemy deeper within the building are in panicked disarray and in no hurry to launch a rushed counter-assault. Reinforcements have yet to arrive, and there is time to establish a defensive line before they do. For a brief few minutes the attackers have breathing room to regroup, count their losses, and form up into strike teams and defenders.

The Annihilation does not wait. She picks a door and strides forward, handler close on her heels. Clearing buildings is her specialty. All the guns and bodies behind her are merely her backup and her smokescreen. Being fragile and susceptible to bullets, they are more than willing to hang back and let her do her gruesome work.

The halls and corridors of the university buildling are maze-like. Great vaulted chambers intermix seemingly at random with clusters of tiny, claustrophobic rooms. A conventional strike team would have to proceed at a snail’s pace, always watching their flanks, each innumerable side door a potential ambush, each twist and turn a potential death.

The doors fall from their hinges as the Annihilation passes. She senses threats without needing line of sight. Weapons disintegrate in their owners’ hands before they know she is upon them. Screams mark her progress through the building, ringing out a signal of death. Her supposed squad mates follow well behind, picking through the carnage to ensure no threat is left alive.

Only when the defenders mass in numbers do they even slow the Annihilation down. Only when the air is thick with bullets does she give any thought to cover or tactics. Unfortunately for her enemies, she doesn’t need to step out from behind a corner to pick her targets.

As she extinguishes one knot of resistance by setting off their own explosives, a lone gunman surprises her by sprinting from a side corridor. Wide eyes spill electric blue light across her cheeks as she whirls to face him. She raises a hand that glows so brightly it seems sculpted from solid light.

For a brief moment, the splits in the soldier’s skin and clothes are visible. Blood sprays in bright fans from the network of lines that cover him like cracks in mud. Then he detonates, showering the corridor in gobbets of flesh and splinters of bone. In the aftermath a fine, red mist hangs in the air.

Behind the Annihilation, bracing one hand against the wall for support, her handler Ahden doubles over and throws up.

#my writing #living weapon #horror #body horror #war whump

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jukeboxtea · 6 days ago

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now i’ll fight with my eyes closed (for the things that i’ve let go)

Summary:

But Grian never has the comfort of death. Again, he’s sent back into the game. Again, he wakes, and all he remembers is the war-torn desert. (my take on a classic idea: only the winners remember.)

ao3 link

It doesn’t feel good. Grian thought it might, when he considered it in the eerie space between the rush of battle–during his underground respawn in the scuffle of the Red Desert, where his ears still rang from the bombs and the adrenaline ran like a drug through his veins, trapping him in a horrible bloodlust. In this crevice of the world, his hands still sticky from the phantom of bloodshed, Grian thought to himself, It’ll feel good to win. Proud and destructive. Arrogant, but not stupid. He knew what he was capable of. And that mindset stuck with him throughout his trek back through the Red Desert–truly red now, as wet blood had stained the sand into a crimson mudfield. His boots sunk into the ground and he imagined another man’s blood pooling beneath them. He was tunnel-visioned, even through the loss of his yellow life and the death of Bdubs. A hungry determination. His win was almost tangible, and he imagined it would feel great.

But now, as he stands facing the eastern border, Scar’s blood soiling his hands–

It doesn’t feel good , Grian keeps thinking to himself. This doesn’t feel good.

“I don’t feel good,” he says aloud, his voice so tainted with misery that it sounds foreign to him. His first words spoken aloud in an empty world. They echo in his head. “I don’t feel good,” he repeats, even though his mouth feels wet with blood, if only in an attempt to get the words out of his damn brain. He listens to the way they echo in the air around him. In his mind, he sees the sound vibrations as they float through the sky, traveling far, far, into the reaches of this empty world, undisturbed, undoubtedly, by the lack of life. He imagines the way they echo off the body behind him.

He doesn’t look back.

Instead, Grian looks out into the distance, fruitlessly trying to catch his breath. The desert he sees is unfamiliar. Destroyed. His eyes latch onto the crater in the distance. In his mind, his breaths travel across the air, too, echoing in the crater from side to side, sliding down the ridges of the destruction, a scar on their land that recalls the lives they lost.

A thought crosses his mind, almost like it’s someone else’s: One more life to go. It startles him, and he turns it over in his mind. He starts to wonder if he thought it or heard it.

Wind blows from the west, gently pushing into him from behind. Almost like it’s egging him on–or, more accurately, forward.

Chills race up his spine. The air whistles, and another light gust kicks up some sand around him. Grian closes his eyes, and he hears it once more: a voice, he’s sure this time, almost like the world itself is talking to him. Jump, it whispers–the grains of sand as they shuffle on the ground, blown by the whistling wind. The world’s noises blend together, and suddenly through them the universe is speaking. Jump. Grian has half a mind to think it sounds familiar.

He opens his eyes and he’s facing downward. The cliff drops off and slopes back to meet the desert floor–his eyes follow the distance from himself to the ground below, and he thinks he might be sick.

His vision swims. He steadies himself on the grave of Pizza to his right…

“Oh, Scar,” he whispers aloud, like he’s testing to see if he can still speak. If he’s still alive. If the voice in his head is really his own. If Scar is really…

One more life to go, the world whispers to him, drowning out his thoughts–the ghosts of his enemies working alongside a greater force than he can ever imagine, demanding his blood. He staggers under the weight of its power. The world crushes in on him, and he knows what he must do.

Oh, Scar. He turns around one last time to sneak a glimpse–

And before he knows it, before his brain can catch up with his heart’s decision, his legs are hitting the ground below with a crunch, then his arms, his chest, his head, and then he’s gone.

… But Grian doesn’t even feel the darkness of death. Instead, he immediately comes to once more, standing in… an oak forest? He blinks and turns in place.

Yup. An oak forest. Grass, and trees, and flowers, and even a distant sheep. “Um,” Grian says aloud, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He turns around again. Just a normal oak forest. What about the desert? What about…

He feels lightheaded. He walks over and steadies himself with his arm against a tree. Grass crunches under his feet, and all he can think about is the warm sand, and Scar’s cold, dead body, and where they meet in blood.

Grian’s knuckles hurt. But when he looks at them… they’re clean, healed back together like they never split on his best friend’s skull. His sweater is clean of blood, and his skin is pale again, nothing like the tan he gained under the desert sun.

He remembers the way Scar’s body twisted as it fell to the ground.

His mind is brought away from the desert heat by a tingling feeling on the inside of his left arm, right below his wrist. He takes his right arm away from the tree, instead leaning on his shoulder, and pulls back his sleeve to look.

Two yellow hearts. His eyes freeze on their bright outline against his skin.

And, oh. Grian suddenly knows what’s going on, like this is exactly what was meant to happen. Like the anticipation is coded into his very being. The hearts pulse in his wrist, in time with the beating of his own, and it feels natural.

He races to take out his comm from his pocket, and when he hits the player tab, he sees a list of multicolored names. That’s new. But the dread in his stomach tells him it’s something he knows all too well.

<SolidarityGaming> 2 lives????!?.!,

<Smallishbeans> imagine omegalul couldn’t be me

And his mind races. Because Grian helped Scott carry Jimmy’s lifeless body out from the rubble of the bunker after the battle of the Red Desert, and he remembers the way Jimmy’s limbs sagged in his arms and the painfully dull look in Jim’s eyes that haunted his nightmares for days. But Jimmy’s here. So are the rest of them. And a nagging voice in Grian’s head is shouting at him that he died in that desert, too.

But it’s the start of a new game. The realization sits in Grian’s mind as a fact, like it was always meant to be this way. A new game has started. And Grian knows that he must fight.

And fight he does—like hell. If there’s anything Grian knows how to do, it’s fighting like he’s got nothing to lose. He’s done it before, and he can do it again.

His heart stops beating when he sees Scar. He can’t believe it for a moment, but there Scar is, eyes glowing a bright emerald-green, a stark contrast to his usual dark red. Grian wants to run to him, but another part of him wants to run away, into the other direction and far, far away from this game, and hide in a corner of the server where no one will ever find him. So he stands in place. Scar just blinks.

“Oh, hello!” Scar says, and he seems… completely normal. Unaffected. Grian wants to shake him by the shoulders, to slap him in the face, to hug him, but Scar–

Scar doesn’t act at all like he’s just died. He’s more chipper than ever. But as Grian looks at him, all he can see is his dead, lifeless eyes, and his fists falling to his sides as his body hit the ground, and…

It’s the same pattern as Grian runs into everyone else. Anger bubbles in his chest when he catches a glimpse of the Red King, but the other man just smiles and waves. It’s like back when he was Ren. And when Grian speaks to a shockingly alive Jimmy, he finds there’s no wedding band on his finger. Scott is the same way. Grian watches him trample a poppy while he walks, and when he catches up to him with the flower in hand (disguised as a joke, but really, a hopeful test), Scott looks at him like he’s crazy.

No one remembers, Grian slowly accepts. No one remembers, but he still must fight.

It comes down to an all-out brawl, similar to last time. Him and Joel had tried to bait a group of them into a trap, but Grian ignited the TNT at just the wrong time (a failed trap; achingly familiar). When he emerged from the trap, the fighting really began, and now Grian knows it’s endgame once more. But this time, he is without the upper hand. And before he knows it, he’s low on health, being chased down by Smajor (his ally a life ago–but why would Scott remember that?).

“Not like this!” Grian shouts pathetically, and as the sword digs into his back for the last time, he finally knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end.

For the few seconds before the world goes black, Grian, cheek touching the cold grass, stares at the empty hearts on his wrist and hears shouting fade away behind him. He feels himself entering the darkness, as the world quiets and his eyes shut–

But he doesn’t feel death’s embrace. Instead, he is thrust onto his feet once more.

He blinks. His eyes adjust. A… forest? What? Tentatively, he turns his head, slowly taking in the scenery.

He stands in a forest, with a mix of oak and birch trees nearby. He hears people talking in the distance; their laughter rings in his ears.

… But he was meant to be the only one left. And–and where is the desert?

He tries to make sense of it all, but all he can think of is Scar–Scar’s dead body on the sand, mouth pried open, lifeless red eyes looking back up at him. Scar’s blood on his hands.

His knees feel weak. He sits down gently, and the grass feels wrong. His legs feel all wrong. Last he remembered, they were crushed under his weight when he…

His stomach curls. He should be dead on the desert floor.

He slowly realizes what’s going on. His heart feels a tug, and it’s suddenly painfully obvious that he has a soulmate. Like it was always meant for this to happen. He has a soulmate, and there’s another game, and he must fight. So he does.

And when he runs into Scar again, he definitely doesn’t freak out. Because he freezes in place when he sees him–he’s alive, everyone is alive, how?--but Scar just treats their interaction like any other day. He waves, and smiles, and asks Grian if he’s found his soulmate yet, and Grian can’t even form a response. He’s too busy picturing him dead on the sand.

Grian realizes that none of them remember the game when he runs into Rendog, who, eyes shining with green, greets Grian with a friendly, “Hey, dude, what’s up?” Grian almost has faith when he notices Scott is acting jittery as well, but when he hands him a poppy and he doesn’t react, he knows he was wrong.

And Grian definitely doesn’t freak out when he learns that Scar is his soulmate.

Scar’s exactly the same. Oblivious. And Grian–who had plans of ignoring him, due to not quite being able to look him in the eyes–is forced to chase him down and tell him himself. He positions Scar underneath a tree, hangs a stalactite from the branches above, and lets it fall down onto Scar’s head.

Grian feels the pain like it’s his own. He looks Scar in the eyes as they both take damage, outwardly begging him to realize they’re soulmates–but on the inside, he pleads, Remember the desert.

Scar’s eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh,” he says.

And for a split second, Grian thinks his silent prayers have been answered. But Scar just laughs, and says, “All this time, you were my soulmate!” and Grian is forced to laugh alongside him.

The game ends anticlimactically. Grian has been trying to bring wardens to the surface, and it only takes one misstep for the whole operation to become fatal. He takes a wrong turn in his escape route, and that gives the warden he’s attempting to wrangle just enough time to spot him through the cave walls and deal a deadly sonic blow. This time, as his ears are shot out and his body is flung into the wall, his last second is spent feeling sorry that he took out Scar again. Everything goes black.

Except… except it doesn’t. He doesn’t die. Again, he’s back on those damned feet, facing a brand new world, and phantom desert heat burns the back of his eyelids.

He freaks out at the dark oak forest he spawns in (where is Monopoly Mountain?). He freaks out at the player list (how are they alive?). He freaks out when he sees Scar (and he’s so sorry, he really is).

And he learns that there’s an objective–24 hours to live, 24 hours to win–and suddenly, everything is natural. Everything is planned. He must fight.

Even when no one else remembers. (Martyn greets him with a wave with zero malice behind it, and Grian can’t even form a response.) (Scott is acting paranoid, though, but when Grian tests him by mentioning the Pufferish of Peace, Scott responds with a blank stare. Pearl, too, but she’s new this game, so she couldn’t possibly remember. Guess they’re thinking of something else.)

The game ends like this: Grian’s running across a terrible, cobbled-together structure in the sky, dropping TNT to get some endgame kills, when he slips off the side. He looks down as the ground rushes in to meet him. The sound of his legs crunching under his weight is sickeningly familiar.

Death doesn’t give him comfort. Why would it? Instead, it puts him on his feet and sends him straight back in.

Another respawn, a new world, and all Grian remembers is the war-torn desert. His head spins until he learns the rules. A game of tasks. Complete them and you win. He complies with the rules like second nature. Scar is here, but their desert isn’t. And some people act jittery like Grian does–Scott, Pearl, and Martyn, as he’s noticed–but they don’t seem to remember the game that plagues Grian’s nightmares.

He must fight, and that he does. He dies cornered in a fight, with Scott (he doesn’t remember, Grian reminds himself) dealing one of the final blows.

But Grian never has the comfort of death. Again, he’s sent back into the game. Again, he wakes, and the last thing he remembers is jumping.

A new game starts and ends. Dead again, but never resting. Always fighting. He always must fight. Grian plays the game again, for the second time, over and over.

And in the split second before he repeats the cycle, right after his not-death and right before he’s thrust back onto his heat-blistered feet—a moment so short, blink and you’d miss it—Grian could almost swear he hears the universe itself once more, that whispering voice cutting through a deep void-like stillness, cooing out to him: You must fight.

#grian #third life #3rd life smp #desert duo #life series #idk what else to tag #ummmm anyway hi everyone #read my work that’d be cool #i put the whole thing under the cut bc the first paragraph is long lol #mcyt #traffic smp #life smp #mcytblr

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theredofoctober · 1 year ago

Text

Waking The Witch—

Stranger Things Fic

Synopsis: Vecna, once Henry Creel, holds Reader hostage for his dark purposes

Pairing: Vecna/Henry Creel x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: non con, humiliation

Cross-posted from ao3

Red and black is the dessication of this psychic world, and you know not whether it is your dream, or that of another. Structures moist and ebony in their coiling bulk bear upon their expanse the hung corpses of people you know and love, their bodies shrouded in tendrils, on hideous display. In terror you spiral about them, your mouth—your throat, your ravaged lungs—bitter with the stink of meat, of the dead.

In out, in out, you're breathing the rotten silk of sodden mist, and, thus, starved of air, you stumble in leaden weight towards you know not what, nor who, trawling you with a bait of guilt into the dark.

"Hello, Hole," a voice breathes—Vecna, his voice coming on a whisper of thought, the corrupted God in this road-kill universe. "Have you had time to reflect on your torment? The black matter of your unrelenting guilt?"

You turn, and see a crimson silhouette, a flayed man tearing himself from the cups of many tentacles, the puppet strings of an abject Wonderland. He towers over you, this so-called Vecna, claw-handed, his small, glistening eyes scoring the barrens of your haggard soul.

"Stay away!" you cry, and back up against a pillar of midnight stone, its ridges like knives in your back. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ah," Vecna breathes, and tears another flesh-clodded rope from his shoulder. "Haven't you guessed yet? Because I want you when all the others in your pitiful life can barely remember your name. Look at yourself. Your parents are gone, and all your friends have abandoned you, turned on you, one after the other..."

You make wrenching attempts to free yourself from the structure at your spine, but you are knotted to it by so many loops of slithering muscle that it is a struggle even to breathe. In desperation you close your eyes, attempting to shut out the fabric of this elemental nightmare. But when the demon's ratting laughter comes close to ear your lids start open, and Vecna is leaning into you, his moist breath upon your face stinking of damp and decay.

"I could take your pain away so easily," he says, ponderously, "as I've done for so many others. You could join me, lose your physical form, and all its torments."

Your torso clenches in spasms, your innards buckling in the psychic grasp of one eldritch hand. Then, as you scream and sob against your agony, the pressure lifts, and Vecna inspects you with a mixture of want and loathing.

"No," he says, a response to his own musings. "I won't destroy you. You're too delicious to burn away so quickly. There are other ways I can relieve you."

One crooked hand trips from your wan cheek down to your throat, your chest, the struggling mile of sensitivity between your legs.

"I could take you now, against your will," the monster breathes, "but I will have your consent to undress your wounded soul."

"Why?" you hear yourself whimper.

Slate coils of tentacle undulate beneath your clothes, and to your guilt a pleasure foams under the gooseflesh of your chest and aching apertures.

"Because," croons Vecna, "It's the only way to end your suffering. I know why they call you 'Hole'. The rumours of what you offer to those who seek it."

"It's not true!" you cry, and all about you, suddenly, the beings suspended on whirling cylinders come alive in paroxysms of ecstasy and motion, whimpering and bucking against their vile restraints.

All of them are dead, this you know with a frigid conviction, and yet their false arousal triggers something in you that the dark wizard notices, and gloats in.

"Not true," Vecna repeats of your pitiful cry, and takes possession of your tear-stained jaw in one crushing hand. "Come, now. If it were all lies then why are you here, and so ashamed?"

The creature's damp palm thrusts back your jaw, and in shuddering gasps you endure his mouth upon your lips, your pulse, your collarbone with its cavorting veins. He is so cold, so desolate, that you can do no more than twitch and shudder in revolt.

"Admit me," mutters Vecna, against your ear, "and your existence here, in flesh and soul, will be nothing but the pleasures of a dream."

You wrench in your impossible bonds, your teeth gnashing in horror and despair.

"I– I know what you did to the others!" you cry. "The way you broke their bones–"

"Haven't you been listening?" sneers Vecna. "You're different from those hopeless victims. Let me show you."

He makes a gesture at his shoulder, and your vision of the nightmare-scape flickers. For a moment you are both within a rotting house, winged vermin screeching and spiralling in cursed flight above you. This is real, all of it, it's really happening: in mind and in reality both this king of doom and magic keeps you.

"You understand, now," says Vecna, as the horror of ruby and fog returns. "There is no hope of escape, except through me."

You feel a motion at your hip, and glancing down see your clothes part from you in the grasp of moist limbs in countless number. Naked, you writhe before the beast of glistening muscle, feeling your arms and legs winched high and far from one another.

"No," you whimper. "No, please, please—"

"Always they beg," says Vecna, gliding thin fingers across your chest, taking a quiet enjoyment in the sickened flinch and buck of your body against him. "And always I take them into my rank."

A grey tendril finds a hole, and enters, thick, and cold, and unbearable. You attempt to scream, but another passes your lips, filling your throat with churning muscle until you stare into Vecna's eyes in desperation, imploring without word.

"If you agree to yield then your taking will be– less overwhelming."

How loathsome you find his pretense of care, and yet part of you believes it, compressed by the influence of his magic. Endless, the wave of guilt and terror holds you in its ebb, so that there is no inch of you not hurt, nor aching for reprieve.

The tuber in your mouth retreats, and Vecna circles the plinth to which you are bound.

"Think carefully, now," he says. "Do you wish to end your pain?"

As Vecna stands before you again, leering and relentless, you rasp out one word.

"Yes."

The tentacles retreat slightly, the one between your legs drawing across your thigh with a sound wet, and supple and humiliating.

"Very well. I knew that you'd submit."

Vecna moves his fine fingers to your groin, and a hiss of soft breath escapes him.

"There. You're ready for me, despite your objection."

"You," you pant, a last. "Are you the Devil?"

A wry amusement sparks those wicked eyes.

"Is that what you think I am?"

Against you the swelling of some knotted flesh has you fighting again, but a mere touch of Vecna's hand on your forehead renders you still once more.

"Enough," he says. "Receive my pity."

He thrusts within you, and you choke on a cry as pleasure and a new tremble of pain rocks through you from the inside out.

"Is this how you imagined it? The first time? I've saved you from some hopeless fumbling. Yet you don't appreciate my kindness..."

Each jolt of skinned hip bone sends a cramping agony up through every synapse, a pain that, in this reality, passes for the sheerest joy. Vecna watches your face glaze in the rapture of it, gleaning from its top the fat of terror.

"Forget your colleagues," he breathes, "their laughter, your mistakes. Now there is only you and I. And yet, if only they knew their name for you was prophecy..."

You loathe the sense of your body thrust limply against the post, the tangle of slippery darkness whose coaxing touches throughout Vecna's assault break out pockets of uneasy pleasure across your body. You've never known such anguish, caught between raw, heart-eating horror and the bliss of being manipulated by one who can lap at the marrow of your very dreams.

He is large within you, the ram of some conquering army of one. You'd expected nothing but the constricts of pain, but Vecna is too clever for that, conjuring an oubliet of his own making from the strands of your enjoyment. You feel his tongue on the salt of your cheek, the manipulations of his wandering mind etching further and further ecstasies into your every nerve.

"No," you say. "I don't want to—"

"You do," says Vecna, and his voice, even as he fills you is low, and deep, and coaxing. "You want to stand at my side. Lich Sovereign, some would call you. My beloved servant. No longer just a hole to fill, but a God ascending. They won't halt our coming, those foolish heroes, so weak..."

He doesn't seem to hear you sob, soothes you with crooning words and creeping touch until you fall silent, enduring with heaves of breath and shivering exertion every ministration, drawn further and further into the midnight strike of an abyss.

"You've always been different," whispers Vecna. "Objects trembled around you, when you were angry. Sometimes those you despised met with misfortune, and you questioned if it was your own will when it fell. So I'll tell you now: it was, all along. Every time."

Vecna nudges your head back against the coal of vertical blackness and watches the flicker of your stare as he fucks you.

"There are beings in this world with abilities," he says. "You are of our number."

Harsh his breath is on your throat, and his voice comes all around you, a corona of volume.

"You remember these events."

"Yes," you cry out, knowing what else to do. "But it—it doesn't mean anything, I'm not like you—"

"We're one and the same," Vecna says, almost tenderly, and you yelp in his hold, stunned that you are clenching around him, for all his evil, for all that his gleaming flesh nauseates you. Mortified that, despite your hatred of him and all that he has done to this small town your every sense breaks into a flashing crisis.

"There," says Vecna, coolly. "Isn't this evidence enough? Your nerves are bound to me."

You feel his warmth inside you, the end to a crescendo, and suddenly you are as cold as the dead, enduring such a finish in a fugue state.

This is what you are, now; this is what you are to be.

"Welcome," says Vecna, allowing his many swooning limbs to drop, ushering your fall into a shuddering pile on the floor of his dread house, all shattered memory. "This is your home now. You will know no hunger nor bodily desire except that which I allow. Your flesh—its needs—are my dominion. In time you'll come to desire this."

He raises the many-veined travesty of his head and gestures about your location.

"No one will find you here. And I will protect you. You've never been defended; never had a home. Here, you do."

He kneels, and in your wretchedness you lay your face into his hand, knowing in your foulest gut that the affections of this hell-scraped creature will elevate you from the brutal deaths of all those that he has had before.

"Be loyal to me," says Vecna, "and you'll never endure pain again, unless you disobey me."

Your will is molten to his overtures, and you fall to his feet in a collapse of all: sanity, comprehension, humanity, love of yourself, siphoned away.

"No more pain," you say, and you feel the viciousness of his triumph.

"No more pain," he repeats. "For now."

And you become his creature, forgetting who you were, before.

#stranger things fic #vecna x reader #henry creel x reader #darkfic #tw noncon #noncon fic #henry creel #dead dove do not eat

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