#that weird chest ache. god please.

[itsbrucey]

Thought a little too hard about the Teens and felt the despair sink in. Oh God I'm So Sad ONLY 3 EPISODES ........ONLY 3........ THEY'RE JUST KIDS. EVERYTHING THATS HAPPENED. HERMIE DIED TERRY JR. DIED SPARROW IS MISSING ALL THE TRAUMA AND VIOLENCE. OH WOW.

[hitomisuzuya]

Reader's broke ass leaving a tab open with pink leashes and collars that she's interested in. For herself, aaand step!scara sees it and surprises her with something a week later <3

Stepcest, DNI if it makes you uncomfortable. Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Collar and leash. Thigh riding. Degradation.

😳❤️ This request. I went ahead and had some fun with it.

Scaramouche wouldn't call sneaking in his delicate little step sister's room as weird. He would call it self indulgent. He could breathe in your scent while he found a pair of your panties to jack himself off with on your bed.

His eyes immediately spied your laptop sitting open on your bed as he made his way over to your dresser. Naturally, he was going to snoop in the name of self indulgence.

He turned your laptop towards him as he sat down on your bed. You had one single tab open. One that made his cock twitch. You had been browsing the store on a BDSM site.

Collars and leashes in particular.

After a few minutes of scrolling, and making a careful choice, out came the credit card. His mind was racing picturing the collar fastened around your neck. He hastily grabbed a pair of your panties, and indulged himself in a few fantasies.

Scaramouche kept a careful eye on the mail over the next week or so, looking eagle eyed at the tracking information. You were restless, and quite frankly so was he. He'd purposely cut off any kind of sex until the collar arrived. He was out the door the second the package hit the front step of the porch.

He whisked it away to hide it in his room until the moms left for the evening. And they couldn't leave fast enough as far as he was concerned. As soon as he hears the front door close, he heard your bedroom door open.

He smirked. Like a dazed moth to a flame, you came right to him.

"I have something for you," He greeted once he opened the door. God, he couldn't wait to make you whimper and moan with the collar around your neck, "Pet," He added with a teasing smirk.

You blushed at Scaramouche's intimate choice of words. "What is it?" You asked curiously, feeling heated arousal immediately flair in you. You hadn't had his cock inside you for over a week, it was obvious that you ached for him.

"You really are careless, kitten," He continued, handing you the box. His eyes followed you as you sat on his bed to open it.

You cheeks flushed when you saw what was inside. One of pink collars and a leash you'd been looking at was inside. "You-You saw what I was looking at?!" You asked, the blush on your cheeks darkening, "You snuck into my room?"

"I never would've guessed you were one for pink," He teased, chuckling when he heard you let out a shy squeak. "May I?" He plucked the collar out of your hand, "A Master should collar their pet, am I right?"

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart fluttering in your chest. Hearing him call you his pet made you wet. "Thank you, and please," You replied submissively, lifting your head a little.

You shivered as Scaramouche's fingers brushed over your skin. The material of the collar as he fastened it around your neck felt chilly and soft. "Such a well mannered slut," He praised you in such a degrading way. It made you want to fall your knees in front of him.

Hooking a finger through the collar, Scaramouche tugged you closer. Hungry lips devoured yours, his wandering hands working you out of everything except your panties. He lingered in the kisses, his hand dipping into your panties to play with your clit until you were moaning softly into his mouth.

Pulling away, he clipped the leash through the ring on the collar. "Come, pet," He purred, turning to sit on his bed. Smirking, he tugged on the leash, patting his thigh. "Tell me what was on your mind today," He knew very well what the answer was. He just wanted to hear it from your shy little mouth.

You blushed feeling the tug on the leash. The feeling sent an aroused jolt to your throbbing clit. Putting your arms around him, you straddled his thigh. "You, I was thinking about you," You began shakily.

"Go on," He encouraged, biting back a groan feeling your panties wet against his thigh. He rubbed his thigh against your pussy to encourage you to speak.

The fabric of your panties provided extra friction on your clit. You grinded needily on his thigh. "I was thinking about your cock, and.." Your words broke apart into a moan, your clit throbbing more as he thigh rubbed against it, "..how good it feels inside of me."

Your panties continued to soak onto his thigh. You squirmed a little from your panties clinging to and rubbing your clit. His cock strained harder in his jeans. You sounded so sweet.

Scaramouche poked the center of your forehead. "Oh yeah? And what was rattling around in your pretty head while you were looking at collars?" He forced you took at him as you tried to look away shyly. "Does my step sister want to be my pet slut?

Your cheeks with adoration for him. "Yes, yes I do," That was exactly what you wanted. Scaramouche couldn't help it. The sight of you getting off on his thigh, collared and leashed for him was too much. Unbuttoning his jeans, his freed his cock.

Your eyes immediately went down to look at the precum leaking from the tip. You felt a rough tug on the leash. You moaned, arching your back as you glided your pussy on his thigh. "Cock hungry already, and I am not even fucking you yet. My pretty pet is a whore," His degradation made your walls clench around nothing.

Tilting his head down, Scaramouche scooped one of your nipples into his mouth. He groaned feeling it harden on his tongue. The sensation of his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub as he sucked keened whimpers from you.

Not having his cock inside of you for a week and some days made you extra sensitive. You couldn't stop the shameless moans, chasing your high until the knot of your orgasm broke apart.

Scaramouche couldn't take his eyes off of how delicate you looked, your legs shaking as cum further soaked his thigh. "Your Master has gotten you off, slut," He rubbed his thigh on your pussy once more, "Now be a good pet and tend to your Master."

The commanding dominance in his tone sent your clit pulsing again. You slid off his thigh and onto your knees. Scaramouche moaned feeling his cock slip into the warmth of your mouth. He stroked a hand through your hand, and wrapped the leash around his hand.

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[ellabsbunny]

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ - Sickly sweet

✧˖° Summery - Perv! dorm Roommate! Ellie X sweet! naive! fem!reader

✧˖° warnings - Head(r! receiving) fingering(r receiving) lmk if i missed anything!

✧˖° authors note - i can’t believe i already have 5 followers THANK YOU SO MUCH EE!! And i hope you likee!

Your laying on the edge of the bed, legs thrown over the auburn haired girls shoulders, your pink lacy under slid down to your ankles. Ellie’s head is under your baby pink skirt, between your thighs licking, sucking, eating you out desperately.

“god your so sweet i don’t know how i could contain myself for that long” ellie mumbles into your pussy, her finger pumping in and out of your tight, velvety walls.

You let out quiet whimpers as your legs start to shake, your hands fist her hair. “p-please ellie i need to cum” you whine softly, one of her hands is pushing your stomach down to stop you from moving and her other hand is rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“cmon princess cum for me, waited so long for this pussy” Ellie groans as she speeds up her movements. You tighten your thighs around her head as you cum, your orgasm hitting you like a mac truck.

Ellie finishes you off cleaning up all your cum with her mouth, she pulls away, her chin and mouth glistening with your juices. She cleans off her mouth and fingers, then softly pulls your panties off and stuffing them into her pocket and flipping your skirt back down as she kisses her way up to your face.

“You did so good sweet girl” ellie whisper against your lips as she pulls you up off the bed and towards her chest hugging you tightly. All you can think is she is just so sweet helping you with that weird ache but in reality ellie knew she can use your naïveté to get what she really wanted, and to where she wanted to.

[misshugs]

₂The Cameragirl² || snc

After an eventful night in the haunted asylum, you and the guys began looking at the footage, only for you to start making cocky remarks that might've set a spark you weren't expecting.

contains: just fluff and reader trying to be funny (but failing miserably), cheeky comments from reader, cursing, slight flirting? idk i suck at it

a/n: "part 2" of The Cameragirl, no need to read the first part though! but for context: you got choked by a ghost and you almost died but colby saved you by giving you mouth to mouth

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

word count: 2.3k

[u n e d i t e d]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You don't exactly remember when you fell asleep, you're just sure that right after you fell on your bed you were knocked out.

It wasn't something that happened often, but boy you were tired due to last nights events. Beause of that and because of your commonly terrible sleeping habits, Sam and Colby didn't even want to bother you much.

They did however check on you after they woke up hours later, making sure you were still breathing. The experience has somewhat made them paranoid about what could happen to you.

Although they cleansed you before returning, they'd much prefer to be one hundred percent sure you were alright.

The problem was, you were a light sleeper. After they finished checking up on you, your eyes opened up slightly. Groaning a bit from the ache in your body from the fall you had a couple of hours prior. You stretched yourself nonetheless.

Yawning, you sat down and rubbed your eyes. Taking your phone from your nightstand, you looked at the hour. 01:17 PM. Sighing softly, you stood up and fixed yourself up before walking out of the room.

Looking around, you heard mumbling from the other room. It was the office. You walked inside and saw them both looking back at the footage.

You furrowed your brows. Usually, you were a part of this process. Why did they begin without you?

Since they haven't noticed you yet, you started walking closer without making any sounds. As quiet as you possibly could, you basically stood behind them, watching the footage.

"What're you doing?" You asked, gaining a scream from Sam and a jump from Colby, almost falling off the chair. A smile grew wide on your face after that reaction.

"Fuck! You scared me!" Sam exclaimed, putting his hand on his chest.

"Oh my god, my heart." Colby said, hiding his face in his hands.

"That's for beginning without me." You said, crossing your arms on your chest.

"You were sleeping so soundly after all that happened, we didn't want to disturb you. And... we were curious... sorry." Colby admitted. You sighed.

"It's alright, I guess. What's this part?"

"We just started watching the part where... it happened." Sam said, looking at you.

"Ooh, okay. Then go back, my head's a little fuzzy, I can't remember clearly what happened, I want to know." As you said that, they nodded and ran back the video.

You didn't miss much anyways. They rewined right when they began arguing about it not being a good idea and whatnot. They haven't seen the whole night or anything, they just skipped right to the end.

After the arguing and the preparation for everyone to go into their respective corridors, the challenge began.

They paused the video. "Even though it made sense, it was still strange for you to be so persistent about it, was it not?" Colby said, looking at you. "Also, can you please sit down? There's a chair right there. You're stressing me out."

"No." You quickly answered.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't want to, it's my fight or flight mode. It's easier to run while standing up." You giggled softly, which gave them both a sense of peace that you couldn't even imagine.

You were their everything, and thinking that their everything could've ended up like that made them so overprotective that they would've absolutely slept with you that night... to keep you protected, of course.

"Also, my legs feel numb, I don't want to cut the circulation again, it felt weird last time." You admitted.

Sam quickly stood up, concerned. "Are you okay? Do you need an oxygen mask again or something?? Water?"

"Wha- no. Calm down. Jeez." You said, grabbing his shoulder and making him sit back down. "Anyways, about the video. Um... I do remember having this urge to do it. I don't think it might've been anything bad, but I did have this... feeling, I guess."

"Maybe it wasn't you?" Colby said, raising a brow. "Maybe something was making you feel that way, just so that you were left alone... like it happened." You thought about it.

"I... guess it's an option." You shrugged.

"It could've also been a possession. It is said that people tend to quickly switch emotions when one is possessed." Sam continued. "Or... it could've also been the fact that you were so indifferent about it all."

"I'm just used to it, it's not like I don't believe."

"Yeah, but since we were making our reactions so... extra in comparison, maybe the spirits were trying to target you?" Colby added.

"...yeah, it does add up. Well, continue. Let's see what truly happened. I genuinely can't remember." They nodded and the video rewined.

As you began walking through the corridor, you began to speak on the video, it was almost automatic when you heard your voice that you started whining. "Oh, fuck no. Nevermind. This is so cringe. I remember this."

They started laughing and kept on watching although you pleaded for them to skip it. You tried to stop it yourself but Sam quickly held you back, hugging you and your arms, unable to move.

You didn't have the strength at the moment to try and get out of his grasp, but you tried anyways.

Not like it mattered. Not like you minded, actually. In the way he was holding you back, he basically let you sit on his lap while watching.

You didn't mind at all.

"You guys know I suck at youtube, I was trying to be funny, it didn't work." You laughed a little bit while your voice also seemed on the edge of breaking, mainly fake crying.

"What do you mean? You did great." Colby said, hiding his smile underneath his hand. Listening to your cute attempts on making jokes. It melted him.

"I can see you trying not to laugh, Colby." You fake cried again.

"Whaaat? I would never." He said. Sam didn't hide anything. His smile only giving away how much he was actually enjoying this version of you. If only you were open enough for them to be able to record and replay more of this.

A couple of minutes into the video, you started panting, heavy breathing could be heard. It was when you began to explain that you could barely breathe. "It feels... hard to breathe." You said in the video, your lips visibly shaking.

As you began walking faster, you could see through the video that you stopped on you tracks. Blinking your eyes as you looked at, what you remembered to be, a figure.

You tried to breathe.

"Holy shit. Holy shit! Did you see that?" Sam said, letting you go and pausing the video and quickly going back a couple of seconds. You stood up from his lap to let him search quickly.

"What?" Colby asked. Confused, you got closer. He started playing the video once again, this time, slower. You could see the light on your neck moving.

"Holy fuck. Look at that. It looks as if something is like, pushing on your neck. Like pressing onto as if you're getting choked." Sam explains, pointing at the marks on your neck where there seemed to be a dent suddenly forming.

"Oh my god." You said as you touched your neck, remembering what happened barely a couple of hours ago. Colby had his mouth wide open after watching that.

"That's... that's poltergeist activity right there. It's undeniable." He said, looking at the both of you. You nodded, shocked at how much power this entity seemed to have. "We need to get you properly cleansed, we can't be having another demon up someone's ass." He contined, looking directly at Sam, who seemed offended. You chuckled.

As they continued the video, they heard the soft 'help' that you could barely spit out, your voice breaking in the midst of it. The quick movement of the camera as you turned around only to be thrown to the floor. Seconds later, watching as you tried to crawl back but your body seemingly giving up as quickly as you tried to do so.

It broke their hearts, even more so knowing you tried to scream for help. And so, the camera kept rolling for what felt like an eternity.

"How long did it took for you guys to come look for me?" You asked, seeing as the video kept going.

"So far, it's been five minutes..." Sam said softly, painfully watching the screen.

"Oh my god, I was dead for five minutes?"

"Don't say it like that." Colby looked at you, almost sad. Fear went through his body at the thought of not have gotten there on time.

"It is true though... oh, there are my heroes." They smiled softly as you said that. As you heard the conversation they had while you were unconscious, you scoffed. "You guys thought it was a joke?"

"Hey, listen. We've had our jokes and giggles with extreme pranks before, it could've been a possibility." Colby put his hands up in defense, looking at you truthfully. "Honestly, I was wishing it was."

"Sam. Call 911. This is real." Colby said on the video. Before you could completely understand what was going on, you saw him kissing you.

Well, saving your life, but touching lips nonetheless.

Your cheeks started switching colors. You obviously don't remember much, but your brain didn't thought about the fact he had to give you some oxygen back.

Your fingers touched your lips softly as you were watching. They seemed to be immerse on watching what happened, thankfully. You don't think you could handle their stares right now.

Trying to calm yourself down, you saw yourself waking up. No further from that, you saw as Sam helped you up for a split second before the camera was turned off.

"And that's the footage alright. Wow." Colby sighed and looked at Sam, and then at you.

"That was... something. I can't believe we caught that on camera... it's proof, yeah, but... you were seriously hurt." Sam says, looking at you. "Are you... okay with this?" He asked, you looked at him, confused.

"What? You mean for posting it? Oh yeah, I don't mind. Don't worry about it. I'm safe and sound anyways." You said, smiling as you put your hands on your hips.

"Just making sure you're okay with it." He said and you nodded, understanding his kind gesture.

"So..." You began, gaining the attention of them both. "Are you gonna keep the part where Colby kisses m- uh, gives me mouth to mouth?" You quickly correct yourself, trying to act cool. Not leaving your stare from the screen.

"What?" They smirked at your sneaky comment.

Fuck.

"What?" You asked back looking at Sam, seemingly ignoring their cocky smile as much as you could.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"If you're gonna keep the mouth to mouth on the video."

"Not that, when you stuttered." Colby obliged, making you nervous.

"...I said Colby?" You raised an eyebrow, looking confused although you perfectly knew what they were talking about. They shook their head.

"You know what we mean." Sam says, reclining back on his chair, getting comfortable as he looks at you, amused by the situation. Mimicking Sam's actions; Colby lied back, a hand underneath his chin, smirking back at you.

Like Gods. They looked like Gods.

It was driving you insane.

You sighed, "I'm just saying. A bit upset that that was my first kiss with any of you- I mean, not like I was... waiting for one anyways, of course. Ahem." You started mumbling at the end, looking away while scratching the side of your neck.

It wasn't anything strange for all of you to have some sort of stupid flirting in between conversations, but usually they were extremely noticeable jokes.

These? Oh. These weren't jokes. These were genuine mistakes.

And a part of you hated these silly accidents. Mainly because they knew.

"There seem to be a lot of mixed signs in what you're saying." Colby said, smiling at Sam then looking back at you. "I'm a bit confused in what to believe here."

You shrugged. "Believe what you want to believe, good sir."

"It's just that I don't know if we're on the same page, you know?" Colby continued, looking at Sam. "I only know he's with me."

"Oh, for sure." The sexual tension only filling the room even more. Usually, the jokes were seemingly too overboard and hence, you could tell they were that, plain jokes.

Usually.

Just like your silly little mistakes, these weren't jokes.

"And what does that mean?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, we know what we want. We don't know if it is what you want though."

You sighed heavily, seemingly loosing yourself for a moment as you whined. "Dear God, why are y'all so hot?" You looked up, dozing out of existence after thinking about their looks, their positioning, their everything.

.

.

.

Wait.

Wait.

WHAT DID YOU JUST THROW OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?

You accidentally said your thoughts out loud.

How does that even happen?!

When you realized what you've done, your eyes went wide, quickly looking at them. "Oh. Fuck. I didn't just- oh God." You didn't even wait to see their reaction as you began walking away. They quickly stood up, and you quickly sped up.

You started laughing but you were absolutely dying inside out of embarrassment. "Come back here!" Sam yelled as he got a hold of you and hugged you from behind, quickly throwing you over his shoulder.

"Let me gooo!" You yelped, moving your legs as you laughed purely by reflex. He held your legs in place. You were blushing hard.

"Nu-uh. We're gonna have a chat, young lady." Colby said, crossing his arms as you looked at him with a pout on your face. Sam turned around and slapped your ass, walking back to the room. You yelped, not expecting the sudden movement.

"A nice, long chat." Sam said as you sighed.

Oh boy. It's gonna be a long night.

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how do you guys like the banner? i got creative(ish)

also pls tell me what you thought about the fic, cause i don't really know if i did good with the idea, i did want them to review the footage but i also wanted a bit of tension or something extra to make it spicy, i'm not sure if i did a good job tho...

thank you for reading!

-nikkõ

smol taglist: @lemonnightmare @yourfavoritefangirl @stardollswrld

[vampiresbloodx]

pairings: Wanda maximoff x Reader

warnings(18+ ONLY): legal age gap, Wanda's in her forties and reader is in their twenties, I try not to use specific gender for reader as I want everyone to enjoy but for smut I will use proper tag, oral s*x (r!receiving), top!Wanda, jealous Wanda, weird creepy guy(ew).

part 1, part 2, part 3.

Older!Librarian!Wanda getting jealous when anyone flirts with you, has their hands on you a bit too long for her liking.

She knows she's possessive, maybe even a little bit obsessive. Everyone should know you're hers and only hers. Even if she has to put a collar on it with her name.

Wanda wasn't always the jealous type, as she claims. Ever since you officially called her your girlfriend, she's been more protective, something changed in her that she couldn't quite understand.

She's still getting used to all this, it's way different than how she's used to it being, back in her day. Now she's got you by her side, you were just so damn pretty, she couldn't believe she's lucky enough to have you.

When she takes you out for your weekly dates, of course, shed not too surprised when someone comes up and tries to ask you for your number or compliments you, she doesn't blame them. She too would be in their shoes if she saw you.

A guy comes up to you, immediately, her grip tightens around your hand, pulling you in closer to her body, she can't help it. She needs you close. He's a waitress at the restaurant she's taken you too, he's being a bit too friendly, you didn't seem to notice, you're sweet, but Wanda has noticed you can be naive.

Naive to the point where you think the waitress was just being nice.

No.

Wanda wasn't stupid.

She glared daggers at him the entire time he was taking forever to take both of your orders, purposely ignoring her presence just to talk to you, when his hand touched yours, she saw you flinch away, laughing awkwardly, Wanda raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to continue, if he knew what's best for him.

He got the message as soon as she placed her hand on top of yours, and brought it to her lips, kissing your knuckles, enjoying how flustered you got.

She had already lost her appetite. The only thing she wanted was you.

She abruptly got up, ignoring the waitress as she was too annoyed to acknowledge anyone else but you. She grabbed your hand, forcing you to follow her as she pulled you into the bathrooms, locking the door behind you.

"Wanda? What's wrong? Are you-"

She cut you off by pressing your body against the wall, staring at you as her eyes go dark, you seem to get the message, not backing away as the aching in between your legs grew, more desperate for her.

She smirked, lips meeting yours to shut out the noises, though as much as she'd love for everyone to hear you scream her name as she makes you come, this is for her only.

Wanda got on her knees, staring at you the entire time she did so, making sure you were looking only at her, her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn't sure what overcame, why this feeling was so intense. She knew she was going to have to bring it up later.

But for now, she wanted to taste you, it would be better than anything this restaurant could ever provide anyways.

She has your mouth stuffed with your panties, wanting to know just how soaking wet you are for her and she's just started. Wanda expertly licks up your cunt, inserting a finger inside your tight hole, god, no matter how many times she fucks it she still can't get over how it clenches around her.

She feels you squirming, she loves it. Wanda doesn't look away and neither do you. It's a lot. She can feel it.

You come into her mouth, wetness pooling in, some of it dripping onto her chin, your cheeks burned at the sight as she pulls your panties out of your mouth, leaving you breathless.

"fucking hell" you muttered, slumping against the wall.

She grinned, pleased, licking her lips.

Then you say the words she was looking to hear.

"can we skip dinner please? I want you."

[captainfern]

hi gorgeous! you literally started my price obsession like your writing is so gooood! I was wondering if you could write a smut in which price comes back home from a long mission and walks in on the reader touching herself? and he ends up overstimulating the hell out of her as like a punishment? this sounds so weird lmfao but I know if you wrote this is would be so amazing <333

Lounge Act

Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Lounge Act” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - price walks in on you touching yourself, and isn’t particularly happy at your impatience lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 2.5k • warnings - fem!reader, mutual masturbation, fingering, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, degradation, praise, unprotected piv, riding, dirty talk of course, strong language

✿ oh my god stop i’m blushing 🫶 thank you so much anon ! i hope you enjoy <3 and lol it’s not weird, i enjoyed writing this 😈

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Three weeks of no Price.

Three fucking weeks.

It was torturous, being away from the man you loved, for so long. You missed him so much, and he missed you too. You couldn’t wait for him to come back home and kiss you, hug you, love you. And touch you.

Those late night phone calls barely twice a week weren’t enough. His voice, scratchy through the phone, telling you how to touch yourself, how to make yourself feel good, what setting to put your vibrator at.

You’d moan to him through the phone, splayed out on your shared bed, bullet vibrator stuffed inside your leaking cunt as you rubbed gently at your clit— just how he told you too.

You’d hear the gentle fap of Price fucking his fist. He’d listen to your sweet sounds, so breathy and desperate as you called to him. His cock was hard in his hand, burning red at the tip, leaking and twitching each time you made yourself cum, whining his rank and name.

But the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And, maybe you were ovulating, but you were so fucking horny.

Price was due home any day now. He hadn’t given you an exact time, merely a timeframe of a few days. So, you were lounging on the couch in your living room, silk pyjamas on, body heating up as you turned off your TV.

You couldn’t concentrate on anything with how your body was acting up.

“Oh, fuck.” You whispered, leaning back on the couch as you slipped a hand into the silk bottoms of your pyjama shorts.

Two of your fingers came into contact with your cunt— already wet, aching, as you ran the tips of your fingers through your folds. You bit your lip, somehow already so sensitive, as you circled two fingers around your clit, smearing your arousal.

Your mind automatically imagined Price stroking your cunt with his thick fingers. Fingers so much bigger than yours, so much rougher. They reached so deep and made you feel so good that you began to flush hot, sweat like shimmering scales across your exposed skin.

“Nngh— fuck.” You whispered as you shoved two fingers into your dripping core.

You imagined Price thrusting his digits into you, another finger on your clit, rubbing it in smooth circles. You moaned at the image, pressing a spare finger to your clit and beginning to circle it.

Price would get his fingers deep inside you, hitting that gummy spot and make you sob out. You’d beg him, plead him, just keep going. He would hum low in his chest, praising you gently, slamming his fingers into you, your arousal drooling down the curve of your arse.

On your couch, you pumped your fingers in and out of you, the sound of squelching barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears. You screwed your eyes shut, tossing your head back against the couch, stroking that small bundle of nerves until your entire lower body was tingling.

“Ah, fuck, Price, baby, please—” You whined, imaging those soft brown eyes looking up at you, waiting for you to cum all over his fingers.

As you chased your release, you didn’t hear the door open, nor the footsteps down the hall.

Price followed the noises. He heard them as soon as he opened the door. At first, he half-expected you to run up and greet him as soon as you heard the door unlock, but you were clearly preoccupied.

Carefully, he dumped his bag— and the bouquet of flowers he got you— in the hall before entering the living room, where you sat blissed-out with your hand down the front of your pants.

His cock immediately grew hard at the sight, and the way you were whimpering his name almost killed him. Quietly, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his cargos before he crossed the room.

You were about to let go when you heard his belt buckle, and your movements stopped out of instinct, eyes popping open before finding Price walking over to you, hand dipping into his pants.

“Price!” You beamed, eyes hazy, body thrumming with pleasure.

Price grunted, pulling his cock out of his cargos and grasping the base. You blinked at him, licking your lips as he began to lazily stroke himself.

“Touching yourself?” Price asked rhetorically. “Just couldn’t wait, eh?”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as he pumped his cock a few feet from your face.

“Don’t stop on my accord, my love. Keep playing with that pretty cunt,” he whispered, and you complied. You wiggled out of your shorts, spreading your legs before pushing your fingers back into your dripping hole, moaning his rank loudly. He cursed, picking up the speed of his hand. “Jesus…”

You were already so close, eyes shut and head tilted in pleasure. You panted hard, rubbing your clit simultaneously as pleasure built up within you.

“Price, I’m gonna—”

With a grunt, he moved closer to you and forcefully removed your hand from your cunt. Your eyes snapped open and you stared at him confusedly, lower body shaking.

Price moved your wet hand to his hard cock, forcing your fingers around it, smearing your arousal along the length. You let out a low noise of content as he covered your hand with his and stroked his cock, still standing in front of you as you sat on the couch.

He was grunting above you, not saying anything, just making you jerk him off. But it only lasted a few seconds, before he pried your fingers off of his length and guided them back towards your soaking core.

“Go on.” He urged, and you knew.

You were so fucking sensitive. Thrusting your fingers back into yourself, you wanted to cry with how immediate the feeling was— orgasm nearing, so close, spiral coiling tight in your stomach after just a few strokes.

“That’s it, that’s it…” Price whispered above you, fucking his fist, now glossy with your arousal, tip dripping precum onto one of your exposed thighs.

You were whimpering, trying to keep your eyes open. You rubbed your enflamed clit, bucking your hips to meet the movements of your fingers, orgasm looming.

You were panting. “Price, baby—”

With his free hand, he grabbed your arm again, pulling it away from your core and holding it suspended in front of him. You whined, cunt throbbing, dripping onto the couch. Price, once again, wrapped your fingers around his cock, making you jerk him off, cock directly in your line of sight.

If you weren’t so uncomfortably tight right now, your take it in your mouth. Gladly.

“Fuck, you wanna cum so bad, don’t you, darling?” Price grit his teeth, moving your hand in tandem with his own.

You nodded desperately, trying not to grind your bare core into the rough material of the couch. You licked your lips as you pumped him, listening to his heavy breathing. You missed him so much it was unfathomable.

“Just couldn’t wait for me to get home and fuck you?” Price groaned, hips bucking slightly. “Too impatient… just too impatient.”

“Price,” you whined. “Missed you so much, just couldn’t wait. Missed you so much, baby”

He grunted again, fucking into your fist harder. Meanwhile, he bent his leg, leaning his knee atop the front of the couch, parallel to your core.

“Go on. Show me how much you missed me.” He pressed his knee forward, and you took the hint, shuffling to the end of the couch and leaning back ever so slightly.

When his clothed knee came into contact with your core, you jolted.

“Mm, fuck, captain.” You moaned his rank as you ground yourself onto his knee, the fabric soaking with your arousal.

You dragged your sensitive core over it, bucking your hips in time with the soft fapping of his hand above you. He watched your hips buck against the couch, puffy and soaked core rubbed raw against the material of his cargos, knee damp. He groaned, grunting like a man starved as he jerked off to your blissed-out expression, and the way you desperately rutted onto his knee.

“Price, can I cum? Please?” If he said no, you’d probably explode anyway.

He nodded hurriedly, pumping faster, voice tight. “Yeah, fuck, go on then. Slutty little whore, getting off on my fucking knee, eh?”

You moaned as you, as he said, got off on his fucking knee— pent up orgasm racking through you, forcing a high-pitched moan from your throat as you continued to grind yourself against his cargos. You soaked the material of his pants, riding out the last sparks of your release, before attempting to pull away.

He didn’t let you.

He’d stopped fucking his fist, cock painfully hard as he stooped over you, hands on the back of the couch, caging you beneath him, knee pressing into your sensitive core.

You whined, but he shushed you, watching the way his knee rubbed up and down your dripping slit. He continued the movements, and you gripped at his thigh, half-trying to slow him down, half-trying to keep him there.

“Want another one,” Price growled. “Give me another one, darling.”

You were so sensitive, burning hot beneath him as he ground his knee into your core. Legs twitching, covered in sweat, another orgasm built up within you and, before you could warn him, you came again. He grinned as you spasmed beneath him, slick flooding across his knee. He could feel your wetness sticky on the skin beneath his pant leg.

He pressed his knee to your core a couple more times, leaving you whining, before he retracted it. He pushed his cargos further down his thighs, sitting next to you on the couch then pulling you onto his lap.

You tried to kiss him, to give him a proper hello after weeks away. But you were cut short just inches from his lips— he shoved his fingers into your wet hole, making you sob out his name.

Price thrusted three thick fingers in and out of your cunt, noises wet and lewd. He used another finger to circle your bundle of nerves, which were on fire. You keened, shifting your hips, sensitive and overstimulated. Your cunt rubbed raw already, legs aching, stomach tightening in another impending orgasm.

You were going to die.

“S’need another,” Price whispered darkly. “Jus’need another, darling, come on. Fucking give it to me.”

His words were slurring, drunk off the way you reacted to his touch. His cock was hard against your inner thighs, and you so wanted it inside you. Instead, three fingers— the fingers you had been fantasising about for the past three weeks— stretched you out, causing arousal to drip out of you and onto his lap.

You screwed your eyes shut, mouth agape, head dropped slightly. “Baby—”

You came around his fingers with a flutter of your overworked muscles, squeezing the digits tight. You whined, body wracking against his, burning hot like a candle. Price hummed, pleased, continuing the movements of his fingers as you rolled out of your third orgasm.

He wasn’t fucking stopping. Jesus Christ.

“Uh, uh, P-Price,” you breathed, clawing gently at his shirt. “What… what are… fuck, oh my god, please…”

“You wanted to cum so bad, didn’t you, love?” Price cooed. “Wanted to cum so bad that you just couldn’t wait f’me? Thought you’d be happy by now? This desperate cunt gets to cum so many times.”

Your legs were shaking. You whined, “Price, please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Price grunted, fucking his fingers into that spot inside you, making your eyes roll. “Yes you fucking can, and you will. Take it like the needy fucking whore you are.”

Your moans became silent when you came for a forth time, holding his shirt in an iron grip as you released around his fingers. You gushed for him, soaking his pants even more from your position on his lap.

His fingers continued, and you sobbed, tears burning at your eyes.

“Can’t…” You sobbed, cunt raw and aching.

“O’course you fucking can,” Price said, pulling his fingers out of you. “You were so desperate for it a moment ago, weren’t you, darling? Come on, then. You can take more. Desperate little sluts can always take more.”

You choked when he thrust his hard cock into your overstimulated cunt without warning, filling you to the brim. He knocked against your womb, you could feel him in your stomach, his hands moving to your hips while you gripped his shoulders.

“Fucking hell…” He whispered, before beginning a gruelling pace— thrusting up into you, fucking you down onto his cock.

Your cunt stretched to accommodate him, drooling down his length as his pelvis slapped into your arse, muffled by his pants half-way down his thighs. The zipper and button was cold against your under-thigh.

You felt like you were buzzing, about to short-circuit as he pushed you towards another orgasm. Your body felt so empty, yet so full at the same time. The way his cock bullied into you over and over made you struggle to catch your breath.

“Next time,” Price began, puffing as he bucked his hips, slamming himself into your wet heat. “You’re gonna wait for me. You’re gonna wait ‘til I get home and fuck you proper, understood? M’not gonna let you play with this fucking cunt ‘til I say. S’my wet cunt to fuck, yeah? S’my tight… mm-tight fucking cunt to stuff full.”

You moaned, nodding desperately at him.

He grunted, grip tightening as he hit that spot inside you repeatedly, making you shiver and gasp and gush around him.

“When I come home next time, I want you waiting on our bed, patiently, like a good girl,” Price breathed. “I don’t want a fucking lounge act, love. Wanna fuck you on our bed, and I’ll fuck you nice and full. Reward you for being such a good girl. But f’now, you’re not being a good girl—”

You whined, tears streaking your face. “No, no, no, please, baby, please. I’ll be good, I promise. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait, missed you so much, baby, I’m sorry—”

Finally, Price pressed his mouth to yours, tongue smoothing against yours. You moaned happily into his mouth, letting him lead. When you both pulled back, a string of saliva followed. It snapped when he licked his lips, eyes scanning your face.

“I know, darling. Missed you too, so much,” he said, then: “One more time. Cum for me one more time, my love.”

With a loud moan, you came around his cock, body completely spent. You jolted and tingled and slumped against his chest, breathing hard as he quickly fucked into your severely overused cunt.

“Good girl, good girl. Hold on baby, almost there.” Price whispered as he used you.

Then, with a short groan and a furrow of his brow, he came inside you, filling your burning cunt, his spend like a salve, cooling the burn. He let his cock soften inside you, holding you to his chest, rubbing his hand down your back.

“Missed you so much.” He whispered.

“Missed you too,” you breathed against his shoulder. “Sorry I couldn’t wait.”

Price chuckled. “It’s alright, love. Three weeks without your fiancés cock must have been so difficult, huh?”

You groaned, slapping him lightly on the chest. “Shut up.”

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[cheolhub]

SLEEPING BEAUTY — LEE SEOKMIN ࿐

summary. seokmin can’t go back to sleep when he’s aching like this— it’s a good thing you’re always there for him.

wc. 1.2k

warning. consensual somnophilia, dry humping/thigh fucking, needy service top!seokmin, heavy dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of face sitting, creampie, weird position (lol) — MINORS DNI 18+

note. hi um i was on twitter and then i thought of this and wrote it in an hour. i want him so bad (not joking) THANK U SM TO MY LUVR @rkiv4d FOR BETA-ing. ILY <333

5:47 a.m.

you must be dreaming. fuck, you have to be, there’s no way you aren’t right now. all you can hear is seokmin’s attempt at muffling his breathy moans with your eyes closed. he can’t help it, though. such a poor thing– rutting his bare length into your panty-covered cunt as he tries to make himself cum before you wake up. 

but you realize you aren’t dreaming. that he simply is using your unconscious body to get off. when you stir awake with a moan, eyebrows furrowing, and his name slipping from your pouty lips, you then notice how turned on you are yourself. 

“seokmin?” you mumble, voice lilting at the uncomfortable wetness you feel between your thighs. 

he moans at the sound of his name, feeling his cock twitch now that you’re awake. he’s helpless when it comes to you. you don’t even have to do anything and you’re blessing his dreams with your pretty face and your whimpers of his name. you just have to lay there with your eyes closed and mouth slightly parted as your chest rises and falls rhythmically. you do nothing, and seokmin is in shambles over you. 

the power you hold over him has him fumbling over his own words. 

“f-fuck, baby.” he breaths. “baby, please– ‘m sorry… so so sorry–fuck,” his voice pleading and desprate as you feel him rutting faster against you, hands squeezing your waist tightly. “woke up so hard– kept dreaming about your pretty pussy.” he gasps out and you shudder at his words. 

he doesn’t stop there, continuing to ramble and ramble on as you felt just how hard he was. now that you were fully awake, it was clear to you what exactly he was doing. with his spit-soaked cock slotted in between your cotton-draped cunt– he was practically fucking your thighs, yet you could feel him. all of him and his glory pressed against your unbelievably wet core.

“didn’t wanna wake you. tried using my fist– angel, i tried.” he cries, digging his face into your warm neck. “but y-you… you were laying next to me so fuckin’ pretty, it didn’t work.” 

you try to imagine how beautiful he must’ve looked next to you. with a disheveled head of hair, his sleepy eyes drooping, and his hand covered in spit while he fucks up into his fist. an image formulates in your head and you clench around nothing. god, it’s a sight you’d kill to see. 

“wanna fuck you,” he murmurs against your skin. “w-wanna fuck you ‘n fill you up, please let me, baby…” 

you moan at the idea, grinding against him as you gush a wave of honey-like arousal, further ruining your panties. “seok…” you whine.

“let me, please. please, please, gonna make you feel good– i’ll even let you sit on my face when we’re done.” he begs, voice growing high-pitched in pure desperation. “jus’ lemme fuck you.”

at the incentive, you gasp, blindly reaching for the back of his head. you thread your fingers through the silky strands, pulling him out of your neck. you turn your head, smashing your lips against his, hungrily forcing your tongue into his mouth and moaning at the feeling of his own colliding with yours.

his face scrunches up, taking the kiss as a silent form of agreement. his hands grabs at your thigh, prying your legs apart as he lifts it up to access your core. he fumbles once more, pushing your panties to the side, temporarily freeing your glistening cunt from the fabric. you shiver, parting from his lips to gasp. 

he rests his forehead against yours, “can i?”

you nod, panting from the heated kiss. “please, baby… ‘m so wet for you.” your free hand snakes down, toying with your clit and moaning out his name with another ‘please.’

he groans, “hold your leg up for me, baby, let me do the rest.”

you comply, taking your hand from his hair and pulling your knee to your chest. the position is slightly awkward, but all thoughts and feelings of discomfort literally exit the room when seokmin guides his cock to your aching hole. he pushes in with a moan, feeling your gummy walls invite him in with ease due to how wet you are. 

“pussy’s so fuckin’ good to me,” he says with a cracked voice. “so, so good ‘n tight ‘n warm– fuck, my good girl.”

your walls hug him tighter with that, crying out over his size and the stretch. when he bottoms out, you feel the tip of his cock scraping against the sweet spot that makes you desperate. you attempt to push back against him, but the position doesn’t allow you to do so, so you whine instead. 

“deeper, please,” you strain your neck to look at him and he looks blissed out. though the sun wasn’t out yet, the dim moonlight that shines through your large window was doing more than enough to illuminate his pretty, pretty face. “baby, please. need to feel you deeper.”

seokmin loved when you got needy for him the way he was for you. it fueled his ego– not as much as when you praised him, though. his brain goes haywire at the slightest compliment, so when he delivers a few sharp thrusts, and you babble about how fucking amazing he feels, he’s immediately pussy drunk. 

his hand finds the one you have gripping your thigh and moves it next to your head, intertwining his fingers into it. before you know it, he nearly topples over you as he roughly snaps his hips into your ass. 

with your cheek pressed against the warm pillow, you’re crying and drooling at the way he fills you up deliciously. the tip of his cock hits your sweet spot with every quick, deep stroke he provides and you’re compelled to push yourself over the edge by roughly rubbing the pads of your fingers against your clit. 

“love this pussy, love fucking you like this– so fucking perfect. you’re so perfect, love you so much.” he babbles, lasting longer than he originally thought he would’ve. “wan’ you to cum for me. cum on my cock, my love.”

“l-love you!” you sob, pulsing over him. your velvety walls squeeze him as his words and his cock and the fingers on your clit push you over the edge, creaming and soaking his dick with your cum without a warning. 

he presses wet kisses to every accessible area on your back, neck, and shoulders. fucking you through your orgasm, cooing at you while he tries to keep his eyes from rolling back. he cries loudly, though, once he stills inside you, filling you with a substantial load of cum– painting your insides white.

he squeezes your hand tightly before collapsing, dick still inside of you and face hiding in the crook of your neck. you’re both panting, small whimpers leaving your bodies as you come down from your euphoric highs.

“g’morning, ‘minnie.” you giggle, breathily. 

“g’morning, angel.” he murmurs, words muffled into your skin. “thank you for that…”

“mmm, s’all good, baby.” you hum. “though… i do remember a certain promise involving me sitting on a special someone’s pretty face.” you squeeze around his cock again and he hisses. 

he pulls out and untangles himself from you before laying flat on his back with a grin on his face. 

“mhm, come ride my face, angel.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[icallhimjoey]

supreme leader, would you ever write a sequel to ‘ground rules’ where our baby with joe is here and it’s just a cutesy dad!joe moment? (also wouldn’t be opposed to some smutty times as well bc i just can’t go past gotta-be-quiet-cause-the-baby’s-sleeping-but-fuck-i-want-you-right-now-new-parent-smut) heart you, as always!!

we're switching gears, everyone! sorry for the whiplash! Wordcount: 3K

---

Only Have Eyes For You

(read Ground Rules here)

Joe has yet to stop staring at her.

It’s either eyes on her, or eyes on you, and even though you’re gorgeous and make his chest swell beyond what he thought his ribs could ever manage, looking at her is different.

New.

“Will you keep an eye on her?”

“Yea, of course I will. Go get some rest, please, baby.”

It’s been over an hour, and he still needs to raise a thumb up to wipe a tear from an inner corner about every thirty seconds. For several reasons, too.

It’s been five hours since you’ve given birth, and both sets of grandparents – grandparents, that sounds so fucking wild – have left evidence of their visit all over the room. There’s balloons, cards, flowers, bags with gifts in for you and for the newborn baby girl and Joe feels like they brought too much and too little. Were there for too long but left too soon. Should’ve been there right after instead of two hours later, but also maybe should’ve come to meet the baby tomorrow instead of today.

He wants to protect and hide this little girl from the world, but also needs everyone to see how gorgeous she is.

Five-hour old baby, fast asleep in her clear plastic bed that’s been placed right next to your hospital bed where you’re asleep even faster.   

He’s got no idea how much sleep he’s gotten over this weekend. Doesn’t care, either. Just knows that he’s staring at perfection no matter which way he turns, and that the small of his lower back aches because he’s been sitting in his chair weird, but this is the only way he can both touch you and see her little face.

Her perfect little face.

Joe’s got a hand around your ankle as you lie passed out in your hospital bed, finally in what seems to be a deeper sleep rather than just a quick nap, and he wishes you could stay like that for at least the next ten hours. He knows it doesn’t work like that with a newborn, and you’re obviously in a hospital which doesn’t help, but God, you deserve to sleep for a fucking lifetime.

Everything that surrounds you looks and sounds normal, so he guesses your blood pressure must be okay, but he keeps his ears pricked, just to be sure.

The birth was a long one. Almost everything you had tried preparing for hadn’t happened in the way you’d expected, which is what everyone kept telling you was going to happen, but it was still frustrating. It did however feel very fitting with how the two of you had even gotten together.

It was a good thing you managed to pull through most of the labour with humour.

Doctors and nurses had started making jokes of you becoming permanent residents when your dilation had halted at six centimeters for ages, and in return, you had started making jokes that they were going to have to start knocking before coming in, because you knew of a way to induce the labour that Joe would feel more comfortable about if he had some privacy.

“No, no, I do not–” Joe had immediately protested the first time you’d cracked the joke, and the lack of laughter coming from him plus your weird eyebrow wiggle had only made the nurses laugh louder.

“Sorry to inform you,” the doctor said in the middle of giving you another check. “But having sex will not cause labour to begin before your body is ready for delivery.”

“It won’t?” You’d acted all heartbroken. Made Joe mutter, “Jesus Christ!” under his breath, because, you were six centimeters dilated for fuck’s sake. Of course he wasn’t going to have sex with you.

“We’re still not in labour, are we?” the doctor said, insinuating that he thought you had probably tried it at home already.

“Ask him how many times we’ve had sex...” you’d challenged immediately, making Joe groan from the corner of the room where he was sort of pacing around, facing the wall more than the room, because there was another man with fingers deep inside of your vagina, talking to you about sex.

“Can we please focus on—” Joe started, equally as embarrassed as he was humoured by you.

“Once.” You answered your own question and gestured at your stomach. “One time! All it took!”

It had become a running joke between the two of you that Joe didn’t think you were going to involve so many other people in. Joe had gotten you pregnant and then hadn’t touched you since.

Not true. There had been plenty of touching. But you were super pregnant when you’d gotten together and it never felt right for Joe to insert parts of himself into parts of you that felt like they belonged to a whole different person for the time being.

Which actually made a lot of sense to you.

It was just unfortunate that hormones had made you super horny for half the pregnancy.

Hence why it had become a running joke.

One that really annoyed Joe. You were lucky that he loved to hear you laugh and to see you smile so much.

When the two of you were left alone again, Joe scolded you through a smile and pressed kisses to your temple, because you were being funny and entertaining even though you’d just gotten bad news. Again.

Joe lovingly touched your stomach, and pressed his cheek to yours as he looked down at it and said, “You’ve made it too nice in there. She doesn’t want to come out.”

“Remember when we were like, let’s do this as friends...” you joked, but Joe could hardly focus on your light tone of voice when you grabbed hold of his bicep with a strong grip.

“Idiots.” Joe commented, finding your hand and covering it with his.

“I think we would’ve been able to do it, but—”

“You think so?”

“Yea. I was very determined. But, this is nicer.” You smiled and made eye-contact with Joe. He was quick with a tissue, to dab at your wet eyes. He’d learnt to be ready for every and any emotion over the past few days; everything and anything could bring you to tears.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it.” Joe said, smiling too. “I was already sort of head over heels if I’m honest. You were determined for two, I think.”

That had made you burst into actual sobs.

The last hour of giving birth, you’d cried non-stop. A weird silent steady leaking of water from your eyes as you struggled through the delivery. Joe guessed it was the pain – had to be, because, what the fuck was even going on? How the fuck had nature decided that this was meant to be normal? But then finally, when soft baby cries filled the room, one of the nurses said, “You’re there, you’re done. Relax, we’ll take it from here.” He’d realized then that it they were tears of exhaustion over anything else.

You’d been going for hours, and then your blood pressure did something funny after the placenta got removed, so now they wanted to keep you for a bit, which was scary. But going home with a newborn sounded even scarier, if he was honest... so he wasn’t going to complain about how uncomfortable his chair was.

Or how tired he felt.

He’d been going for hours too, but his tired was different from your tired. He could feel it in his bones, sure, but it was easy to keep his eyes open. Easy to keep staring at her. Easy to do jobs whenever someone asked him to do one.

“Mum’s done. Now, dad, come here. Pay attention.” 

And he has not been able to stop paying attention yet. He’s listening to your breathing, paying close attention to the rhythm because you’re the priority after all that’s happened. Yet he can’t keep his eyes off of his baby.

There’s a baby next to your bed.

The one he watched you gave birth to.

Your baby.

His baby.

He thumbs another tear from the corner of his eye before it leaves a wet trail down his face and uses his sleeve to dry both his eyes as he pushes his nose into his elbow for a second, not letting go of your ankle.

Life is ridiculous.

He still feels emotional over seeing you scream and cry, in pain and all sweaty. You’d performed a miracle, but it was no fun to witness how difficult the whole thing was on you. Had he not already convinced you to be with him, he would have started that quest today and would’ve likely never stopped.

When he blinks his eyes back into focus, it’s to you stirring in the white sheets of your hospital bed.

He freezes.

Maybe if he holds his breath and doesn’t make a single noise, you won’t wake up. He’s not sure how easy it’ll be to fall back asleep if you pull from your unconscious state completely. He wasn’t there when it happened – had gotten hauled off to help wash and dress his baby (the tiniest clothes he’d ever seen still too big on her, he was pouring tears as he tried to put the socks on and hated how you weren’t there to see it) – but he was informed that you lost a lot of blood and needed a lot of stitching.

After going through all of that, you’d needed stitching.

Your baby had been taken to get cleaned up, and you’d told Joe to go with her. To watch her. To stay with her and to not lose her out of his sight.

He’d listened.

Knew better than to tell you no.

But then you were left on your own, and you’d needed stitching.

You can’t move without wincing now, and Joe could probably jog home if he really wanted to. How is that fair?

Joe holds his breath, and watches you stretch your spine in your sleep before you relax again.

But then suddenly, your slow movements turn jumpy as you jolt awake with a gasp. It makes Joe jump almost just as much, and he narrowly avoids your knee to his face.

He watches you wince in pain, clearly uncomfortable, but then you immediately sink back into the mattress when your eyes find the clear plastic baby bed that holds your child, and you release a relieved breath.

“My God,” Joe whispers, already humoured by what just happened. “She’s still here, calm down.”

“Sorry,” you croak, curling a hand around the edge of the hard plastic and Joe watches your knuckles go white.

“You okay?” Joe’s already up on his feet, hand on your face to wipe your hair back.

With your eyes still closed and head slumped to the side, you softly answer, “Hmm. My vagina hurts.”

“Yea, of course.” Joe nods, unable to look at you without all the sympathy in the world displayed on his forehead. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“I need to pee, but I don’t want to. It’s already burning.”

“I’ll go get someone.”

“Please.”

Joe gets a nurse in, and he helps you get out of the bed before you’re helped over to the toilet. Not before you tell Joe to watch her. Watch the baby.

“I’ll keep an eye,” Joe says, because he’s already found it’s his new favourite thing to do. To stare at her. “Go pee.”

The door to the bathroom is left open, and Joe listens to your conversation as he does as he’s told.

It’s a lot of, “Careful, mum. Careful. Slow movements.” coming from her, and a lot of hissing in between your teeth from you. A lot of, “Is this normal?” questions coming from you, and a lot of “If you feel this, it’s probably for this reason, which is totally normal.” answers from the nurse.

Joe gets the room and the fresh new little person all to himself for a second, and he leans all the way over your bed, feet still on the floor, his head resting in both hands as he slowly blinks at what you’ve created together.

He can’t get over how you’ve made this.

Two people have just gone and accidentally made a whole new person... it’s legitimately insane, Joe thinks.

The peeing takes longer than Joe thought it would take. He doesn’t blame you for taking your time, but he hopes that you figure out how to do it without being in pain or needing any help before you get to go home.

Joe hears a shocked gasp coming from you before you softly ask, “That’s a lot of blood. Is that a lot of blood?” followed by a toilet flushing and a reassuring, “Absolutely totally normal. Don’t worry.”

Baby is still asleep. Soundly and so peacefully, small tiny nose doing a perfect job at breathing, Joe’s already so proud of her it’s stupid.

“Well done, mum! First bathroom visit!” the nurse claps her hands together and laughs when you give a sarcastic yay in faux celebration.

You’re miserable, but Joe can hear your smile through everything and it makes his heart swell even more with pride. For you. For urinating. He’s proud because you peed, what the hell.

He shares his first secret smile with his daughter. “Mummy peed!”

You get helped back into your underwear and joggers, and Joe lets his view distract him enough that he almost doesn’t hear what you ask just before you step back into the room.

“Six weeks before sex, right?”

You’re joking, but Joe hears the serious confusion when the nurse asks, “Oh, have you not been talked through—”

“We have. Don’t listen to her.” Joe interrupts, and when he looks over his shoulder to see you shuffle back over to the bed, he catches the cheeky smile you’re trying to hide.

Before he can say anything else about how he’ll have you wait twelve weeks if you keep bringing it up, he catches your eyes flash in pain, just from your small shuffling steps, and he’s up in an instant. Pushes himself from your bed and turns to place both hands under your arms to make sure you’re safe and supported.

You hold onto him like a lifeline and pause in place for a moment.

God, the labour is done. Can you have a single second without any uncomfortable sharp pulling down there? Jesus.

You don’t see how Joe and the nurse share a look over your shoulder. The nurse is smiling at him, and Joe gives her a tired shake of his head as he rolls his eyes, quietly communicating that the girl he’s chosen to have a baby with is an actual menace.

“Maybe eight weeks?” Joe carefully jokes, hoping it’ll get you to laugh and forget about how sore you’re feeling for a second. Instead you just sigh and go, “Yea, maybe.”

You’re helped back into bed by four hands, shuffle slowly into position and leave enough room for Joe to join you.

You’re sore and tired and in a weird emotional state, and it’s simply much nicer to be all of those things squeezed tightly up against him. Joe knows to curl into you with his whole body and lays an arm over your pillow for you to place your head on. It gives the both of you the perfect view of your baby.

Your baby.

You feel a flash of want for her. To have her in your arms. Against your chest. To hold and hug and keep her close. But she’s asleep and you’re not quite sure what to do when she wakes up. What if she cries and you can’t get her to stop? This is safer.

You can both just watch her.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” the nurse says after checking a file, and you ask, “To help me feed her?”

The nurse smiles, says, “Yea sure, that too.” and leaves.

You make a funny face, confused, and look at Joe like you think she was being rude.

“To check on you.” Joe softly says, and your face drops immediately.

“Oh. Yea. But I feel fine, now.” your focus is barely on yourself. There’s this whole other brand new human to be worried about.

“Hmm. Okay. Think you can sneak a little more sleep before she’s back?”

“Probably not.” you say, but Joe sees how you close your eyes anyway. Feels how you carefully move your hips back a little to feel more of Joe against your body. Feels how you grab onto his arm and firmly press it into your stomach that’s still big and round, but all soft and squishy now.

“Can you try?” Joe whispers, lips touching the shell of your ear.

“Will you watch her?” you’re already sinking away. Joe’s body heat is pulling you under quicker than he’d anticipated.

“Of course I will,” Joe says, but lies, and watches you for a moment instead. You’re his priority. Thinks it’s silly how you wouldn’t accept that if he told you. “I’ll watch her.” he confirms, not lying then, because he’s talking to his daughter as he says it.

Joe watches you until he feels you drop of the deep end. Feels you relax in a way he’s not felt you relax in ages.

After a while Joe repeats, “I’ll watch her.” in a barely-there whisper before he places a barely-there kiss against your cheek as you sleep.

His gaze moves back to the small baby girl in the room, and Joe’s eyes immediately well up again.

It’s stupid how even just the sight of her feels new and unexpected again. Like he’s seeing her for the first time once more.

And he simply finds that, once again, it’s so easy to stare.

Finds he can’t stop staring.

“Yea, I’ll keep an eye,” Joe whispers to himself. Thumbs another tear from his inner corner before it can run down his face and bother you.

“I’ll keep an eye.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959

@hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I'm rewatching Gilmore Girls for the thousandths time and ... my crush on Luke is still alive and kicking...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTJ

Hufflepuff

Lawful Good

Scorpio Sun, Capricorn Moon, Aries Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・A grumpy man on a good day, intolerable on a bad day and luckily for you, you met on one of his worst

・You labelled him as a jerk, and vowed never to go near him nor his cafe for the rest of your life

・But then your car broke down and he was the first person to drive past you.

"Need any help?"

"Yeah- oh. No, no I do not," you said to Luke and slammed your car door closed. Hautily crossing your arms over your chest and staring forward.

"Oh c'mon," he called out from his open window.

・This interaction solidified a new way of looking at Luke. You didn't hate him anymore ... no, quite the opposite. But you were damn sure he still hated you

・Heavy on the will-they-won't-they trope. It went on for four months before you both couldn't take it anymore.

・There was something pulling you towards him, like a constant ache and whenever you saw him, it was relieved. You knew you loved him two months after knowing him. And it hurt so much seeing him go out with anyone else.

・But god, by a goddamn Stars Hollow miracle, he saw you. Finally saw what you saw in him.

・Very,, very family orientated. You're in trouble? He's dropping everything to help you.

・You're sitting next to Luke on the couch watching tv and suddenly get a call saying one of your siblings needs help? Luke is already up and putting on his shoes.

・You can try and help him but he shoos you inside and says he's got this.

・Goes over and above for anything that you want.

・Will literally save up everyday until he reaches his money goal to take you to Disney Land because you told him one night you really wanted to go.

・Stubborn as all hell, thinks he knows best but you're the only person who can make him fold.

・When you first told him you loved him, he nearly got the air knocked out of him.

・He's incredibly touch-starved, and doesn't want you to know that (but of course you know that...)

・Despite the grumpy exterior, Luke has shown moments of being supportive and encouraging

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Moon and His Star

"Why are you babying me" (Luke) x "Because I know you like it" (You)

Acquaintances to Standing Up For Him to Friends to Lovers

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies-To-Lovers

Like Calls To Like

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Into My Arms by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

Also, for the most part it's gender neutral but in the nsfw section there's female genitalia used for the reader.

I wasn't going to add this but ... I want to ... but for some reason thinking about Luke & smut makes me blush so hard so please forgive me for any mistakes or such :')

・You both stand mere centimetres apart. Your breaths mingling as the snow slowly falls around you.

・Standing outside his diner, you shivered as Luke's hand slowly moves around your waist and pulls you close

・Your lips melt into his, your hands gripping his jacket. Trying desperately to get closer to him. To press against him, to feel ... to feel anything of his body.

"Let's go upstairs," he mumbles against your lips, his hands roaming around your body.

・Your first time together was fast at first; ripping each other's clothes off. Trying to see each other's naked body and drink it all in.

・But once the clothes had been discarded, you both became very ... sensitive and vulnerable.

・So, it slowed down, and rough touches turned into gentle caresses.

・Luke couldn't stop staring at you, smelling you; he wanted to lose himself in you.

・You love riling him up; obviously not when people are around. But teasing him at home; rubbing his crotch innocently.

・Nibbling at his ear, giving his neck a kiss or two, and then walking away.

・Luke's reaction is always the same - nose flairing, hands curling into fists; he knows this game. He's just never good at playing it. He hates teasing. He'd rather just pin you down and jump your bones.

・But you love how much you can provoke him; it means he loves you that much that your touch drives him wild.

・Blow jobs are one of his favourite things; he never expects you to do it, and for a while he never let you service him. But now that he knows you enjoy it too...god his heart pounds whenever he thinks of it

・Loves pulling you to the edge of the bed, slipping down your pants/lifting your skirt and practically ripping your underwear from you. He holds your thighs apart and eats you like a starved man

・At first he doesn't like your sex toys; feeling inferior to them.

・But you showed him how they can be used in sex for heightened pleasure.

・You still haven't gotten Luke to a sex shop though. He has vowed never to stand a foot in that shop.

[lyraa-kill]

Shapeshifter Simon who’s true form is the Cerberus (new MW3 alone skin), only he hides it nearly all the time. Very few people know his “monster” status, and he’d like to keep it that way. He’d honestly like to stay in his human form for the rest of his life and completely forget about his two other heads.

Until he meets Johnny.

Suddenly, he wants Johnny to know him. He aches and yearns for Johnny to see his true form and still tell him that he loves him, that he thinks he’s handsome, that he wants to be with him. The two other consciousnesses he conceals scream at him inside to be let out, they want to know Johnny too! They want to be kissed and their faces held too! It’s not fair that Simon gets all of Johnny’s affection!

So one day, he calls Johnny into his room. He needs to show him. The nerves and adrenaline are coursing through his body, making him shake and his mouth go dry.

Johnny knocks on the door, then slowly opens it up once Simon says to come in.

“Ye wanted to see me?” Johnny asks, shutting the door behind him and making his way to Simon.

Simon nods. He can’t speak. Fuck, the anxiety is so bad. He feels his heart pounding at his chest like it’s about to break through his ribs.

“What’s wrong? Are ye alrigh’?” Johnny reaches up and gently holds Simon’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs through his mask. Simon’s two other heads cry inside, wanting to know that touch as well.

“I’m- I’m okay.” Simon stammers. “I… I need to show you something.”

Johnny nods and looks at Simon, waiting.

“It’s weird. You’re going to freak out. B-but I need you to know, okay? I… I need to show you who I am. I need… I want to know if you can still love me, once you see the real me.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Ah don’t understand. Of course I love you. That’s never going to change.”

Simon shakes his head. “Just… please. Johnny. Don’t freak out. Promise me you’ll stay calm.”

Johnny nods, a look of confusion on his face. “I promise.”

Simon lets loose a long sigh. Here goes nothing. Slowly, he lets the transformation start to course through him. He feels his flesh move and mold itself into its proper place, his bones and veins and muscles and arteries rearranging themselves. He feels his two other heads spring from his shoulders, his other arms pushing out of his back.

Johnny watches. His eyes go wide, his heart starts to pound. What the fuck is he witnessing? What is his boyfriend turning into? What is Simon turning into?

When the transformation is complete, Simon (and Ghost and Riley) stand there. Utterly terrified. Ghost and Riley are ecstatic to see Johnny with their own eyes for the first time, but they can also see the look of panic on Johnny’s face. The subtle step back he took. They can hear the pounding of his heart, smell the adrenaline in his blood.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” Simon says. “This… this is what I truly look like.”

Johnny stands there in silence.

“I know you weren’t expecting this and that it seems unbelievable. I know it’s probably terrifying. I’m… I’m sorry. Fuck. God, Johnny- I’m so fucking sorry-“

Simon starts to tear up looking at Johnny’s shocked face. He just ruined this. He ruined the most perfect and beautiful thing in his life. He starts to transform back, cringing when Ghost and Riley start to groan in protest.

Johnny reaches out, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Wait!” He exclaims.

Simon stops the transition. He gulps.

Johnny takes a deep breath in and swallows the rock in his throat. He looks at all three heads. Really looks at them. The middle one is his Simon. His perfect, beautiful, sculpted by the god’s Simon. The one to the left, because of the mask, looks near identical to Simon, but there’s something different in the eyes. The one to the right wears a different mask, and his face looks slightly different, his eyes more rounded and soft.

They’re all beautiful. If this is who Simon really is, if he’s three people in one, Johnny can love him. He can love all three of them. Absolutely.

“I’m not… I’m not scared of ye, Simon. I’m not.” Johnny says. “This is a little shocking and it’s not what I was expecting. I… wasn’t even aware this sort of thing could happen in reality. But I’m not scared. Never of you.”

Simon sighed, tears falling from his eyes. Ghost and Riley join in too.

“They’ve been wanting to meet you,” Simon whispers. “Was jealous I got you all to myself.”

Johnny smiles. “That right?”

The head to the left groans, a few raspy inaudible words leaving its mouth. “That’s ghost.” Simon says. The head to the left groans as well, muttering out a small Johnny. “That’s Riley.”

Johnny smiles. He holds Simon’s face in his hands, then softly kisses him on the forehead. “I love you, Simon.” He says. He turns to the left and grabs that head, saying, “I love you too, Ghost.” He then turns to the last head, softly holding him under the chin and kissing him on the tip of the nose, then says, “I love you as well, Riley.”

All three heads cry from joy. Simon at being accepted, and Ghost and Riley finally being able to feel Johnny’s touch.

[ohwowimlonley]

DAY ONE

James Potter + lactation kink

[warnings - unprotected penetrative sex, lactation kink, mentions of babies, sub!reader ish]

[word count - 928]

[kinktober list]

“James!” You gasp, letting go of the sheet and smacking lightly on his chest, trying to move him back so you can cover your soaked chest. He tried to budge them, rutting even harder into you when he got a peek at the dampness spreading across your top, “Jamie, stop looking!”

“James!” You gasp, letting go of the sheet and smacking lightly on his chest, trying to move him back so you can cover your soaked chest. He tried to budge them, rutting even harder into you when he got a peek at the dampness spreading across your top, “Jamie, stop looking!”

“James!” You gasp, letting go of the sheet and smacking lightly on his chest, trying to move him back so you can cover your soaked chest. He tried to budge them, rutting even harder into you when he got a peek at the dampness spreading across your top, “Jamie, stop looking!”

“Stop it! Lemme look at m’girls,” he ducked his head down, distracting you with the jab of his blunt cockhead against your cervix to loosen your iron grip over your tits. James exposed a sliver of sopping cotton, and was quick to let his greedy tongue roll over the fabric.

“Shit- shit- James that’s so-“ good. You can’t say that, it’s weird. He doesn’t let up, licking and sucking over the fabric until it’s covered in more saliva than milk, leaving you panting and boneless from the unexpected release.

“Take it off! I wan’nit off, off off off,” teeth scraped over your nipple through your shirt, soft but firm and occupying your senses enough for him to push the white cotton up over your tits. As soon as they were exposed, James launched his mouth onto your dripping, aching nipple, sucking deeply and whimpering in satisfaction at the first splash of milk unencumbered by the lingering flavour of fabric softener and perfume.

“O- oh, fuck, Jamie!” It was a lot, the overwhelming fullness his cock gave your cunt combined with the indescribable feeling of him gulping down mouthfuls of your sweetness, “shit, don’t fucking stop, don’t you dare fucking st- ah, ah, stop,”

It didn’t seem like he was planning on doing so any time soon, tongue flicking greedily back and forth to gulp down more and more of your milk. God, it was filthy; having his lips pulling greedily at you tit and stuffing you full of his throbbing erection over and over.

“God, fuck, Jamie!” He pulled off, only briefly, so he could switch to your other nipple. He licked around it, down to your cleavage where your neglected breast had leaked before latching himself onto your tit yet again, “James this is so- so-“

God, how could you even form words? Between the way he was stimulating almost every part of you and the view of his blissed out face as he suckled. All of it was building to a crescendo bubbling under your skin, making you kick and writhe under his body.

“James, James I’m gonna-“ he sped up, hips crashing into yours desperately, “Jamie, please, I’m gonna cum!”

He couldn’t respond verbally, just snaked his hand down to thumb at your clit so he didn’t have to pry his lips from your tit and humming with delight when you clenched tight around him.

When he was finally able to pull his lips from your nipple, having successfully draining you all he could, James pushed his thumb against your clit in harder, faster circles, driving you ever closer towards your edge. What finally brought you over was his stuttered breaths, hot and needy against your exposed neck, “need you to cum, pretty girlie, need’a, need’a make you cum so bad,”

You came in seconds, walls clamping down on his dick and cum gushing over his thickness. He wasn’t far behind, cock pulsing with the feeling of your juices coating him and he finally gave in when you snuck a hand down to palm at his balls, rolling them in your hand until he exhaled a pitiful whine and shot his cum at your cervix with long, deep spurts.

“We- we could’ve been doing that for months,” he complained, going boneless on top of you and blanketing you in his comforting weight, “why haven’t we been doing this for months?”

“I dunno,” you gasped, locking your legs behind his back when he attempted to pull out, “but you better hope you put another baby in me, cos I never want that to stop,”

Taglist - @jexnrey @samiam0907 @jessmooneya @tiredmf @baddiewivdafattie @art3mas @bella-738 @aphrodites-flowers @lovemitchrry @alexloveskili @downbadforvecna @dcwrites1 @masterofmunsonspuppets @youreyesaretherealtruthtellers @m-rae23 @rubesred @bingewatchingmylifegoby @visionsgoodgirl @loudwombatmugkid @garfieldsladybird @rubes2323 @maddy-potter @dannyramirezwife @trixcate @depressedjoey @sunnysolsstuf @clover723 @anamariel2301

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Are you requests open yet, right?

Can you make something with Fenrys, like, him and reader are mates, and they are trying to get a child for so long, and one day they discover that they are expecting.

(I really liked your writing, and very few people write about him, so I wanted to thank you for this 💕)

Had a blast writing this truly. Thank you for requesting and the kind words, I hope you'll enjoy it. 🤍✨

Little pup

At first, you didn't talk about it. You both were still young and for the most part, had wanted to explore the world together. Just you two. Try new things. See new places. Travel. Indulge in each other's company. And the mating frenzy hit you so hard that you didn't leave your house for over a month. And by then you were convinced that everyone passing by could smell the sex lingering all around.

And yet even in that month, it wasn't about getting pregnant. Fenrys was learning how to please you and you were doing the same. It was the desire to explore that drove you. To bring each other immense pleasure. Till the last breaking point. Till the moment all you could see was stars. Till furniture was breaking. But the thought of conceiving never crossed your mind.

But it's the first time your period is late and you're feeling so weird that Aelin had to drag you to the healer's level. It's the joyful smile on the woman's face when she says, "Oh you might as well be pregnant", that breaks this bubble of cold water over your head. "How exciting would that be? Babies are so rare and to have one ahh...", the healer beams as she ushers you to lay down. You reach for Aelin's hand almost instantly. The nerve suddenly so uneasy in your chest.

And then the healer's face drops and so does your heart. Sadness washes over you and it's like you had lost something you didn't even think you wanted five minutes ago. "You started your circle, darling", she says lowering your skirt down and you just want to crawl into yourself. "Ah, yes", you quickly move to get down the table. Glad your back is to the two women as you quickly wipe your tears. Suddenly feeling so frustrated. You feel Fenrys tugging on the bond yet that only makes your heart ache more so you push him out of your head quickly. Drowsing the bond in complete darkness.

Fenrys comes home way earlier than he should have been there. And you know it's because he would always drop anything for you. High stake leaders waiting for the meeting? Fuck them! His mate needs him so he's leaving and gods save the souls who try to stand in his way.

He knows by the silence that something had happened. Something that upset you. Ticked you over. Then Fenrys smells the blood. Gears turning before he realizes that your cycle had finally shown up but why the sense of sorrow then? This feeling of pain makes him rub his chest as he too tries to soothe the aching.

"My, love", Fenrys shrugs his cloak off carelessly, stepping closer to the bed. You're completely submerged by the furs all over your body. He makes a quick work of pushing them to the side until your wet cheeks come into sight and Fenry's heart drop even more. "Love", he breathes out in worry. But that only makes your tears well up more. A choked-out sob leaves your lips before you move to push away from your mate. That jabs Fenry's heart too.

"Love, if you don't tell me what's going on...", and then this shien of anger washes over you. Painting your cheeks in even more crimson shades. "Talk to you? Talk about what, huh?", you leap at him, fist coming in contact with Fenrys's strong chest.

But then you draw your hands back, looking at them with so much disgust. Fenrys steps in quickly taking your smaller palms into his. Your mind was too chaotic for him to read now. So he had to trust you to let him in on your own time. "What is going on...", you mutter, "You're overwhelmed and your body is full of hormones", even Fenrys frown at his own words but that's the truth in a way. The question still stands though. What caused all of this? "I thought I was...", you breathe through the sobs, "Thought we had...", and then it's full-on sobs, till your legs give out and Fenrys quickly wraps you up in his arms, rocking you from time to time.

There's no way to tell how long you've been crying by the time you're only sniffling. Eyes puffy and red, holding onto Fenrys for dear life. And he had run out of comforting words by then, opting for silence and love that he poured through the bond. You push away from him slightly. Knowing full well that you owe him an explanation. Because he too would have been a part of this if you had been pregnant. Your eyes well up with tears once more as you glance at him and Fenrys is ready to cradle you once more but you stop him. "I saw a healer this morning. She thought that I might...", you swallow the lump in your throat, shoulders sagging, "might be... pregnant". Fenrys's heart jumps up his throat. Suddenly he's almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. Threats. Smells. Sounds. But then nothing. And then just like before it all falls into place.

This. All of this was because you weren't. Because there wasn't a babe growing in your womb. No little Fenrys, or Y/N. And it's almost like another slap to his face because he only now realizes that you never really talked about it. Becoming parents. Growing your family. Being together and having one another was comforting enough. But seeing you like this. "I'm sorry...", you whisper and Fenrys draws his gaze back to you. "What for love? There's nothing to be sorry for", he brushes your loose hair away from your face.

"For not being pregnant", Fenrys frown at your words. And frowns so deep that his eyebrows nearly come together. "Now you take that back", his hands cup your face, "You take that back and never dare to apologize for something like this".

And you know that it comes from his heart because he loves you. Because no matter what you do he will always be there. "What if I can't?", you ask him, biting your lip, "Then we won't have any and that will be more than enough because we would have one another", he's quick to reassure you. And once more from the way his eyes are gleaming you know that he means it. "Come here", he mutters m, bringing you back into his arms, and wrapping it up in the comfort of his warmth. Drowning out the world around you.

All of this leads to a long conversation about children. One that you share late at night, both tangled between the sheets. Let the stars and the moon be the only witnesses of your wishes and dreams. And you both know that's so rare. And something that many couples don't even get close to. Fenrys knows how he and his brother Connall had come pretty late into their parent's lives. But then what a blessing it was to have two babies. Yet the time span was what scared him the most. Not because he was desperate. Don't get him wrong he wanted to see you pregnant. Know that it's his baby growing within you. But he could tell how fragile this topic made you. How you would shiver any time someone brought up the conversation of babies. How you would halt at the sight of younglings running around in the streets. How you forced a smile once Ellide got pregnant and you had brushed away your sad tears saying that it was only happy crying.

And it's only a handful of years later. Many disappointing visits to the healers later that you jolt up in the morning rushing to the bathroom. Fenrys is out of bed just as fast, darting after you and reaching to hold your hair out of your face as you emptied your stomach into the toilet. His hands rub comforting circles over your back. Your skin looks clammy and pale and it makes Fenrys sick to his stomach as well.

Because what if all the sorrows had finally eaten you from within in? What if he had missed something? Overlooked you not eating well, not sleeping enough. Your head drops to the side, and Fenrys quickly turns you over, reaching for the tap before flickering water over your face. If an illness claimed your life... if he would be left alone...it's a selfish thought but one that has been his number one fear ever since he saw you for the very first time.

"I'm fine", you groggily say and Fenrys only huffs, "Fine my ass, you're barely conscious". Those are harsher words than he wishes that thrown your way but he's so worried. So worried his own eyes are blurry. Then he moves up quickly, you tightly pressed to his chest. "Fen, I just need to lay down", but he doesn't listen as he throws the door open. Not caring that he's shirtless, or that you are only wearing one of his shirts. He rushes down the hallway, yet he's still mindful of not shaking you too much.

The healers haven't even finished their morning preparations when he storms in, eyes wild. The healer who had been tending to you for years now jumps up instantly. "I don't know what's happening", Fenrys admits as he lowers you onto the bed. The lady presses her palm onto your forehead before cradling your cheek. "Y/N, what's hurting?", she asks softly but you only shake your head. Her mouth falls into a tight frown and she orders a couple of other healers around, turning to Fenrys so he would tell her what happened.

"When was the last time you ate, girl?", she asks strictly, fingers running over your stomach. "Breakfast", you breathe out, "yesterday". Fenrys growls in frustration. He had returned home late last night, you had already been asleep and so he never even thought about the fact that he didn't ask anyone on his way up if you had been down to eat dinner. The healer shakes her head, "Silly, silly girl. Mirth, bring the lady some light breakfast and a tart", she says even though you turn to protest. "You're with child and this is all stunt you pulled here is because you didn't eat", every sound in the room dies down. Your eyes grow big and for a moment you're sure you just mistaken her words. Surely not... but it's the way Fenrys is looking at the healer with the same surprised eyes that makes you realize that he heard it too.

"Congratulations you two. A strong heartbeat", she carefully presses her palm to your shoulder. Knowing full well that once the information fully settled in Fenrys's brain anyone that would get near the slight swell in your lower stomach would be marked an enemy. The wolf closes the distance between you two. He doesn't yet trust his words so he just leans in pressing his forehead to yours. And now that it's been brought up you do smell slightly different. And the heartbeat. How did he miss the heartbeat? What kind of father will he be if he missed his child growing inside you?

"The best kind", you mutter, "the best kind of father", your hand cups his cheek, and the white wolf instantly nuzzles closer to you. He kisses the side of your head, brushing the tears from your cheeks. "Our baby", he mumbles, pressing his palm to your stomach, "Our little pup", you put your hand over his. And then Fenrys breaks into fits of giggles as he brings you closer into his arms. You too can't help the smile even if the dizziness still lingers. And you suddenly feel complete as if this was all that was missing. Now the picture would be complete. "A father, my beautiful mate will make me a father", he beams, brushing his lips against yours in a messy kiss, but the door swings open as the younger healer walks in with a trey. The laughter stops and Fenrys is snarling at the door, teeth out. Your hands push against his chest softly, "Darling, she means no harm", you reassure him yet his eyes don't leave the poor girl now shaking by the door. "Thought you seen him protective, girl? Welcome to the next stage", the older healer chuckles as she hands you the sweet bun.

[softdoctorreid]

suck it and see | reid x reader

summary: continuation of the teaching virgin!spencer series. this time, you go down on him. part 1

• nsfw/18+, smut, oral (male receiving), handjob, fem!reader

+++     +++     +++

It was almost unfair how good he was at kissing you. In the time since you’d first taught Spencer how to make out, he’d clearly done his homework. Each time chaste kisses evolved to something a little more frenzied, he had something new to try; testing a new angle with his tongue, biting your lip, nipping at the spot behind your ear. It was like an experiment and he was clearly keeping tabs on the results, noting all the things that turned you on. So when he had you in his lap, palm kneading at your breast as he sucked at your neck, you couldn’t help but say, “God, you’re good at this.”

Spencer looked up at you with a satisfied smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve been studying.”

“And it’s paying off,” you sighed. Not just for you, but for him too, if the bulge you could feel through his trousers was any indication. Which gave you an idea. “Do you want to, um, learn something new?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes. Please.”

“Anything in particular in mind?”

“Whatever you want,” he said, hands wrapping around your waist.

You tilted your head, considering the possibilities. “Well, let’s see… is it safe to assume you’ve, ah, gotten off before?” 

Spencer swallowed hard. “I – yes,” he managed with a squeak, so easily flustered by the question.

“But you’ve never come with someone else, right?” He shook his head. You felt a smile tugging at your mouth. “How about we start there, then?” You ran your hands down his chest, feeling him tense beneath your touch. “When you touch yourself, do you ever think about me?”

“All the time,” he breathed, not missing a beat. 

You pressed quick kisses along his jaw, down past his Adam’s apple, then carefully scooted off of his lap to sink down to your knees in front of him on the couch. Without breaking eye contact, you rubbed your hands up over his thighs. “Do you ever think about this? Can I go down on you, Spence?”

It was like his brain short-circuited at the question. He blinked twice before nodding. “Yes. Shit, yes. I mean, if you want to, then yes.”

You tugged at his trousers. “I really, really want to.” He fumbled with his belt, clearly so desperate to get it off. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how eager he was. The stiff ridge of his cock was already tenting his boxer briefs by the time he managed to get out of his pants. You slipped your fingers past the waistband of his briefs and gently nudged them down past his hips, keeping eye contact with him so you wouldn’t spook him. 

Only when you finally had him undressed did you let your stare wander south, eyes widening ever so slightly. He was so hard for you, straining and pink and slick at the tip. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight.

Your silence made him anxious. “Is… is it weird?” he asked, voice betraying his fear.

“Not at all. Not too big, not too small. Just right.” You wrapped your hand around him tentatively, thumb stroking over an aching vein and sending a shudder through his whole body. “Besides, it’s true what they say. Size doesn’t matter as much as knowing how to use it, and you’re so teachable, Spence.”

You pushed him back down onto the couch and sank down to your knees before him. Those wide, nervous eyes watching you so intently as you leaned your head against his knee. “You look so good, babe. Don’t worry. I just wanna make you feel good. Does it feel good?” you asked, stroking him once more, sliding your fingers up and down with a gentle grip.

He nodded, a sharp breath in. “Much… much better than my own hand.”

You laughed. “Mm, yeah there’s just something about having someone else pay that kind of attention to you. But I think there’s something that might feel even better around your pretty cock.” You licked your lips slowly, giving him just a hint of what was to come. Giving him the chance to change his mind if he wanted to, but he said nothing as you leaned in and flattened your tongue against the length of him, licking up.

He gasped, hips bucking in an automatic response to the sensation. A string of four-letter words was whispered when you took him into your mouth with a satisfied hum.

Spencer’s hands hovered over your back before resting tentatively on your shoulders. “Is this - I mean, should I…?”

You reluctantly pulled off to answer him, gripping him in the palm of your hand. “Don’t overthink it. Just relax. Here, why don’t you try holding my hair instead? You can tug, redirect me to where feels good. Just don’t force me, okay?”

“Of course not.” The way he threaded his hands into your hair so carefully you knew you didn’t have to worry with him.

You swiped your tongue over the tip of him. “You taste so good, babe,” you moaned, just to see the way his face turned pink. “I could just eat you up.” 

And so you did, wrapping your lips around him and hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him off, tracing the underside of his cock with your tongue. You tried a few different paces, taking him deeper and then easing up until you seemed to find the right rhythm, the tugs from his hands guiding you just like you’d asked.

When you looked up at him, his head was tipped back against the couch, mouth slightly agape in a silent groan. Face flushed and eyes shut tight, he was the picture of pleasure. A thrill zipped through you at the knowledge that you were the one causing this reaction in him, giving him such ecstasy. It was hard to look away, and you found  yourself sneaking glances as you swirled your tongue over his balls, taking one into your mouth, as you stroked his throbbing cock with your fingers before taking him into your mouth again.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he whined. You used one hand around his shaft where your lips couldn’t reach, rotating your wrists to offer friction, licking and sucking everywhere else, his cock warm in your mouth as you braced yourself against the soft flesh of his thigh, taking him in, all of him, focused on the taste and the feel of him, letting your moans reverberate through his dick as his own whimpers spurred you on further until you felt him tug tighter at your hair and you knew he was close before he even tried to warn you, just as you knew you weren’t going to stop. He came hot in your mouth with a shudder and groan and you let him, swallowing it down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He reached for that same hand and you held his as you climbed back up onto the couch, perching on his bare thigh. His pants were still on the floor, cock softening when he wrapped his arms around you, head resting against your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath. No sooner had you done so did he lean in to kiss you, and you were sure he could still taste a trace of himself on your tongue. Some guys refused to kiss after you went down on them, but Spencer didn’t seem to mind one bit, kissing you so sweetly before letting his head fall back onto your shoulder. 

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Just. Wow. That was – thank you.”

You giggled. “You don’t have to thank me, Spencer. I wanted to.”

“Still.” He placed soft, lazy kisses against your neck. “I didn’t know it could feel that good. I think it’s you. I don’t think anyone else could ever make me feel this way.” Spencer leaned back, eyes searching yours. “I want to make you feel good, too. Will you teach me that?”

“I will, but not right now,” you said. “One lesson at a time. Right now, I just want you to hold me. Is that alright?”

“Course.” He grabbed his briefs from the floor and hastily pulled them on before lying back on the couch and letting you curl up in his arms, his wandering fingers tracing patterns down your back.

“You looked so pretty when you came,” you said. “I knew you would.”

Spencer laughed, bashful. “I’m nowhere near as pretty as you.” His hands dropped down to rest on your ass and he lowered his voice. “I… I want to see what it looks like when you come. The sound you’d make. I want to make you come.”

You shivered. He may have still been learning, but his confidence was growing and you had no doubt that when you finally let him, he was going to devastate you in the best of ways.

+++

tell me what you think here!

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted. 

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night. 

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex. 

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard. 

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first. 

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south. 

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

 He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours. 

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night. 

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking. 

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves. 

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it. 

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow. 

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight. 

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you. 

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow. 

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose. 

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come. 

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process. 

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit. 

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes. 

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you. 

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat. 

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you. 

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs. 

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time. 

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more? 

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him. 

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this? 

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off. 

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his. 

Like you want him. 

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that. 

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it. 

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.) 

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame. 

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make. 

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you. 

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow. 

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy. 

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy. 

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes  himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more. 

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job. 

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all. 

His hands 

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent. 

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands. 

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things. 

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all. 

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin. 

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you? 

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch. 

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you. 

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like. 

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.) 

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride. 

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.) 

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure. 

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops. 

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing. 

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced. 

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.) 

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck? 

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple. 

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back. 

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces. 

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything. 

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives. 

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow. 

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials. 

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right? 

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right? 

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch. 

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up. 

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.) 

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable. 

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?  

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle. 

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner. 

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him. 

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly. 

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it. 

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss. 

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about. 

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls. 

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy. 

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology. 

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release. 

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him. 

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms. 

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him. 

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth. 

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high. 

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight – 

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip. 

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.) 

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t! 

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor. 

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.) 

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to. 

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all. 

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.) 

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained. 

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you. 

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed. 

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe. 

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.) 

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you. 

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be. 

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job. 

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat. 

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do. 

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.) 

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.) 

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight. 

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name. 

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.) 

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket. 

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings. 

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection). 

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you. 

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants. 

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him. 

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto. 

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too. 

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath. 

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you. 

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything. 

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements. 

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom. 

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward. 

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly. 

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it. 

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again. 

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused. 

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky. 

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides. 

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months. 

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap? 

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him. 

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it? 

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use. 

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up. 

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him. 

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock. 

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward. 

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it. 

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut. 

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg. 

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you. 

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours. 

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck! 

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend. 

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited. 

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away. 

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way. 

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at. 

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back. 

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close. 

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely. 

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next. 

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock? 

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath. 

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two. 

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. 

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping. 

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name. 

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin. 

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.) 

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible. 

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem. 

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space. 

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?” 

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually. 

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity. 

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass. 

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow. 

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole. 

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. 

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent. 

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws. 

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem. 

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you. 

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple. 

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric. 

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago. 

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length. 

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice. 

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night. 

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

[pygmi-cygni]

sick bug - orderly!blue jones

i haven't written any orderly blue jones because he's spooky but i tried! so ta da...

thinking of doing a sickfic series lmk

cw: literally this is like ooc but also...not. idk it's weird. blue behavior, mentions of vomit. fluffy? reader's gender is not specified

There had been a bug going around the bunks. It had started with Hanna, who gave it to Sweet Pea, who gave it to Baby, and on and on until everyone had gotten it at least once. The nurse's office was packed and coughing could be heard echoing in the halls.

Your eyes felt gluey when you woke up that morning. A humming throb sloshed around your head, and it sounded like you were underwater. Sinus pressure gave you an eye twitch.

Great.

Weakly you rolled over, sending the room into cartwheels. You winced, waiting for the dizziness to subside. The throb was stronger, beating in time with your heart.

The bunk room was empty. Shit. An orderly would be in there soon to shove you to breakfast. Just don't be Blue. Please, anyone

A whistling tune grew eerily louder as somebody approached. Ave Maria.

Blue.

You wanted to cry, but the pressure on your eyes only allowed for a pathetic sniffle. The vertigo was so bad you couldn't even sit up. As long as you don't throw up you'll be okay. Just breathe. Hardly. Your nose was stuffed and sandpaper rasped in the back of your throat.

The whistling had stopped but his footsteps were loud. A dim feeling of dread crept up your chest - or was that the nausea?

You could feel him behind you and you curled into a tighter ball.

"Come on, be a good pet and get up," he said loftily, saccharine tone sending shivers down your back. "Good pets get their breakfast."

You went limp in defeat. Breakfast sounded like a terrible idea.

A hand prodded your shoulder, first soft, then firm. Inside you were sobbing, but your face betrayed nothing but slack misery. Maybe if you played dead he'd leave you alone.

Blue whistled lowly and slammed his foot against the frame of your bed. The resulting bang sent splintering pain through your skull. Without the strength to support yourself, you rolled of the edge and collided heavily with the side table.

Your body was in a world of hurt. Not even a gunshot could clear your head. Pain radiated from every joint, and an encroaching fever was burning your insides up. A garbled moan scratched your sore throat and you blinked blearily at the man above you.

"You fuckin' sick too? Goddamn, what the-" muttering, Blue wiped his upper lip and leaned down, pressing harshly against your forehead. His hand was rough but cool, and you leaned forward into the slight comfort. He hissed and reared back.

"Don't."

You shuddered, a wave of nausea crashing into you. With a sudden cough, you spat bile onto the floor, quaking and choking at the sudden reaction. Blue swore and stepped back.

"God fuckin'- hang on, hang on," he swore again and stepped around the puddle, roughly leaning your head forward. "Don't choke on it, it'll get worse." His grip was strong on the back of your throat, and you felt another tide coming in.

He stood behind you, grimacing, until you sagged backwards, exhausted. Your stomach felt better, but the rush of endorphins had worsened the headache. Water, please.

A thick finger crammed into your mouth, clearing out all the sick from behind your tongue. You coughed weakly and grimaced as Blue wiped his hand on the sheets.

"You get any of that in the wrong pipe and you're screwed. Don't move." he stepped over you, face twisted in irritation.

Through a haze of dizziness you saw him disappear down the hall. Your head thumped dejectedly against the bedframe. You whimpered and pressed closer against the cold metal, aching for comfort. A slurry of voices and the smell of saline made you hum but sleep was looking very attractive and-

a warm darkness pulsed against your eyelids, easing the ache in your head. it felt nice. you tried to open your eyes and feel around, but the dark was heavy. your limbs felt shaky and you flopped down. laying here wouldn't be so bad.

oh.

a sliver of white light needled through the center. bright. wow, very bright. brighter brighter

You hiccupped awake, sneezing violently. A different set of papery sheets rustled around your sweaty legs. An IV was jammed in your wrist, the injection site aching red. You'd been put in the farthest bed from anyone else, tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the grimy medical hall.

The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered. You sniffled, wishing for a tissue. At least the sinus pressure had lessened - but now you had a constant drip.

it was cold.

You curled up against the wall, wrapping yourself tight in the thin sheets. The fever was almost preferable, at least your blood hadn't felt frozen solid.

The nausea had also subsided, but your stomach rumbled uneasily. Whimpering, you peeked around the dividing curtain.

A set of beady eyes peeked back. You shrieked and fumbled backwards, hacking and coughing at the sudden burst of noise. Your throat had not recovered, a feeling akin to shredded metal stinging your tongue. Wincing, you wiped your eyes.

Blue raised his eyebrows, one hand parting the curtain.

"Boo," he deadpanned, smirking at your watery eyes. Mouth falling flat again, he slid a tray along the floor. A glass of water and a bowl of something rattled gently along the linoleum.

You stared numbly. It was for you. You were hungry. You should eat. But lead coated your arms and you were content to lie listlessly until unconsciousness swept over you. It was better than being cold, achey and awake.

Blue did not like this plan, evidently. He planted his hands on his hips and raised a dark eyebrow.

"Go on," he urged, "eat."

Your hand twitched, but you settled, favoring sleep. He sighed again and snapped twice.

"Come on, pet, I'm not paid to watch you like a hawk."

So you just do it for fun? You mumbled out an incoherently half-hearted response, wishing he'd leave you to your misery.

He grinned tightly. "Good. Your mouth does work. Now come on, let's go. I got shit to do. Need me to spoon feed you?" He pitched the last part menacingly, voice twisted in mock sympathy.

You sent him what was hopefully a glare but more resembled a pathetic pout.

He huffed and shoved the curtain closed. You sighed at his receding footsteps, closing your eyes.

A sharp grip wrenched under your arms and you yelped, roughly shoved against the wall. Blue glared, pointing a menacing finger.

"Stay."

He pulled up a chair and tossed an empty bowl on your cot. "If you throw up, do it in there. You ruined my last pair of scrubs."

From your cowering position against the wall, you realized he was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Blue grabbed your tray and put it on his lap, then leveled you with an expectant stare.

"Wh..." you wet your lips and tried again. "What're you doing?"

He sighed through his nose. "You wanna act like a baby, you get treated like a baby. Open up, here comes the airplane and all that."

Carefully he spooned up - oatmeal? - and gestured at you to eat. You peered at him, suddenly realizing he was serious.

Glumly, you swallowed a bite and tried not to choke. God, just some water please. Your throat was stuck together like glue. Blue recognized your shaking ribs and tipped the glass to your mouth, carefully making sure he didn't accidentally waterboard you. Once your throat felt clear, you nodded and he spooned up another bite.

You felt like a scolded child being forced to eat your vegetables. Blue's hand was steady on your jaw, holding your weak neck in place. His gaze wasn't...angry, but you still felt uneasy.

He paused halfway through the bowl.

"Gonna puke?"

You thought about it, and shook your head. Grunting, he fed you the last of the bowl and wiped the mess from your cheek. You accepted the rest of your water, finally calm enough to hold it yourself.

Clutching the empty cup to your chest, you watched perplexedly as Blue unfolded a new blanket and tucked it up around your shoulders. He turned your face left and right, feeling your forehead. Satisfied, he sat back and folded his hands in his lap.

You waited for him to say something. Blue stared back, eyes dark and placid. He wasn't angry. Didn't seem very scary either. Tentatively, you placed the glass on the tray and laid down, eyes on him the whole time. You tensed when he shifted, then relaxed when he stayed far away.

"Twitchy little thing, hm?" he remarked drily. You pulled the blanket up to your nose, peering at him with round eyes. His eyebrow twitched.

"I scare you a bit, huh, pet?" He bared his teeth. A glimmering smile came and went across your face.

Blue poked your leg with his toe.

"Do it again, that was funny. Come on, do it." He kept prodding you like a pet snake. You fought a smile and hid your giggle in the folds of cotton. He caught the twinkle in your eye and relented his teasing. You settled against the pillows, eyes heavy.

The lights flickered on and off.

When they flickered, then dipped a few levels dimmer, you went rigid, eyes huge. Blue slid his gaze over to you, head tilted.

"Scared of the dark?" His voice was quiet and silky. You didn't acknowledge him, mentally preparing yourself for the next blink of darkness.

He waited, then shifted closer, eyelashes almost brushing yours.

"Tell you a secret," he whispered. You blinked expectantly, staring into his deep brown irises.

"Promise not to tell?"

You nodded quickly. He smiled, teeth glowing pearly in the dark.

"Me too." His nose gently booped yours, before he leaned back against the rickety chair.

You felt warm at the admission, just a little secret.

The lights blinked again.

He winked, flicking a knife out of his pocket and twirling it in his palm.

"The monster's not gonna get you, pet."

this was not fluffy at all but you delulus are so obsessed you don't even care (it's me i'm delulus) also hilarious i posted my writing schedule and then Did Not follow it.

tags!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty @bulletgoth

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