#them razor sharp hooks

[iobartach]

C l a w s ....

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ hubris! ── a blue lock fanfiction. // where you come to wreck the blue lock boys but end up ruined instead. [find part 1 here.]

synopsis: when ego jinpachi asked you to be the ruination of the national japanese football team, you gladly accepted. how hard could it have been? ruining a couple of men was child's play. but what a fool you were, because now you lay in front of the same people you vowed to ruin, and you knew they were about to devour you whole. pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, meguru bachira, rensuke kunigami, nagi seishiro, reo mikage.] // gang-bang. it's implied that the reader has slept with them all previously [in part one]. also, yes! this is consensual. no dub-con or non-con going on, dw!! cw: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. [this means the story contains themes one may not be comfortable with. if you find yourself growing uncomfortable, please click away.] NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN DURING A DELUSIONAL PHASE. MDNI. nsfw concludes: OVERSTIMULATION!!! BLINDFOLD!!! MARATHON SEX!!! GANGBANG!!! penetration, doin' it raw, cunnilingus, blowjob, teasing, nicknames, slight bimbofication, overstimulation, praise, marathon sex. my digital footprint goes craaaazy :) wc: 1.2k words m.list

you had believed you would ruin the blue lock boys. you had believed that till the end, till you entered your last prey's room: reo mikage's room. one after the other, you knew you had the boys in your palm. with just one more to conquer, you were utterly confident.

perhaps that hubris is what brought upon your destruction.

reo's request was a bit strange, sure. he had asked you to put on a blindfold, asked you to do nothing else but follow his voice. strange, but nothing you weren't well-equipped to deal with.

what you weren't ready was for all the blue lock boys to corner you like some helpless, little ragdoll.

"you're being too hard on her," rin itoshi commented, looking at how meguru bachira ruined you at the mercy of his tongue. the pink muscle fucked into you, lapping up the dripping juices like it was bachira's only focus in life. rin tsked, "slow down, bachira."

"hah," rensuke kunigami found himself scoffing, looking at the way rin pushed his erection past your lips and fucked your mouth with reckless abandon. the orange-haired man teased, "bold words from you, itoshi. look at what a mess you're making of her."

by mess, the muscled man meant how your chin and lips were dripped in drool and everything that tasted of rin itoshi. you were running out of hair as the star player pulled your mouth up and down his hardened cock.

"ugh, clear up." nagi seishiro quipped up next, stretching his arms as if he wasn't seeing the most lewd display right in front of him. you laid on reo's bed, eyes blindfolded as they men devoured you one after the other. meguru bachira was hooked on your core, eating you out, while rin itoshi fucked your mouth and hyoma chigiri played with your erect nipples, tugging and licking them. nagi huffed, "when's it gonna be our turn?"

"patience," reo mikage reminded the snowy-headed man, "you can have her next."

the men seemed to converse within themselves, only bringing their attention back to you as you gagged on rin's dick. gasping for air, you blindly clawed at his thighs and the hot-headed itoshi finally gave you some mercy. as he pulled out of your mouth, your throat felt strangely empty, almost as if the footballer had made you his own cocksleeve.

"move," isagi yoichi huffed, "it's my turn."

"you had her not even five minutes ago," bachira whined against your puffy, glistening cunt and you heard hyoma chigiri finally let go of your tits with a resigned sigh, "yeah, fuck off, isagi. you just had her."

"and i wanna go again," the raven-headed muttered impatiently, his razor-sharp tongue ready to fight whoever necessary. but kunigami interfered, laughing as he traced the outline of your body with his hungry eyes, "can't blame isagi. i mean, jus' look at her."

see, you would have paid attention to all their bickering if you weren't losing your mind right this second.

all you could feel were hot licks against your clit and a tongue fucking you senseless, you could feel rin— oh, wait. no. from the scent of his soap, it was nagi, now. you could feel nagi push his tip past your wobbling lips. you could feel chigiri play with your nipple, reluctantly sharing another one with reo (if your guess was correct.)

a crazed lick went down the side of your waist, followed up sweet kisses on your thighs and hips. who was that, now? kunigami, or isagi? or wait... did bachira switch with someone else now?

you could swear you were losing your mind, you could swear except you weren't sure you were cognitive enough to think of anything right now.

"gotcha. finally." isagi husked, and you felt him push his erection past your puffy folds and into your velvety hole.

"oh—" you moaned against nagi's shaft, words nothing but senseless garbage that mimicked the human tone. and as act of benevolence— no. as a sadistic act, nagi pulled himself out of your mouth and hummed, "sayin' something?"

the room grew quite, the chattering men that were all over you just a moment ago waited for your answer so patiently. too patiently.

"i-" your throat was sore, words almost dying before they ever got uttered, "n-no."

"no?" bachira mimicked, laughing thereafter as you lay there confused, unsure of their next moves.

"are you tired, pretty?" kunigami rasped, and you would have falsely assumed that they actually cared if it wasn't for the fact that they all went to their administration immediately afterwards.

"a-aah," you panted, mouth falling open as isagi fucked into your overstimulated cunt, "y-yoichi!"

"switch, you bastard." reo's voice dropped down many octaves, a hoarse rasp, and you felt your cunt emptying for just a few moments before it was filled by the mikage industry's heir.

moans tumbled out of your mouth before you filled by someone else. kunigami hissed as you sucked on his cock, taking him so well, "jus' like that, go on."

with his praises, kunigami pressed a harsh hand to the back of your head, making you choke on his length. somewhere along the line, you felt reo abandon your sweet cunt and someone else take his spot. from the man's tight grip on your hips and fast snaps of hip, you assumed the man to be hyoma chigiri.

honestly, you were all but falling apart on their fingertips, and aching cocks. your body was abandoned for a few fractions of a second before a second man laid claim to you. if you could have comprehended, you would have heard their ragged and heavy breaths, pussydrunk words as they passed you among themselves.

as hyoma's thrusts grew in intensity and speed, the coil in your stomach grew tighter and tighter and tighter— and oh my god, you felt something snap within your body. your head was thrown back, back arching so dangerously as your thighs shook, your mouth fell open and screams tore past your larynx. the next minute, a harsh stream of juices erupted out of your overstimulated cunt, drenching you and everyone around in your glistening juices.

"shi—" rin hissed, almost transfixed at the women utterly ruined under them.

"shit, right?" chigiri almost moaned, looking at the rapid, erratic rise and fall of your chest. your body was marked purple and blue, the men already leaving a mark on you. white, milky streams covered your chest and thighs while your face and neck were painted a reddish hue.

"that was so fuckin' hot." nagi rasped, words raw and twisted.

"hey," isagi mumbled, his words so soft as he finally took off your blindfold, "you good?"

the room was too bright, and above you towered men of colossal intentions, naked and still hungry. as the world above you started making sense, you saw bachira pumping himself leisurely, saw rin map out your body nonchalantly. the rest of them were in similar disheveled states: hungry, lust-filled eyes, flushed faces and erect cocks.

your eyes travelled from one till the other, half of them still splashed with your residue from your earlier orgasm. you found some strength within your tired throat, humming out, "y-yeah."

"ya sure?"

"hm." you nodded, your rapid breathing slowing down and dropping down to a steady crawl.

"good," reo rasped, and bachira finished the statement for him, "cause we're not done with ya."

a/n: let me repeat, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! it has potentially non-likable content, so, if ya don't like, don't read!! okay, that's all. sleep well tonight xoxo tagging: this one is for @5hoe1 @mininji @palegardenrebel [yes, i just needed someone to give me an excuse to write this filth] 🤭 m.list

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 01 - breast worship

nikolai x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: biting, nipple play, breeding kink, daddy kink summary: you have a surprise for nikolai. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“All for me, zolotse?”

Nikolai leers from the doorway, scarlet dusting his cheeks, a byproduct from his drinking and exertions minutes ago. Your neck burns from where he’d buried his face in it, sucking marks into your skin between his demands for more on the cabin’s couch.

“I told you I had a surprise.” You shake your head, eyeing him in the reflection of the mirror. Pulling a silk camisole over your head, you tug at the delicate fabric and adjust your tits. With his impatience, it’s a good thing you already put on the matching panties. “Do you like it?”

Your man strides across the room, muttering something in his native tongue, dark eyes scanning top to bottom and up again. You don’t move a muscle as Nik steps as close as possible, thick arms encircling your middle and drawing you backward to his chest. His chain tickles your skin despite the warmth of his breath.

He murmurs a few more words, kissing your exposed skin and swaying slightly with your hands covering his. 

“What are you saying, love?”

“Thanking whatever put me here for putting me here with you. Fuck, look at your tits.” 

“Nik!” You huff, feigning indignation as he breaks his hold to shove his hands up your camisole.

“It’s my surprise, yes? Let me enjoy it. Them. They look magnificent.”

His worn, scarred palms cup your breasts, gently squeezing and lifting. Heat slowly rolls over you, starting from the crown of your head and descending to meet a second source curling in your stomach. With the heavy snowfall outside, it seems he’s dead set on lighting a fire.

Nik meets your gaze in the mirror, retracting a hand to trace a finger along a strap, hooking under it and pulling it over your shoulder. “My favorite color.”

You lick your lips, shrugging coyly. “You’ve mentioned it once…or a dozen times.”

“Brat.” 

You drape your hands over his forearms and tip your head to the side, offering more of your neck as his mouth travels over it. Your nipples strain against the fabric, clearly outlined and demanding more of his attention. Nik likes to tease, to draw things out—play with his food, he said the first time he laid you down. It takes ages for him to do away with the thin top, and his palms are on you so fast you don’t have time to reconcile the money spent with the minutes it was on you.

“There,” Nikolai murmurs, voice rough. “They’re perfect.” He occupies one hand, pinching and plucking at a nipple. Stares single-mindedly over your shoulder, mouth pressed flush, and panting. “Open your legs.” He instructs, his foot already wedging between yours to nudge them further. “Mm, what’s that little spot? Getting wet from just this?”

His fingers pause, only to lift and tap against your lips. You open to let them slide over your tongue and suck without being told. He groans, rutting into your ass. In turn, your nails sink shallowly into his skin.

When he withdraws his fingers, trailing a path of saliva back down to your nipple, you smirk at him in the mirror to hide the quiver of your lip. “And you’re getting hard from just this.”

In his reflection, his teeth seem razor sharp, especially as he punishes your smart tongue with a restrained bite. The sting goes right to your clit. “Maybe so, but I bet I can make you come like this.” His free hand skims over your body, two fingers repeating the intrusion into your mouth.

You think he might be right.

His fingers are merciless in their assault. He bullies your nipples, the wet and hard peaks, and your thigh muscles start to ache from your efforts at keeping them still. He grunts in response to the whines spilling out of you. Pressure builds between your legs, in need of friction. 

The filth he whispers in your ear doesn’t help. He weaves languages together, using what you don't know against you, letting his tone and insistent grinding impart their meaning.

What you do understand, are his plans. “Darling, you're making a mess. After you come, which you will, I’m going to slide right in. Not going to have to prepare you or take it slow at all, am I? You’re going to soak me with that needy pussy, and take all of me, yeah? Look how you fidget.”

Your chest heaves against his hands, deep breaths stuttering at the thought of him bending you over the bed or pinning you flat on the mattress like the night before. He gives a shallow thrust against your ass and you feel it, how he had played you like a fiddle with his hand snaked under your body, crushed into the mattress as he stroked your clit. Another thrust and your cunt pulses around nothing but a fleeting, phantom sensation.

Fuck. You really could come like this. But you want more.

“Nik, please, touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

You whine, pushing back into him stubbornly. “C’mon, you know where.” 

He hums, feigning deliberation, then looses a chuckle with a sigh. He pinches both nipples, tugging until your back arches. “No, you’ll come from this or not at all. But if you manage it, darling, I’ll give you many more.”

That sends a zap along your nerves, cranking up the electrical current already buzzing through every inch of your body. You know he’s good for it, you just have to be, too. After watching his gaze drill into your chest and his hands teasing and toying, you shut your eyes to focus. He seems to catch on after a minute because his lewd promises continue, his stubbly chin grazing your ear.

“Maybe I should fuck these first. We haven’t done that in a while, have we? Always so soft…”

You think about the last time he had pinned you to the bed, dropping his weight on you and giving you no place to go. You had struggled and swore, especially when he spit on you, right between your tits, before grabbing big handfuls and shoving himself between them. That made you see stars. Mesmerized by the rock of his hips, the slick glide of his cock, and how frustratingly close he was to your mouth.

The memory makes your knees buckle slightly, forcing him to hold you tighter as he kneads and paws at your chest.

“Mm, wait. Imagine I finally knock you up,” he practically growls, rolling your nipples. “It would be so easy. I take the copper from your arm—”

“—like hell I let you be the one to remove it.” You hiss, squeezing your eyelids tight to concentrate on how you’re edging closer and closer.

“Darling, I have pried bullets—”

“Nik.” You groan, slipping some. 

He breathlessly laughs. “But if I did, if I did that—we’d try every day, wouldn’t we? And think of how quick it would take. No time, not with me. I’d keep you that way, keep your belly full,” he nips. “Just so I can keep these swollen. How big do you think they would get?”

Beads of sweat dot your hairline and temples. You and Nik have discussed children before. Always in theory, like a distant point on the horizon. A mirage, even, because neither of you have ever imagined yourselves as parents. It doesn’t stop his words from crossing your wires. The idea he wants to fuck a baby into you for your tits to grow is insane, and yet, it pushes you to a cliff. 

“Kolya, I’m going to—”

Nikolai pants into your shoulder. “Oh? You want to make me a daddy, zolotse?” 

Your orgasm rips through you in a sharp jolt. It feels so good, it hurts, and if it wasn’t for Nik’s hands dropping to hug you close, you’d be on your knees. You see stars behind your eyelids, then phosphenes when they open. Your eyeballs feel loose in their sockets from how suddenly relaxed you feel, meeting his smug gaze in the mirror. He lets you hang in his arms a moment longer before you find your feet like a newborn foal. 

“Don’t tell me you are finished already. Where’s your stamina? We need to practice if we’re going to have a baby, right?”

[heartfullofleeches]

That one Nightmare Darling who's too attractive from the right angle to scare anyone with Brie [🌽Star Yan]. They catch him off guard one evening by crawling from beneath his bed in pitch darkness, but once Brie gets a look at them in better lighting they're kinda.... cute?? Darling pops up at the most convenience moments when the usual material he uses to get himself prepared for a stream doesn't work anymore- How's he supposed to get it up to anything else when Darling's sharp claws and razor teeth have him hooked?

Going the extra mile by saying Nightmare Darling can't harm mortals who aren't afraid of them. They figured they'd let their food marinate a little longer by allowing him to live the first night, but then he had to turn on that stupid lamp and see their face- Now, instead of fearing them - he wants a kiss or two if he's lucky.

-

Brie: Damn it.... The stream's gonna start soon... What am I going to do now?-

[His closest door slides open - A collection of large, haunting, though strangely mesmerizing eyes peering out at him]

Brie: !!!

Brie, covering his lap with a pillow: Thanks for the help, babe!

Nightmare Darling: Consider yourself fortunate I don't have a physical form- or I'd sink my teeth into your throat right about now...

Brie, blushing: Probably not the best threat to throw at me right about now.

-

Brie and Nightmare Darling later come to the agreement that they can have their pick of his viewers as Nightmare Darling can make themselves visible to a select audience. There's bound to be someone out there who genuinely thinks they're scary- Darling gets a physical form while Brie (hopefully) gets a hot monster spouse to call his own. A win win deal for everyone!... Besides the people who's dreams Darling turns into nightmares until they drop dead from the fright.

[darksilvania]

PRAWNIARD [Pawniard + Prawn] Water/Fighting The Shrimp Pokemon Abilities: Moxie/Hyper Cutter - Tough Claws (HA) Dex: "They patrol the ocean floor in small gangs, comprised of several PRAWNIARDS and a single EBISHARP, very similar to its surface counterparts. Their pincers are extremely sharp, even when closed, resembling blades, but what makes them specially dangerous is the speed with wich they use them. PRAWNIARDs are know for constantly training the speed of they slashes, until they claws become faster than the eye can see.” Moveset: -Karate Chop -Jet Punch -Fury Cutter -Sword Dance

EBISHARP [Bisharp + Ebi (Shrimp in Japanese)] Water/Fighting The Pistol Shrimp Pokemon ->Evolves from PRAWNIARD after learning BOILING HOOK<- Abilities: Moxie/Hyper Cutter - Tough Claws (HA) Dex: "It leads a squad of PRAWNIARDs and controls a small territory under the command of a powerful KINGAMBA Its claws can deliver blows at speeds above the speed of sound, this punches are so fast they make the water around them boil.” Moveset: -Boiling Hook: Fighting type / pwr 90 / acc 95 / pp 10 “The user launches a punch at such a speed the water around its fist boils up.” -This might leave the opponent burn -This move power is boosted against water type pokemon or if it is raining -Razor Shell -Aqua Cutter -Soak

KINGAMBA [Kingambit + Gamba (Shrimp in Spanish)] Water/Fighting The Mantis Shrimp Pokemon ->Evolves from EBISHARP after defeating 5 wild EBISHARP using BOILING HOOK<- Abilities: Moxie/Hyper Cutter - Tough Claws (HA) Dex: "It controls a large territory under the ocean, with many EBISHARPs as its lieutenants, each one commanding a squard of PRAWNIARDs" It vibrates its claws with such speed they become searing hot. Being hit with them is said to feel as being hit with a hot branding iron. They use this burning pincers to mark its lieutenants.” Moveset: -Boiling Hook -Crab Hammer -Cross Chop -Guillotine

Finally finished my convergent Pawniard line, I think I made them at the begining of the year but Im just getting to finishing things by now

PRAWNIARD is based on a Velvet Blue Shrimp

EBISHARP is based on a Bullseye Pistol Shrimp

KINGAMBA is based on a Peacock Mantis Shrimp

[the-californicationist]

he trims his beard

Pirate!Price/Reader

God, I want to write thirty damn chapters about Pirate!Price so badly. Someone tell me not to, please? Lol. Otherwise, y'all might be getting thirty chapters of Pirate!Price...

MDNI/18+ TW: virginity reference

Summary:

Captain John Price is king of the Seven Seas, and after he saves your life, you owe him a debt. His fee? To take you as his wife.

The Mediterranean Sea, 1708

“I just can’t…ARGH!” Price slammed his hand down on the porcelain basin as he tried to shave his chin, unable to use his right hand after the accident. 

You pitied him, but you were still terribly afraid of him. When he rescued you, you thought he had been Death riding in on his ghostly white ship. But, now that he had been with you going on a fortnight, you realized the hardened, gruff exterior was but a hard shell encasing the soft, warm center of Captain Price, leader of the Queen’s special unit of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. 

You’d been marooned on Cassadaga Island for two days, stripped of your jewelry and purse, beaten within an inch of your life, and left for dead. Your would-be husband had planned the whole attack, hoping to cash in on the dowry money. The joke was on him. Your father had a gambling problem and had not two coins to rub together. The musket he kept above the mantle didn’t even have any gunpowder in it, you were so destitute. As soon as your fiancé found out about your lack of adequate funding, he tossed you overboard on his father’s ship. When Captain Price found you there, you were barely hanging on. 

The captain had nursed you back to health, promising to chase down the vagabond and kill him for his dishonor. He’d been true to his word, slaughtering the lot of them, but during his vengeful assault, he’d been shot through the hand with a musket. You’d cleaned the wound, and he had yelled at you for the pain. Now, you were cowering in the corner of your shared room, back to being a prisoner. 

He eyed you from his shining mirror above the basin, 

“C’mere, girl.”

You edged closer. It wasn’t quick enough for him, so he crossed the room, his black leather boots banging on the ash wood of his quarters.

“I said come here,” he growled, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you over to the wash bowl, razor in his uninjured hand. 

He let go of you, straightened himself, and sighed, fixing his harshness into a more genteel tone,

“My apologies,” the words came out of his mouth oily and practiced, not at all his natural verbiage, “Would you be so kind as to trim my beard? With my injury, and my left hand being more useless than a fuckin’ hook, I am at your mercy.”

He handed you the razor and you took it from him, 

“Yes, sir - I mean, Captain. Yes, Captain.”

You were stuttering, full of abject fear at his possible retaliation. 

As you approached his face with the razor, your hand was trembling and he noticed it. Something in him softened, his icy blue eyes melted just enough for him to hold you around your waist and gaze down at your face,

“It’s okay, pretty girl. My bark and my bite are both nasty, but I won’t harm you.”

His warm body was so close to yours, and with him leaning over you, breathing into your space, you could smell the tobacco scent that lingered in his clothes and beard. His long, braided hair was adorned with gold coins, bent and twisted into it to make little beads, and he had been caramelized by the sun. At the top of his sternum, you could see thick tufts of curly hair poking from his shirt. You tried not to stare. 

“Captain,” you asked as sweetly as you could, “Can you sit, sir, so that I may reach your cheek?”

He smiled, 

“Alright, love.”

He sat on his down mattress. The bed creaked at the addition of his familiar weight. 

At this more convenient angle, you were able to reach his face and neck, so you began your task. You applied the foam in thin layers, working gently as you went, mindful that the captain kept his blades sharp enough to cut steel twine. What you hadn’t realized was that, by requesting that he sit, he was in full, direct eye sight of your heavy breasts. They were corseted up, as was the fashion, but without your normal over-dress to cover you, your nipples ghosted through the thin chemise, hinting at little pebbles beneath the surface. He had not stopped staring at them since you began to shave him. 

You looked down while you were cleaning the blade, trying to discreetly glimpse at his growing passion, curious and fearful all at the same time. His breeches could barely contain him, and his thick phallus pressed into the join of his pants. He caught you staring, and he laughed at your rosy complexion, rolling his eyes,

“Ha! Embarrassed at your thirst, pretty girl? Surely those vagabonds did not leave you a virgin during your ordeal.” 

“They did, sir,” you admitted, returning to your work, sad at having been discovered sinning with your abject perversion. 

He made a small noise, unable to talk while you were shaving his prominent chin, careful around the curve of the bone. He liked to keep the sides long, trimming them with shears, but he always shaved his chin. You followed the razor’s line down his neck, careful not to knick his protruding Adam’s Apple. 

“Is that so?” The captain purred. 

“Yes, sir. At my fiance’s order.”

“Ah, I see.”

He was silent again, his eyes growing hungrier at the sight of you. His hands returned to your hips as the waves tossed the large vessel on the high seas. You stilled, feeling your belly flutter, wondering if it was seasickness or excitement from his newly focused touch.

“You alright, love? Bit choppy tonight. Storm’s brewin’.”

“Oh,” you nodded, finishing with his neck, “There. All finished, Captain.”

He moaned, holding your hips tighter, situating you between his open knees,

“Shame, that. I was enjoying your skillful hand, pretty girl.”

You blushed, setting the razor cleaned back in its case,

“Thank you, Captain Price. And thank you again for your rescue. I would be dead if not for your mercy. I am in your debt.”

“Aye,” the Captain eyed you slyly, “a steep debt at that. Your dowry should solve that for us. Then, you’ll be on your way. When we land in Málaga, your father can pay me.”

“Sir,” you gasped, “I don’t have one. My father took it to the game house and lost it on his cards.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked down at him in shame, hoping his mercy was deeper than his greed. 

“Hmm, I see. Then, perhaps you would consider a captain as your betrothed?”

You looked up at him in shock, and he was amused by your fear. He used one hand to hold you by the hip, and his other, uninjured hand delicately pulled at the silk ribbon of your bodice, aiming to free you from your painful restraints. 

“Y-y-yes…sir,” you could feel the heat on your cheeks, “My family would be most pleased with such a match.”

“Bugger your family, girl. They left you for dead. If you’re mine, you’ll be only mine. Once I have a bounty in my grasp, there’s not a man on God’s green earth who could take it from me. Does that scare you, girl? Do you want to run off home, turn to the cloth, become a nun instead?”

“No,” you shook your head, “No, sir. I owe you my life, and if it is my hand that you wish, I must oblige you.”

“I wish not your hand, love…” His tone was darkly suggestive, “Well, maybe at first.” He laughed warmly. 

It was a joke that you had missed, but you knew it was your innocence that kept you from divining its meaning. In your core, your body yearned for him. Seeing him command his men, the fiercest swords on the Seven Seas, watching him take down pirates and vagabonds like it made his heart beat in his breast, it was mystifying. His huge muscles and broad bones made his tall figure all the more imposing, and every port you landed in, women swooned over him while the men cowered in fear. Yes, you’d enjoy him as a husband. No one would ever dare lay a hand on you again. 

“What are your terms, Captain, should I accept your proposal?”

He ran a finger into the hole he had created in your leather bodice, letting you feel his warm touch through the thin fabric of your chemise. It electrified you.

“You’ll be mine, and only mine. I’ll be yours, and only yours. When I fill you with my seed, you’ll carry my children, and you’ll love them in earnest. You’ll sail with me, and learn the trade. There’s no comfortable manor house awaiting you, girl. What say you?”

“I agree to your terms, sir. But, I have one of my own.”

“Name it.”

“You’ll not lay a hand to me or our children, no matter the height of your rage.”

“Never. You have my word.”

Looking into his eyes, softened and vulnerable now, he meant it. You felt relief for the first time in weeks. Safe, protected, cared for, and welcomed into his adventures. It was everything you’d dreamed of. All of your childhood friends had dreams of servants and painting rooms and buying linens, while you had wanted to see the world. Here he was, offering it to you. 

“I accept.”

“As do I, love. Now,” he finished removing your corset and bodice top, letting it fall to the floor, “as your husband, I’ll have what I’m owed.”

“Yes, Captain. But, please,” you felt a tear roll away from your wet lashes, “be gentle with me.”

“I promised no such thing,” he said, lowering his mouth to your nipple, sucking it and wetting the silk of your chemise, using his hand to pull down the fabric on your other breast, exposing it to the sea air. 

You gasped, feeling his hot mouth explore your skin, your nipples tightening in the heat of his attentions. He was using his tongue to flick back and forth across the tip of your breast, not caring that you were trembling at every swipe of his tongue or thumb. You moaned, involuntarily, as you felt the sparkle of pleasure rush into your belly, making you wet under your skirts. While you had explored yourself plenty of times to discover the hidden secrets of your body, to have a man - especially such an aggressor like Captain Price - do it, it was so much more exciting. His forbidden fruit made you clench your legs together, upset and tingling within your core. 

“Mmm,” he praised you, “Like that, love?”

“Yes, Captain,” you whispered softly, placing your hands on the back of his neck, rubbing the firm musculature you discovered there. 

“Good girl,” he told you, pinching your nipple cruelly to make you moan again. 

He kissed you then, full and with his long, ravenous tongue, forcing it into your mouth to feel your tongue and throat, the silky skin of your cheek. As he kissed you, he was busy rucking up your skirts, searching for your dripping heat. He found it, and he stilled. Barely moving, he stopped kissing you and looked up into your eyes with his stark blue ones, a look of pure delight on his face. 

“Oh, my stars. There it is. You’ve been hiding it from me. So willing? Tell me the truth. Have you been hungering for me as I have been for you?”

It would not be proper to confess such a thing, even to a man who would be your husband. You shook your head in denial, pressing your lips together to keep from telling the truth. 

“Say it! Tell your naughty thoughts to me, love. This is not the cunt of a frightened girl.”

You blushed, red as a rose, unable to meet his gaze. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he moved his finger inside of you then, gently sinking into his drooling sheath, ready to send home his sword to it.

“Y-yes,” your voice was barely audible.

“Yes? What have you been thinking of?” He returned to your nipple, pressing his finger deeper into you, massaging your walls as he explored.

“You…when you fight pirates, sir. You look…”

He chuckled, biting your firm nipple softly, teasing you,

“You like seeing me murdering those devils, do you? In all my days, I never thought I’d find a lass who had a taste for war.”

“Not the war, sir. Just the warrior. You seem to be in command of the chaos, and my body…well, I guess…I am unsure how to describe it.”

He pulled you down to the bed and tossed you on your back, rutting against you with his length, letting his hardness press into your core through his breeches. 

“You like seeing me in charge, hm? Your captain, barking his orders, tossing those traitorous rats into the drink, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you confessed, rolling in the broiling pleasure he was building inside of you, his hand knuckle-deep inside of your core. 

“Good,” he said smugly, “Then, I have a command for you.”

You looked up at him, watching him roll your skirt up above your knees, his eyes never leaving your dripping folds. He smiled when he saw it gleam for him. 

“What do you ask of me, my love?”

“Open your legs, girl. Feed yourself to your Captain.”

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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[frogchiro]

🐙 here!

love monster!simon

imagine waking up with him on a lazy Sunday morning. you wake up with all the blankets pushed to the floor. why would you even need them?

bc Simon is literally your own personal heater.

he rumbles every time you nuzzle right under his chin. his arms feel like they sear into your body because he’s so warm and it’s so cold.

he will purposely purr and chuff at you to make sure you don’t leave. he gives you a small pout and you’re suddenly back in bed when you were trying to leave.

he takes the time to slowly scent you. rubbing the tip of his nose over your throat and nipping at the area between your shoulder blades. he’s just so excited that you’re here with him. in his nest. letting him scent you.

may or may not lead to soft sweet lazy sex in the morning just because you smell so good. and it’s even better when you smell like him.

monster!simon who absolutely adores you and won’t let you leave the nest for the day because it isn’t safe. stay here. with him 🥺

HELLO OCTOPUS!! this is way overdue too but I keep rereading it from time to time and I absolutely adore monster Si ;;

And he adores lazy days off! Especially when he's back from deployment and he needs to 'recharge' and what way could possibly better than spending the whole time glued to your side!

fem!reader, nsfw but it's really nothing big and incredibly fluffy <3

Since he's a monster, a creature, entity, eldricht being; whatever you call it, he sees you as his mate, someone who cares for him and he cares for in return, and his version of caring is keeping you in your nest where its drowning in his scent and he knows it's safe! He'll loudly voice his displeasure if you try and move away from him in the morning, chuffs and rumbles leaving his maw as he just hugs you impossibly closer, hooking his leg over yours and fully encompassing you with his massive body.

Scenting and marking is also incredibly important to him; what better way than to show everyone that you belong to him than having you drown is his scent and bite marks litter your throat and chest. Will absolutely melt into and eldricht horror pile of goo if your nuzzle under his stubbled chin and neck OR lick his cheek <3

Also soft possessive lovemaking in the morning is his favorite thing ever <3 It definitely won't be his usual rough domineering pace meant to release pent up stress or the heat induced brain clouding fog telling him to breed. Oh no, it will be overwhelmingly soft and slow, big strong hips moving lazily against yours, heavy cock thrusting slowly into your aching pussy and his knot just teasing against your enterance, your soft moans intertwining with Simon's pleased purrs and chirps and deep rumbles, his long tongue sneaking out from between his razor sharp teeth to lick at your cheek; a large monster soothing his sated happy mate <3

[snapdragonessart]

Part 2 of my dragon dentition series 😊 ancients coming next! Teef info under the cut

Obelisks take inspiration from Chinese guardian lion statues, with their voluminous manes, big paws and fierce face. As such, their teeth would be similar to a lion’s dentition, with massive canines and carnassials. Although lions mainly eat land-based animals, they are also opportunistic and will sometimes eat fish and even insects. This doesn’t make up for any large part of their diet, however, and in this way they differ from Obelisks which only eat seafood and bugs. Jaguars make a better match for Obelisks in regards to food, as they eat aquatic prey more often than lions do, with one remote population of jaguars in Brazil primarily feeding on aquatic reptiles and fish.

Pearlcatchers were pretty tricky to pin down. Their body and face look almost horse or deer-shaped. Their diet is insects and plants. The only creature that came to mind for Pearlcatchers were qilins; one-horned legendary beasts from Chinese mythology. They’re fully scaled, with dragon-like faces and a body shaped like a horse, deer or goat. This seems to fit Pearlcatcher’s the most, but figuring out their dentition is another matter. There’s not really a 1-to-1 comparative animal I can base their teeth on, so I think they’d be a mish-mash of different tooth structures. They’d have larger canines, maybe like a musk deer, but the rest of their teeth would follow a more herbivorous design. They’d have large, flat molars and premolars for grinding up plants, probably similar to a horse or goat. 

Ridgebacks are basically land-sharks, no question. Their diet and face says it all. Although their snouts look more like goblin sharks to me, I don’t think they’d have those creepy mouths. Their dentition would be more like a great white; they’d have a mouth full of serrated, razor sharp teeth. Like actual sharks, Ridgeback’s would have a reserve of extra teeth in their jaws. 

Skydancer dragons present another tricky situation. They’re bird dragons, and eat plants and insects like Pearlcatchers. Although some official art shows them with teeth, I don’t think they’d actually have them. The closest structure to teeth that's found in birds is the tomia, which is the cutting edge of the upper and lower beak. Tomia is not made of enamel, but of cartilage. Seed-eating birds use this to slice through seed hulls, and birds of prey like falcons have a single sharp projection to rip meat and insects apart. Geese have tomia on their tongues, which pushes the food back towards their throat as they eat. Skydancers probably have a gizzard as well, as the tomia is not enough on its own to grind food down completely. It was hard to figure out what the Skydancer’s beak would be most similar to; out of all the more hook beaked birds, it reminded me most of vultures or eagles, although in diet they do not match them at all. Skydancer beaks are a mish-mash of different bird characteristics that I thought would fit them the most, rather than based on a single bird in particular.

Snappers are tortoise dragons, and like tortoises they’d have ridges in their beaks to help chew food. The official lore states that their beaks are “lined with molars that begin halfway down the jaw and continue all the way to the back”. Real-life tortoises don’t have teeth, so I’d imagine these structures would be like the tomia of birds. Their diet would be a mix of what tortoises and turtles eat, as Snappers eat both plants and seafood.

Spirals really remind me of ferrets, with their noodley bodies and energetic, chaotic nature. Like ferrets, they’d have sharp little canines, incisors and carnassials for shredding meat. Ferrets mainly eat meat, but will also eat bugs too, which matches up with the Spirals diet.

Tundra dragons are currently the only purely herbivorous dragon. The lore states that they have “impressive canine teeth used for combat. The majority of their jaw is set with flat, wide molars, perfect for grinding up scrub.” They’d be most similar to musk deers in dentition, with both male and female Tundras having the enlarged canines characteristic of male musk deer. The canines wouldn’t be as thin or long as a musk deer; they would be thick, robust, and fit more snugly inside the mouth. 

Last for the modern breeds, we have the Wildclaws. They’re raptor dragons, based on the Dromaeosaurids - raptor dinosaurs (velociraptors, utahraptors, etc). Like raptors, Wildclaws would have widely spaced and serrated teeth. They’d be fairly equal in shape, and would curve backwards.  Raptors were carnivorous, which fits with the Wildclaw’s meat diet.

[leonkennedygvrl]

The Beauty of Embalmment.

re2r neighbour leon kennedy x vampire fem reader

💋 warning — 18+, biting, blood kink, stalking, cannibalistic thoughts, necrophilia, gore, weird stuff, dick biting, just lots of biting, marking, p in v, forced orgasm, mentions of self harm, virginity loss, leon’s 27 but re2, reader is 30, reader is really weird and icky, dead fucking dove guys seriously it’s gross and all of that so mind what you read!

Cold and dark. This was your type of night, surrounded in the stench of decay in a room where only a faint buzz would emerge and abolish the silence. You’d open a fridge, stare quite blankly at the feet of someone with a tag hooked to their toe. This was a man, you’d only gotten him yesterday. He could do with a little bit of… corrupting, as they’d say.

Pulling his tray you guided him to the middle of the room, washing your hands in the sink, nails razor sharp before covering them with blue gloves. You had thought about filing them down, after all scratches leave DNA, DNA leads to evidence and that leads to jail time. Oh well, as long as you got your fill there as well.

See, the life long dream you had was to become a surgeon. Cut into bodies and remove abscesses and all those types of bits and bobs but luck was never on your side because you were a little different or a lot and who would ever trust a leech near a body? So instead, you became a mortician. There’s no point in trying to feast on a corpse, there’s a word for it but what’s it called… rigor mortis? No, not that one. You had studied it in forensics so long ago. Livor mortis, that’s the one. Blood didn’t taste good post-lividity, just bland and bitter and you were picky.

Being a vampire meant nobody in the world was attracted to you, that’s why you undressed corpses and touched their cold bodies. You covered their face for their diginity (?) more like to satiate your delusions that you were a better person.

This guy, you’d looked at his name on the tag, Edward with a long surname that you couldn’t be bothered reading. Hm, he was a little green settling into bacteria, scrawny and lifeless. His body stiff but to your dismay his dick was flaccid, and small. And ugly. It looked like a worm, but you’d have to make do. You stroked it, feeling no sense of arousal because he wasn’t packing many inches! You liked a big dick, or even average. Edward was perhaps… four inches?

“Edward, you must’ve had little women on your dick.” You mumbled dazed, you were kind of angry at him. Why was he so small? You hated it. You retracted your hand and pulled the cover off of his face, he was cute. Must’ve been Balkan, his nose was big. Maybe the saying was false, because his dick wasn’t much. “You need to be punished, Edward.”

You’d reached into your coat, pulling out a pretty pocket knife the blade rusted slightly. You’d used this a few times as a teenager, mutiliating your wrists because it looked nice and you liked the taste of your own blood. Then on some corpses, just like right now. You moved back towards the phallus, pressing the sharp edge of the knife against his foreskin and digging deep, sliding down. His blood flow was halted so it oozed out in a way you didn’t enjoy.

But his dick opened like a lotus flower blooming the more you cut into it, you observed the muscles and how limp they looked. This man was a mistake, he deserved to die. Half an hour in, you’d searched every nook and cranny until you were bored and he was unrecognisable — his organs hanging out, your pocket knife gripped in your hands as you slid down against the wall and brought it to your lips.

Just taste good, for once. You were hungry. Starving. Your tongue darted out and swiped across the blade, eyebrows frowning at the bitterness. The blood was clotting and thick, you much preferred the smooth silky texture of an alive person’s one. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. You packed everything up and went back to your gloomy apartment where you wallowed in self-pity.

You needed wanted blood. And dick. Good dick.

Oh, hail to the universe. The guy you were looking at, he was just… delectable. Could you say that? Boyish, strong-looking and alive. He wasn’t too pale, he looked warm. Mm. Warm blood. His thick forearms were straining as he held boxes, he was your new neighbour. You just stared at him while standing in the doorway of your apartment. Thick veins, more blood. Pulse, pulse, pulse. Your pussy was screaming in her panties, she wanted that boy.

You couldn’t describe how you felt, he was tall but not too tall, his hair was soft-looking and a pretty colour of dirty blonde with eyes resembling an azure sky. But what got you the most, apart from how warm he looked, was his sharp features. A bump on the bridge of his upturned nose and brows bushy yet groomed, his jawline chiseled. Perfect. God, you wanted to po—

“Hey there, mind opening the door for me please? My hands are in a bunch.” He said to you. He spoke to you. The fucking psycho who got off to dead bodies because she was so miserable in her own despondency. You watched his face contort intoperplexion, waiting for you to respond instead of standing there like a shunned fish. “Or… not.”

“No I can.” You rasped, scurrying in front of him and twisting the knob open. He smiled, a lively look in his pretty eyes. Life. Not dead. Not empty and dull. Not smelly. He smelt good. Oh, so good. Heightened senses meant you could smell the sweet coppery scent of his blood mixed with his odor of… maybe pine? Cherry? Nah, it was like citrus. Like Mountain Dew. He walked into his apartment and dropped the boxes, wiping his glistening forehead.

“Hey, thanks. You’re my neighbour right?” Leon asked with a tilt of his head, he could tell you were a bit weird and initially he took the hint that maybe you were austistic with the way you lacked social skills. Oh, that’s mean and downright disrespectful. He took it back. You were pretty though, something about you. He didn’t know what though.

Nod. Nod. Nod. Almost too eagerly, you cursed yourself but you didn’t fucking care! You wanted his blood, his body, all of him. And if he didn’t want you, then it’s alright. Straight to the morgue. Unless…

Unless say, he magically died and ended up in your care? Though you hoped he wouldn’t be as small as Edward. You know what they say about white guys. You heard him speak again but you honestly weren’t paying much attention.

Eon. Your expression became bashful, your brain was fried. You needed blood. Eon? Oh. Leon.

“Leon? Nice. I like that.” You blurted out and gave him a once-over, and he flushed. He wasn’t good with women. Especially forward ones. It’s the way you stared at him. “I like your name. Do you want help?”

“I mean, with unpacking? Yes, please.” He replied, watching as you moved to inspect his boxes. He followed after you, doing the same. It was a little awkward if he was being perfectly honest because whenever he looked at you, you weren’t looking. You were thinking. But what were you thinking about? Who were you? Why were you so surreal?

“So… have you lived here a while?” Leon asked, grabbing numerous glass cups and shoving them into a cupboard. He wasn’t a neat freak, he just wanted things out of the way. He noticed you took more time observing his items then actually putting them away. Weird…

“Born and raised. It’s a bad town, too subfusc. Did you notice it lacks bars everywhere? It’s industrial, cold and depressing.” You replied with a shrug, the next item you held was a frame. Of Leon. Must’ve been his graduate photo, with the outfit and all as you ran your index finger down the line of his face. Sharp nail grazing the glass. So pretty. So handsome. He had the type of head you’d hang on your wall.

Leon listened to you, yeah, you were weird. But he chuckled. It was kind of endearing. He hoped you’d put the photo away though, that’s when he had acne and his eyebrows were hairy. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t look at that, shouldn’t see the bad phases. “Really? And here I was thinking it was the perfect vacation spot.”

No laugh. As expected, he sucked at jokes. But you were just so focused on the photo, only the slightest little hint of a crooked smile appearing. He watched you shake your head, finally meeting his gaze.

“No, it’s horrible. Even this apartment, my pet bunny got dismembered by teenagers three years ago. On Halloween. So I don’t celebrate it anymore in honour of Mrs. Tinkel.” Oh, there it was. You watched the discomfort creep onto his expression. Maybe, if you were a little smarter, you would of kept that to yourself but hunger meant stupidity. Blood kept you sane. Sort of. If you could even keep an insane person sane.

“That’s… um, wow.” Leon breathed, clearing his throat. Maybe it was best to end the topic because you’d turned away and eventually most of the house was done. He thanked you for your help and closed the door once you exited. You still wanted his attention though, you debated cutting open your wrist like old times just so he could pamper you. But you didn’t. You figured he was creeped out enough.

That day plagued your mind for the following week, you worked night shifts only — hey, how else can you make it through as a nocturnal? So every evening, you rugged up, left your apartment but with the new addition, you’d stand right outside Leon’s door for a minute or two and stare. Just stare. Then you’d walk away and take several trains to the morgue. Do your deed, go home, sleep and repeat.

But during the day? Apart from a short nap, you started to watch over Leon. It was compulsive, you weren’t bored at all like normal. Your heart didn’t feel so cold, unless of course you weren’t watching him. Everything he did, you were writing it down in your brain, at the beginning it was just watching him through the window.

Although recently you started walking behind him in public spaces, taking photos with your flip phone. Yeah, they were grainy and kinda shit but you couldn’t be bothered upgrading it’s not like you cared about the media at all. If your eyes had good vision, why would you need a camera?

What bothered you was how Leon hardly spoke to you apart from the occasional greeting, was he really that pressed when you’d told him about your bunny? It’s not like you dismembered the poor thing. Some sicko did. See, you weren’t a sicko even if you harassed dead bodies. You were just… curious? Hungry? Dahdahdah, who cares. You needed to find a way to get him to speak to you again, and a rather silly idea popped into your head.

When the sun went down you journeyed off to the morgue and moved into the cold room, flicking through the fridges. You had so many goddamn females and with what you were planning, that simply would not work. The only male you had in stock was no other than fucking… small-dicked Edward. You shoved door open and pulled the trolley out, washing and gloving your hands before grabbing your trusty best friend.

The squelches that resonated from the corpse when you sliced into his chest accompanied that buzzing noise, the laceration splitting open wide until you saw his ribcage. You brought your fist down onto the fairly weakened bone and punched, again and again and again. The crunching was so… comforting. You severed the aorta carelessly and then shoved your hand into his chest, ripping the heart out.

You’d box it up, make it all nice and pretty and write a HEART warming letter. If Leon would, mind the smell, that is. You were eager, desperate at this point, you squeezed the organ a bit in your hands before moving to properly wash it. Hey, at least you were considerate.

And the very next day you knocked on Leon’s door, to your surprise he answered quickly. Yeah, you could have orgasmed right then and there. He had sweats on with a small towel draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly damp and he smelled as good as he always did. You quite literally resisted the urge to pounce on him.

“I got you a present. A gift.”

Leon’s eyebrow raised, looking down at the box in your hands. You’d need a lesson or two on learning how to wrap ribbons, but he was no expert himself. Props to you. He smiled. “You didn’t have to.”

You did. You did. You absolutely did.

He opened the door a little wider, ushering you inside with a wave of his hand. Large, calloused. You wanted to sink your fangs into his fingers. Nibble on his flesh, you imagined how good he’d taste. Fresh meat. But he was too perfect to die.

When you’d made yourself comfortable on his couch you handed him the gift with a smile that didn’t quite your eyes, you avoided toothy grins so that you didn’t need to deal with the inevitable consequence of people freaking out at the sight of your canines.

“Read the card first.” You muttered quickly, he needed to understand that you weren’t were insane. Just loving. And caring. And thoughtful. Leon nodded, pressing his lips together as he fingered the card and opened it up.

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing, my darling. Only a fool would give up such a vital organ.

You every reaction he made, which was mostly a sense of mystification. But hey, no negatives so far. Your noticed a pain in your palm from how hard your nails were digging into the skin. Were you really this anxious?

“Wow, that’s uh…” Leon began with a dry chuckle, looking at you briefly before putting the note down and opening the box.

His eyes went wide. Not in the best way. You frowned, no; he has to like it. You did it all so he could like it. But he was frozen. Why was he frozen? After all the effort you put into it? Was he ungrateful? Did you read the signs wrong? It’s just an organ. Just an organ. A vital one.

“What… the hell?”

“It’s a heart.”

“I can see that.”

You tilted your head, you loved him. This wasn’t just some obsession. You felt a warmth around him.

“It’s clean. I didn’t murder someone,” You figured it’d be important to mention that. Though, would mutiliating a dead body be considered unlawful killing? Whatever. You moved to him, pushing the box to the ground. Baring your teeth, he gasped lightly at the sight of your fangs. Razor sharp, like your claws. “Nobody could ever love you like I can, Leon. You’re all I think about, all I know. I’m not dangerous, I just want a taste.”

“A taste? You’re—“ He tried, but was quickly interrupted when he felt your hot breath ghosting across his neck. He internally slapped himself, every woman he met was a bit cuckoo in some sort of way but why did he feel a pulse in his pants? It had to be some natural reaction because A: you happened to be attractive. B: You smelt nice. C: You were close to him. “God, you’re not going to kill me are you?”

“Taste.” You whispered, hand pressing onto his knee to keep him grounded. “It’ll hurt.” You sunk your fangs beside the two bite-shaped moles near his adam’s apple, his body convulsed as he groaned and attempted to push you off for a moment. No, you really were glued like a leech as you retracted your teeth and licked the blood.

Oh, it had to be the sweetest you’ve ever had. Your pupils dilated, blowing out your iris as Leon panted. He didn’t know why he was letting you do this, you were clearly a bit mental but at the same time… maybe he liked it, just a little bit. Old virgin boy like him was quite the pervert behind closed doors, so he let you mark him. His shoulders, chest, thick biceps, fingers, anywhere you could name.

“You’re draining me.” He whispered, blue eyes narrowed as he watched you crawl down his body. His dick was so hard it hurt and you gazed at it like you were starstruck.

“You taste too good.” You mumbled, fingers hooking into his sweatpants and underwear and shoving them down to his knees. He jolted, feeling the cold air hit his cock like a miasma. You were convinced you’d won the lottery at this point, he wasn’t small. His girth really got you going, so much flesh to play with that you weren’t feeling so tedious anymore.

Your lips were a little red from the blood as you lapped at the head of his cock, his thighs visibly tensing. He’d never felt something like that and mark him the biggest liar if he claimed to hate it, the way you swirled around his frenulum like you knew what you were doing. Although, thoughts might beg to differ if he discovered you’re a necrophilic.

“Fuck, it’s—“ Leon breathed with a rasp, his fingers tapping the couch in sensitivity. The sensations were so strong and when you finally wrapped those soft lips around his dick, he’d melted into a puddle of goo. Just like his brain. Absolutely mush as strings of whines left his lips and he trembled and twitched.

You loved it. But you wanted to take him by surprise and finally listen to that intrusive thought as you pulled him out, took him way back to the base and then out again. You licked the side of his dick, extracted your fangs and dug them into the meat.

“N–no! Fuck, fuck!” Leon cried out, quickly entangling his fingers into your hair as pain overrode his pleasure and he clenched his eyes shut. The stinging was almost too much to bare on such a sensitive area, it was like plucking hair on his balls. He pulled at your hair in return but you were latched on, moaning against his flesh. You were just addicted to the taste, it was indescribable. But at the same time, you felt ws though you genuinely liked him and you didn’t to cause him too much pain you did.

Unhooking your mouth, you lapped at the blood as his grip relaxed a little bit but tears were imbedded into his lashline as he shuddered. You cooed softly, moving back up and situating yourself onto his lap.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you… you just taste so good,” You whispered, lacking sincerity as you kissed away his tears and he sniffled, cock semi-hard but throbbing at your touch. “I’ll make you feel so good now, you get that? C’mon, talk to me.”

“…Okay… alright just… no more biting, please.”

You laughed, licking any residue off your lips. He’s crazy if he thought you’d ever stop, you’d gotten a taste and you were hooked. He should stop feeling sorry for himself because you’re the victim here! You haven’t had a meal in ages, yet he feeds himself every nighr. You scoffed at the mere thought of humans.

“Mm, maybe. I’ll think about it.” You murmured, kissing along his jawline. “Are you a virgin, Leon?”

He flushed, pinkness coating the bridge of his nose as he turned his gaze downcast. How embarrassing to have to admit himself. He nodded, but you loved that. He was pure, untouched. Waiting for the right one, for you.

“Knew you were just perfect.” You sighed, shimmying your pants off until you were in your underwear. Basic nanny jammies, you don’t go shopping often. You’re a wacko, your routine is just sleep and work. Leon glanced at them, it was a little funny but so was the fact that he was nearing his thirties and still a virgin. His breath hitched when you sandwiched his thick cock between your folds through the cotton material, so soaked your pussy pressed straight through.

“Oh, God. You’re soaked.” Leon murmured in awe, his big hands moving to grasp your hips and pull you into that front and backwards movement at a faster pace. Your clit constantly being stimulated made your eyebrows arch inwards as a series of moans joined upon his. You nodded along, he had that effect on you. “Fuck, please. I need to feel you.”

He was begging? That’s cute. Your eyes were half-lidded, pleasure had a tendency to making you a bit dozy. So did good blood. You’ve had a fucking feast and the bite marks all over his body and his dick were satisfying, like an artist painting a blank canvas. You slipped your panties to the side, grinding the tip against your entrance until he was writhing.

Then slowly, you sank down. The stretch took you a little by surprise, eliciting a small gasp as your gummy walls clenched around his cock the further you went. He threw his head back, panting hard as you officially took his virginity. You didn’t give yourself time to adjust, grinding and bouncing on his lap as he squirmed and sobbed hoarsely, you didn’t think he could look so pathetic.

“Feels good, hm?” You asked, kissing down the column of his neck and sinking your fangs into it again. At the same time, you had tightened up when his blood oozed into your mouth making him groan and buck his hips, the pain mixing with pleasure God he was feeling too much at once. The base of his dick felt immediate pressure that just wanted to burst.

He nodded, and nodded. You were such a crazy bitch but your pussy was good, though he was dizzy. You were gonna kill him if you took anymore blood, but you were selfish and he felt like he was too. Then you took him away completely when you moved your hips in a circular motion, your ass rubbing against his balls making him twitch uncontrollably.

“Fuck… I—I’m cumming—“ Leon whispered, his eyes fluttering closed as you forced an orgasm out of him — it was all too much for him to bare and you sighed in satisfaction, his cum squirting inside you until you convulsed and reached your high. Milky droplets of orgasm slipping down his cock as he passed out and you sniffed along him, the musk of his sweat was nice.

“Mm, I’m keeping you.”

lord, that was long. thank you to anyone who reads and anyone who reblogs/comments ❤️

[ddejavvu]

(ty other anon for reminding me of venom 😈😈)

this is so unholy of me but i cant stop thinking of bodyguard!eddie/venom w a drunk party animal reader who snuck out and is caught, xarried home by eddie/venom back to her house 😫😫 hggg may i kindly pretty pls with a cherry on top have even the smallest drop of smut wit him

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You wouldn't have ducked outside for fresh air had you known what was waiting for you in the alleyway beside the bar. It's stuffy inside, so you make your way out the heavy back door, but the second it shuts something slimy wraps around your ankle and yanks, and the brick wall you're facing offers you no purchase as you scrape and claw at its surface.

"I have found her!" A deep, mighty voice roars, and you're flipped upside down, dangling in mid-air by your ankle. Venom's terrifying visage greets you, all razor sharp, dripping teeth and cloudy white eyes.

"You have been," Venom muses, sticking his tongue out to smear it along the expanse of your cheek, "Drinking."

You squeal in disgust at the feeling of the alien's tongue on your skin, but there's nothing you can do as you dangle upside down over the side of the roof.

"And smoking," Venom adds, at the slight aroma of smoke in the air.

"I wasn't smoking," You defend meekly, "Bars just smell like that."

"I do not care what you did inside." Venom growls, "I care that you are not still in your bedroom. Eddie told you to stay there."

"I wanted to have fun," You huff, and your legs split for just a brief second, but it's enough to knock the fabric of your skirt loose from between them. You'd managed to pinch the cloth between your knees when you'd been caught so that it didn't expose you to the cold night air, but apparently your muscles aren't strong enough to hold you still for long enough, and the garment falls around your waist, up towards your face.

"Aah! Venom," You push aimlessly at the skirt, only succeeding in swinging yourself slightly in his grip, "Put me down!"

But the symbiote's eyes have narrowed, and the ooze holding your ankle in place slowly spreads up your thighs. The black slime forces your legs apart, and Venom inhales sharply, long, dripping tongue coming back out to wrap around your upper thigh. He licks at your skin and saliva drips down up your leg, towards your waist where you're still suspended upside down.

Your bird-like screeches at how publicly exposed you are do nothing to deter the symbiote from tasting you, and when he gets a hint of the cum that's managed to soak through your panties and stain the creases of your thighs he roars, jerking you to the side and slamming you down against the roof of the building.

You expect to be winded, or even injured as your back hits the concrete but Venom's ooze blankets your fall, keeping you stuck firm and spread out for him on the roof.

"Whose cum is this?" Venom growls, eyes narrow and cloudy as he stares accusatorily at you. When you don't answer he lets out another frustrated snarl, jamming his tongue directly into your cunt.

He must have used a tendril of his ooze to tug aside your panties, because you have absolutely no time to prepare before his long, slimy tongue is stuffed entirely into your cunt. It feels deeper than anything you've ever had before, and you practically howl at how intrusive the muscle is as it swipes aggressively through your insides.

"This is not Eddie's," Venom growls, and you're filled with visions of hooking up with the man and his symbiote only the night prior after a tense night of his guard. You hadn't expected anything long-term from the fuck, really you'd just assumed they were doing it because you had to be stuck together, but apparently Venom had other ideas.

"And it is not mine." He speaks, plunging his tongue back into your abused hole. He scoops the cum out of your cunt and gathers it in his maw before spitting it back over you, painting your face with an obscene mixture of his sticky saliva and your last hookup's release.

"You are dirty," He decides, yanking your skirt back down to cover your gaping cunt. The ooze separating you from the concrete roof below disappears, but Venom's hold on you only tightens as he gathers you in his arms.

"We are going back to your apartment," Venom informs you, voice especially gravelly, "And we are going to punish you for sneaking out. Eddie is not happy, and neither am I. You will not leave again. We are trying to protect you."

"But Venom-"

"No arguments," Venom extends a tendril of slime to cover your mouth, and the stuff sticks to your lips, prying its way between them to form fingers as he gags you, "I hope you are ready, pet. We are going to teach you a lesson you will never forget."

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Hemomancer’s Blade  Weapon (dagger), uncommon (requires attunement) 

This razor-sharp dagger is the main tool of the hemomancer, with a hollow handle able to store and preserve blood for spellcraft. As an action while holding the dagger, you can spend a number of hit dice equal to your proficiency bonus and store them in the blade. When performing hemomancy, you can roll one or more stored hit dice to subtract the rolled number from the damage you take due to blood loss. Stored hit dice cannot be used to restore hit points. Once a stored hit die is rolled, it is spent.

You have a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with any hemomantic weapon or ammunition that you craft while wielding this dagger, unless the item is already getting a bonus from elsewhere.

Additionally, you can use the dagger as a spellcasting focus. While using the dagger to cast a spell of 1st level or higher that deals damage, you can roll one or more stored hit dice and deal extra damage equal to the number rolled to a single creature targeted by the spell. Once this property has been used, it cannot be used again until you complete a long rest. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for almost 200 magic items (wow!), printable item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks, and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️ Thank you so much for your support! 💖

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[storm-angel989]

Hi! Are you taking requests? If so, may I have a part 3 of Reader disobeying pls? I just finished part 2 and honestly, if I was her I’d still flinch when Valentino was around, and maybe find a way to sneak in some extra food or cash to any of his “workers”, maybe even working a little too hard as a way to distract herself from potential flashbacks. (I just want the Vees to feel regret over how they handled her behavior…😅😏)I’d really appreciate if you’d put those points in it too! God this is getting long I’m sorry! Either way, hope you’re doing well and I can’t get enough of your work!!!

I am always taking requests! And working on them. I actually had a plan to edit like six other requests I've written and instead I read your request this morning and well....the muses visit when then visit. So as with every single time I make a plan, I tossed everything I had wanted to write and edit today aside to write fourteen google doc pages to complete your request.

Oops! Hope you like it! =)

<3 Mandy

They say silence speaks volumes. 

As the third week of volleyball practice passed, I wondered if anyone in my family had gotten the message. 

Four weeks ago, desperate to try to independently earn my own money, I was inadvertently hired at one of my Uncle Valentino’s clubs. He found out, pulled me out, and I was grounded until further notice. As punishment for pretending to be at volleyball tryouts, they signed me up for eight weeks of the sport. Frustrated after the first practice, I spat out words I didn’t mean, and my family decided that it was time I learned exactly what a privileged life I led. 

It was eye opening and terrifying to see exactly what it was that my Uncle Valentino did. Although it was never outright discussed, from the morning I spent with him in his dingy hotel office, watching him process and contract souls both male and female, and the lineup I saw them go through afterwards, I came to the conclusion that sex work, drugs and Uncle Valentino went hand in hand. 

For the first time in my life, I saw the darker side of my family. The control my father, Vox had over the city in terms of technology and electricity. The hold my Aunt Velvette held over not only the fashion industry and social media- but on all goods imported and exported throughout the pride ring. And Uncle Valentino- every soul that passed through hell went through him first. In exchange for basic survival, he thrust souls into either his clubs, Velvette’s stage, or Vox’s office. He kept them hooked on the drugs he sold in exchange for their labor, for their bodies. 

After all, it took a thousand unpaid hands to run hell. 

The deeper I dug, the more afraid I became of the only people I knew as my family. I spent my study halls researching, reading blogs and articles about them. Known as the Vee’s, the three of them truly were the most powerful overlords in hell. They had their hands in and controlled everything that went on in the pride ring. Gone from my mind was the softness that I knew them for. In its place was this image of their true selves. 

Photos of Valentino with razor sharp teeth, a single one glinting gold, my father as electricity surrounded him and Velvette, surrounded by swirls of purple took the place of those memories. 

I began to dread going home, dread getting into the limo with Uncle Valentino after each practice. But there was no way out. No sneaking past him, or any of them. I was suddenly aware of just how many eyes I truly had on me every single moment of the day. It didn’t matter if my father did someday decide to inject a tracker into my skin. Not when he controlled every camera on every corner of the pride ring. 

I took to hustling from my last class of the day to the girls locker room to get ready. On the days I didn’t have practice, I found myself inadvertently taking his advice to get stronger by either working out in the school gym or swimming laps in the pool. My body was tired, but at least it gave me an excuse to be away from them. 

I took my sweet time getting dressed  and by the time the rest of the girls joined, we needed to be out on the gym floor. As always Valentino was perched up atop the bleachers, either talking on the phone or typing on his laptop. As soon as practice was done with, he met me at the locker room door to escort me out to the limo. 

“How was your day, bebita?” He would ask.

As if he actually cared. Besides, what did my day matter when he had thousands of other women's lives he was destroying? 

“Fine,” I would reply. 

Short one word responses. Answering questions as he asked, but giving no more than he demanded. I tried not to look at him, and instead kept my nose buried in whatever textbook I happened to have in my backpack that day. Three weeks. Three weeks of going through the same routine. 

Now, as I stood just around the corner from the dining room, I could hear them talking over breakfast.

“Vox, I’m worried about her,” Valentino said as he sipped his coffee. “She doesn’t speak. She goes to school, to practice or to the gym, comes home, eats dinner and goes to bed.”

“I mean, isn’t that sort of what we asked of her?” Velvette asked. “The whole point of this was to show her just how fortunate she is.”

“I’ve seen enough broken people in my life to know when something isn’t right,” Valentino retorted. “She’s quiet. She’s definitely losing weight. And she looks like she hasn’t had a good night's sleep since this whole thing began.” 

My father seemed unconcerned. “I’m sorry she had to learn the dark side of hell. I guess it’s a punch to the gut when you realize life isn’t all sunshine and butterflies. She had the privilege of living the first sixteen years of her life in blissful ignorance. Let her stew. Let her be mad. As for her body changes…” he shrugged. “She’s more active now. Hitting the gym. Playing volleyball. Losing weight is expected. She’s eating dinner with us, so I’m not worried. She’s just mad.”  

“I don’t think she’s mad, Vox,”  Valentino replied slowly. “I think she’s afraid. Of us.”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “Valentino, do you hear yourself? That’s ridiculous. She has no reason to fear us- we’re her family for christ sake we would never hurt her. She knows that.” 

“I’m just saying,” Valentino shrugged. “Maybe Vox should have a talk with her.” 

Vox sighed. “If it would make you feel better, send her up to my office when you two get home tonight, alright? We’ll have a little father daughter heart to heart.” 

Quietly, retreated to my bedroom. Discussion? No. I had read enough at this point to know that my father specialized in mind control. I didn’t want to be any part of any conversation that involved my father, or any of them for that matter. 

And worse? There was no way out of this cage they built. 

“Babydoll! Breakfast!” I heard my fathers voice call from down the hall. 

I could feel the bile rise up in the back of my throat. I swallowed it back and picked up my backpack. I had no desire to sit down and have breakfast with these…monsters. But he couldn’t know that I knew. 

“I’m not hungry,” I called back. “I’ll eat at school!” 

I heard his heavy footsteps fall as they made their way down my hallway. I shrugged my backpack over my shoulders and pushed my bedroom door open to where my father stood on the other side, arms crossed. 

Fear wrapped around my heart as my mind flashed back to the images of him I had seen. My father. A murderer. A control freak. 

“Hey, honey? Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” He said as he reached his hand out as if to touch my forehead. 

I jumped back and looked away. The article said to avoid his eyes, if at all possible. 

“Yeah, I- I’m fine. I’m just running late, I’ll see you later. Bye.”

I pushed past him and hurried out towards the elevator door. 

“Practice, after school!” He yelled behind me. “Uncle Val will pick you up.”

“Got it,” I said as I stepped into the elevator. 

The school day passed too quickly. Anxiety clenched my stomach with each passing hour, making concentrating or eating next to impossible. By the time I trudged my way to practice, my head ached and my ears were ringing. I tried to ignore it and sipped on my water as I jumped into the routine. Ten laps. Stretching. Mini games. 

Maybe it was from not eating. 

Maybe it was from dehydration or lack of sleep. 

Maybe it was the anxiety from the realization that the people I loved the most in this world were not good people. 

Whatever reason it may be, I jumped to spike a ball and when I landed, a loud snap echoed through the gym. Instantly, I was on my side as pain shot through my body. 

The game came to an immediate halt. Two of my teammates helped me over to the bleachers as the coach talked to me quietly and gingerly pulled off my sock and sneaker. Dark bruises wrapped like a handprint around my ankle. I could feel Valentino’s eyes on me. When I looked up, he stood behind the crowd, concern scrawled over his features. 

Or at least, what looked like concern. He was pretty good at faking it, after all. Just like he did in his office that day. With those girls. Around me, my teammates fawned. 

“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not. Rosa, go grab her backpack,” the coach replied and waved towards one of my teammates. “You’re going to have to get this looked at,”  She turned to look at Valentino. “Do you want me to call an ambulance or…”

“We can take care of it privately,” he replied calmly as he slid his arm under mine. “Lean on me, Bebita…”

“No,” I said sharply.

He gave me a quizzical expression. 

“No..I, I just need my backpack. And maybe my teammates can help me. Uncle Val, can you just have the limo pull around the front?” I said quickly.

He eyed me but took the backpack from my teammates hands and walked ahead of us as two of the other girls slipped their arms under me. Together, we hobbled our way out the front door and Valentino waited as I carefully got into the limo.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” I told them before Valentino got in. “I’ll text you tonight.”

The second the door closed, I scooted as far away from Valentino as I could. Now that I was out of everyone's sight, the pain radiated through my ankle at full force. 

“Put your leg up on the seat, let me take a look,” Valentino said gently. 

“No, keep your hands off me,” I snarled as I pressed further away from him. “I’m fine. Just give me an ice pack. I have the gym tomorrow and practice on Wednesday. I’m fine.” 

“Honey, that ankle looks broken,” he said softly. “This punishment isn’t…”

“You’ve made it very clear what you’re capable of, don’t fucking touch me,” I snapped. 

To my suprise, he pulled away. 

“At least put it up on the seat. Elevation, until we see the doctor,” he replied. “I’m calling your dad now.”

“Don’t bother, I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer. As soon as the limo stopped, he lifted up my backpack and offered his arm. 

“You can’t walk on that,” he said quietly. “Please let me help you.” 

“I’m fine,” I replied as I stepped out good foot first. 

Pain shot through me the second I tried to put weight on it and to my dismay, I felt Valentino’s arm under me. Without a choice, I leaned on him as we walked into the V tower. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said with a little more firmness. “We’re going upstairs to the nurses office and…”

“I’ll pass on going into your studio,” I snapped as the elevator door opened. “Just leave me alone.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” My father asked as he stepped out of the elevator. “Val, why aren't you carrying her? If it's broken, she shouldn’t be walking on it.”

“She wouldn’t let me,” Valentino replied sharply. 

“Enough of this crap,” Vox hissed with a roll of his eyes. “Since when do you let your teenaged niece boss you around?” 

He walked to the other side of me and slid his arm under mine. 

“No, Dad. Don’t! Let me be, please!” I begged. 

“You’re hurt. Why are you acting like this? Why won’t you let us help you?” He demanded as he lifted me up into his arms. 

I closed my eyes tightly. I felt him move and heard the elevator door close. 

“Reader? What are you doing?” He asked. For the first time, I heard concern in his tone. “Why are your eyes shut like that?”

I didn’t answer. 

“I told you..” Valentino said softly with a sign. 

“I asked you a question,” Vox said as the elevator door pinged again. “Reader. Answer me. Your Uncle Val seems to think you’re afraid of him. Afraid of me. Is that true?”

I didn’t answer and instead kept my eyes tightly closed. The familiar scent of strawberries filled my nose, but instead of the usual comfort, all I could feel was fear. Each step he took brought me closer to where I was sure I would be drugged, sure I would be hypnotized, sure I would be forced into…

My thoughts were interrupted as I felt my father lay me down on one of the beds. I heard the curtain pull shut and footsteps walk away.  I opened my eyes ever so slightly. Sure enough, the familiar bright lights shone back at me. I was in the nurse's office in Valentino’s studio. 

And I was alone. 

I pushed myself upright and assessed myself. Every part of me ached and my ankle throbbed painfully. Tears welled up in my eyes, tears and I tried to bite them back. The sound of the curtain being pulled back and I shut my eyes tightly. 

“Would it make you feel better if you got a little honesty?” My Aunt Velvette’s voice floated across the room. “Don’t worry. Both your Dad and Uncle Valentino are talking to the doctor. It’s just us.”

“You guys are monsters, why should I trust any of you?” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You lied to me my entire life, you…”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Velvette perched herself on the edge of the bed. “Sweetheart, we live in hell. The people who come through…”

“Don’t deserve to be sold as sex slaves,” I said angrily. “Or forced to work as models, or stuck under hypnosis by my Dad or…”

“Is that what you think we do? Where do you get your information from?” She asked with amusement. “Not for nothing, but there are a few things wrong with your theory.”

“Oh, so Uncle Valentino isn’t in the sex business? He doesn’t sell drugs? You don’t control the product distribution and my father doesn’t control every single bit of technology and electricity that exists in the pride ring?” I said as I pushed myself more upright. 

“No, those things are true. And what we do at its core is probably more wrong than right. But we’re not monsters. Valentino isn’t selling these women- his contract provides an out. A consent clause. I could choose to cut off production and supplies at any given point. But I don’t. And your father…well, your father wouldn’t use his powers on you unless the circumstances were extreme. And I do mean extreme,” Velvette said softly. “And none of us would intentionally hurt you.”

I felt my anger grow. “You decided that because I wanted to make my own money…”

“No,” she cut me off. “That wasn’t why you got in trouble to begin with. You got in trouble because you lied to us, took your tracker off and decided to go work in a sex club. And yes, we enrolled you in volleyball and yes, you made a snarky comment that scared the shit out of Valentino. I’m not saying how he and your father reacted was right, but I am telling you they love you dearly.” She leaned forward, “someday you too will be an overlord in hell. Someday you too will have the responsibility to these souls that we have. It’s not going to be perfect. And it’s not always going to be right- we live in hell, sweetheart. Handling the darkness is part of what we do.”

I was quiet as I considered her words. A few moments later, the doctor walked in, followed by Vox and Valentino. Velvette stood up and the doctor looked over my ankle. 

One x-ray later, a broken ankle was the diagnosis and an orthopedic specialist was on his way.

“Sweetheart, when was the last time you drank anything?” Vox asked as the nurse looked over my veins.

I stayed quiet as the nurse wiped the crook of my arm. Normally, Uncle Valentino would be the one to put an IV in. But now that I knew why he was so damn good at it, I didn’t want his hands anywhere near me. 

“I’m going to try to do this in one shot, but your veins are pretty small,” she told me. 

I winced as she stuck and restuck me. The third time she pulled the needle out, I burst into tears. 

“No more, I can do it without pain meds, I swear!” I sobbed. “Please, just stop.” 

Valentino handed me a tissue and gave the nurse a writhing look. 

“Leave it,” he growled. “You’re done. Either get someone competent or…”

“Uncle Val, stop. It isn’t her fault! I’m the idiot who didn’t drink all day!” I sobbed. “Just stop!” 

He reached forward as if to take my hand but seemed to think better of it. 

“Show me your arms, bebita. Please?” He asked quietly. 

Hesitantly, I showed him both my arms and he carefully studied the veins. 

“I can probably stick you, if will you let me?” He asked softly. “Please, conejito. You don’t want him to set it without some sort of relief. It isn’t good for your body to be under that much strain.” 

I closed my eyes. The pain was increasing with each passing moment. He was right- I couldn’t take much more of this. Ever so slightly, I nodded my consent. 

True to his word, a single pinch later and I could feel the cold saline seeping into my veins and the pain slowly eased up. Nausea washed over me and the bile from earlier crept back up my throat. I felt my father’s hands pull my hair back and Valentino shoved a bin onto my lap. I coughed as I emptied what little was in my stomach into the basin. 

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” Vox said as he braided my hair back. “I knew you didn’t look good this morning.” 

“I just didn’t have time to eat today,” I whispered. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” 

Valentino visibly bristled. “You are very much not fine. You…” He let his voice trail off and instead brushed the hair out of my face. “I’ll get the nurse to give you something for the nausea. After that, if I get you saltines, will you eat them? Maybe drink some apple juice or ginger ale?”

I shook my head no. “I’d rather have an apple or fruit or something. And water.”

“Not on a sick tummy, crackers or dry cheerios,” Velvette interjected with a shake of her head. “You don’t do well with anything else.” 

Defeated, I closed my eyes as I listened to both their footsteps walk away. How was it that these three, that all I read about them, all that I knew…were tending to me so carefully? That the same man who sized demons up and down, sold drugs and made a deal for their soul would ever so carefully slip a needle into my arm? That my father, the overlord of technology, would hold my hair back as I got sick? I couldn’t wrap my head around it, around the stark difference between the demons I grew up with and what I saw in Valentino’s office. The demons who were in the hospital room with me now, and the ones I read about on the internet. 

“The nurse is coming by with zofran,” Valentino said as he pushed the curtain back. “It will help settle your tummy. Velvette went upstairs to grab you something to nibble on.” 

“I don’t get it,” I said softly. 

“What don’t you get?” Vox asked. 

I hesitated. At that moment, the nurse came in and Valentino plucked the vial from her hands. She set a cup of apple juice on the table and he shooed her away. 

“Just for the nausea,” he explained as he injected the line. As soon as it was in, he picked up the cup of juice and lifted the straw to my lips. “Sip, then talk to us. “We’ve always had an open discussion in this family. What’s bothering you so much?”

I took a sip of juice and swallowed. “You, and Dad and Auntie Velvette, what you do is just wrong,” I said finally. “You hurt people, you punish people, you…Dad, you use mind control to literally take over companies, Uncle Valentino you sell drugs and Auntie Velvette she…she literally ruins people’s lives on social media and decides when and where there will be supply shortages and it isn’t okay! And then you turn around and treat each other and me like…like this!” 

“Woah, woah woah,” Vox said softly. “Where did you learn all that?”

Valentino crossed his arms and gave Vox a ticked off look. “What did I tell you? She should have never gone with me. I told you, I fucking told you!”

“Damn it Valentino, calm down. She was bound to find out the truth sooner or later. Now it’s up to us to sort fact from fiction,” Velvette said as she pushed the curtain back. She pressed a bag of cheerios into my hand, “here. Nibble on these.” 

“I don’t want to,” I said as I rubbed my eyes. “I…”

“You need to get something in your tummy, otherwise you won’t feel better,” Vox said, “Just a little. And listen to what we have to say, okay? Can you agree to that?”

Without seeing any other option, I nodded and put a cheerio in my mouth. My father looked to Valentino and Velvette.

“We..shouldn’t have introduced you to our work lives that way. I shouldn’t have made you…I should have done things differently, I’m sorry.” Vox said quietly. “You didn’t need to see your Uncle Valentino in that role. I wish I could take it back.”

“You’re not going to hypnotize me, are you? Make me forget?” I asked fearfully. “Daddy, I…”

“No, no no…no. Absolutely not,” he replied quickly. “No. You're my daughter and I wouldn’t do that to you. Not now, not ever.”

“So it is true. You can do that. I mean, I always sort of knew what you three were. Sort of knew you were hot shot overlords, but I didn’t realize that…how bad you…” 

Vox held up his hand. “The things we do, we do them because that is our job. We do our best to balance the good and bad in hell. We’re not without compassion, but we have a job to do. A job that provides housing, food, clothing, basic necessities to both hellborn and fallen. There are downsides to things and maybe, maybe when you’re a little older you’ll have different ideas, ways to do things better. But for now, this is our job.” He swallowed. “My mistake was trying to teach you a lesson, and mixing the life we’ve built at home with the businesses we run each day. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I hate that I made you so afraid,” Valentino added quietly as he sat down on the bed next to me. “Princessa, you are my little girl. You always have been. I don’t want you to flinch away in fear. I’m sorry for what you saw. And I’m sorry I frightened you so, so badly. How can I show you I’m not…how can I show you you don’t need to fear me?” 

I swallowed. “Uncle Valentino, let me…I want to be more involved in this business. I want to learn the process myself, understand it for myself.” 

The three of them exchanged glances. Hesitantly, I saw my father nod. 

“Alright, fine. We…we can do that. But not just Uncle Valentino’s responsibilities. All of ours. And…” he sighed. “And I’m going to put you on the payroll. Checks deposited into a private account with just your name on it. That’s what started this entire thing anyway, isn’t it?” 

“Dad, why do you look so upset? Shouldn’t you be thrilled that…”

“Thrilled?” Emotions rushed across Vox’s face, a mix of pain and sadness.  “You think I’m happy knowing we made you so afraid, so terrified of us? I worked so hard- we worked so hard so that you could have a normal childhood- a life without care, without worry. I wanted you to not have to go through the struggles we went through when we were sixteen, I wanted you to enjoy…I wanted you to enjoy being sixteen.” 

For the first time in my life, I saw my father looked defeated. 

“You know, she doesn’t have to give up being sixteen,” Velvette said as she put her hand on Vox’s shoulder. “We can start to introduce her to the family business and let her enjoy school and let her do all the stuff we didn’t get the chance to do.”

“She’s still your ninita, and you’re still her Papito,” Valentino added. “Besides, we’ve always had an open door policy.” 

“Daddy, what was your childhood like? Auntie Vel, Uncle Val I…”

At that moment the next doctor walked into the room. I groaned inwardly as he introduced himself to the adults in the room. 

“You’re a lucky girl,” he told me as he hung my x-rays. “You missed requiring surgery, but setting it will be painful. I’m going to have the nurse give you a dose of something extra strong so you don’t feel anything.” 

“Just, just give the vials to my Uncle Valentino, he can do it,” I said hesitantly. 

“You sure, bebita?” Valentino asked as the nurse brought over the supplies. 

I nodded and watched him wash his hands and pull on gloves for the second time that day. “What..will you tell me what you’re giving me?”

I saw his expression soften. 

“Of course, bebita,this first one is for pain,” he said soothingly as he uncapped the vial and slowly pushed down on the plunger. “Now before I give you the next, tell your Dad what color you want your cast. You can have any two colors you choose.”

“Purple and red?” I asked hopefully as I looked at him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Vox assured me. He sat down on the bed next to me, took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love you.”

“I love you too Daddy.”

“This next one is going to make you not care about what the doctor is doing or anything else that happens for the next few hours,” Valentino continued. “Once this is in your bloodstream, you’re going to feel a little sleepy. Just relax, when the doctor is done we’ll bring you upstairs to your own bed, okay?” 

Velvette perched herself on the bed next to my father and patted my uninjured leg. “Don’t worry sweetheart, once we get you all patched up we’ll make a plan. No more secrets, okay?”

I nodded and let the drug Valentino pushed into my body start to work. True to his word, I wasn’t exactly sleeping, but I certainly didn’t care too much about what the doctor was doing. The next thing I knew, I was snuggled into my own bed with my father sitting next to me. 

“Sleep, babygirl,” he said softly. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I promise.”

I felt my eyelids grow heavy. Maybe I could trust them after all. 

[obsidianpen]

Makes large, pleading eyes at the unpublished Harry/Hermione/Voldemort oneshot.

...would it be possible to get a snippet of this? Only if you're comfortable, of course! The premise had me hooked

Hermione had just taken the first sip of her tea, feeling the tension in her shoulders finally ease a bit, when she noticed it.

Harry was tapping his leg with his finger.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. He was just sitting on the ground, crossed-legged, re-reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard for perhaps the fiftieth time, one arm propping up his head while the other rested on his thigh…

Tapping.

It was an entirely innocuous gesture, except that it wasn’t. 

Hermione knew Harry. She knew his every mannerism, his every nervous tick, his every tell. She knew that when he was anxious, he ran his hand through his hair like he was trying in vain to flatten it. When he was secretly afraid but acting brave despite it, he would jut his chin out and clench his jaw so tightly his muscles visibly tensed. In their fifth year, he developed the habit of clenching his hand when he was mad, making the words etched into his skin stand out: I must not tell lies.

He didn’t tap. Ever.

Right hand, middle finger. 

Last night’s dream flashed before her, its toxic bright colors making her feel feverish and dizzy. Tom Riddle, sitting so casually, so indolently in the landscape of her own subconscious, a parasite in her mind. Tom Riddle, looking so young and handsome, but with a razor sharp smile that did nothing to conceal the monster within, because it was no secret to either of them, what he was. Tom Riddle and his dark eyes and darker voice, dangerously soft.

You have no idea what I’m doing to Harry.

Tom Riddle, Voldemort, staring right at her with those pitiless black eyes… tapping.

Right hand, middle finger.

Hermione watched the movement coming from Harry as though she was watching some kind of timer, a detonator that was counting down, slowly. Harry was a bomb that might explode at any moment. 

Hermione set her tea down. She took a deep breath, then forced herself to speak in a calm voice.

“Harry,” she said. He looked up, but otherwise didn’t move. Tap, tap, tap. “Can I see the locket?”

Harry arched one brow at her, then gave her a weak smile and shook his head. “No way. You had it all night. I’ve barely started my shift.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, and she could hear the nervousness creeping into her voice. Tap, tap, tap. “I feel really good today, and I think—I could pull a double. Give you a bit of a break.” 

She laughed, and damn it all of it didn’t sound painfully fake. 

Harry noticed. “It’s okay, ‘Mione,” he said slowly. “I’m fine. Really.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Oh, bollcks. Hermione cleared her throat and tried again. “I would really appreciate it if I could see it,” she said. “I'd rather wear it when I’m feeling up for it and take a break later, you know?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in a way that Harry’s eyes rarely did. “If you can’t handle it later, I’ll just keep it on then too,” he said. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to feel like you need to add more to your plate now, just because… because we don’t have… Now that it’s just the two of us. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

He looked away from her, returning his focus to the book with a bitter expression on his face—a clear signal that, for him, this conversation was over.

His finger never stopped tapping. 

Hermione decided to throw all caution to the wind and be direct. She had to get that locked off of him, and she had to do it now.

“Harry,” Hermione said firmly. She walked over to him, hovering directly in front of where he sat, and extended her arm. “Give me the locket.”

Harry looked up, his eyes widening in shock at her sudden frostiness. 

Tap, tap, tap.

“Hermione, I just said—”

“Give me the locket!”

Hermione whipped out her wand, panic seizing her. She didn’t yet point it at him, but she was prepared to. “Give it to me, now!” she shouted. 

Harry jumped to his feet and took a few hasty steps away from her, sending the book flying across the room as he did. “Hermione!” he yelled. “What has gotten into you?”

“Give me the locket!” Hermione demanded again. “Now, Harry! Don’t make me hex you!” 

She jutted her wand at him, making  sparks crackle in the air. Harry’s focus went from the tip of her wand to her face and back again, he had both hands raised defensively, and—and Hermione swore she saw something flickering there, in his eyes, something burning with rage, something red—

But then Harry was pulling the locket off from around his neck. “Sheesh! Okay, okay!”

He offered her the heavy golden chain, which Hermione snatched up at once. Harry then backed further away from her like he was afraid she might hex him anyway.

Not that she could blame him. Hermione was certain that she’d sounded like a crazy person with how she’d snapped for seemingly no reason. 

Hermione pocketed her wand. “Thank you,” she said curtly. “I… I’ll be outside. I need some air, and…”

She didn’t bother finishing her sentence. Harry only nodded, keeping a safe distance from her as she marched out of the tent. 

Begrudgingly, Hermione put the locket on once she was out, far away from the tent's entrance. It filled her with a familiar, immediate sense of dread. Wearing that locket was horrible, but she’d had to get it off Harry, she’d had to. She shouldn’t ever give it back to him. Hermione lifted it up, examining the glittering emeralds that housed a sliver of the world's most deranged soul.

The real question was, of course, how long could she keep it on herself, in an attempt to keep it off of Harry? Considering what it did to her when she wore it… especially when she was asleep.

You have no idea what I’m doing to Harry, he’d said. But if you don’t get out while you still can… you just might find out. 

[thewritingbeforesunrise]

A flame for going home.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

______________________________________

A/N: This thought invaded my mind this morning and I couldn't function until I wrote it down.

I should work on other things but this was everything I could think about the whole day.

Join the taglist here

Word count: 1.2K

Pairing: Jake x female!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ONLY, graphic sexual content, oral (f!receiving).

Summary: Frustrated Jake needs you more than he needs air.

________________________________

It was the middle of the night when he finally came home.

The alarm clock on your bedside table signaled it was 3:25 AM.

And oh, you could tell he was pissed.

But you already knew that.

You knew that because, when you had texted him asking if he was coming home for dinner, he had replied with a single word.

No.

Usually, he never replied like that.

His love for unusual eccentric words often translated into long elaborated texts that sounded more like intricate handwritten letters from a lost time than quick words that traveled through the ether at the speed of the light.

This time it was different.

And, of course, you knew better than pissing him off even further by calling him.

You knew he wouldn't answer anyway.

So you ate what you had cooked alone and put his portions in the fridge, ready to be reheated for him when he finally came home.

Hours upon hours in the studio often resulted in him coming home frustrated beyond belief, often upset with himself or his brothers because something hadn't turned out as perfectly as they wished. So you didn't worry too much about it.

You had settled up everything for a relaxing bath for him too, in hopes to soothe his sleep.

He always had so much trouble sleeping when he was frustrated like that, even if he was really tired.

A hot bath usually calmed his nerves and helped him lull himself to sleep.

The sound of the front door slamming shut was what roused you from your slumber, along with a loud thud, probably caused by his guitar case being abandoned rather violently on the entrance floor.

You swore to yourself you'd stay awake to wait for him, but sleep had the best on you.

You heard him make his way up the stairs without a single word.

You tried to untangle yourself from the mess of blankets to stand and greet him with a sweet kiss.

You managed to sit on the edge of the bed but before you could stand he was already by the door.

Even in the low light of the room you could see that his jaw was set, his mouth a straight line.

“Hey baby, how are you? Dinner is in the fridge, let me get it ready for you.” You said, slowly peeling the covers from your body, your voice raspy and filled with sleep.

“I don't need that right now” he said, his voice was so razor sharp and harsh that you felt a pang of hurt in your chest.

He moved. His long strides brought him closer in a second. His sulken eyes rounded by dark circles pierced your soul and made you shiver.

You saw as his eyes darkened even more as his gaze traveled to your exposed legs.

Your heartbeat picked up.

Suddenly he dropped to his knees right in front of you using the covers that had slipped off the bed as a pillow and buried his face in your lap, inhaling deeply and holding his breath for a few seconds.

The sudden contact of his freezing skin with the hot one of your bare thighs made you gasp and shiver. Your hands buried into his hair and started massaging his scalp.

His hands grasped your hips and squeezed them so tightly you were sure he was leaving marks in their wake.

He tugged you swiftly towards the edge of the bed and his deft fingers hooked into your panties.

Then his eyes met yours from below silently, pleading with you to end his misery, pupils blown out and lips swollen from a day of biting and torturing the skin there waiting for this moment that had seemed every second farther from his grasp.

You knew what he was asking you and you nodded.

He needed it.

As soon as you nodded your head, he tugged at the fabric of your underwear, bringing it down your legs at record speed.

When his tongue finally made contact with the warmth between your legs, he groaned loudly and you gasped.

His hands tightened on your hips as he brought his face impossibly closer to you, inhaling deeply and humming at your taste. Your hands tightened in his hair.

“Jake” you whispered but he didn't separate from you. If possible, he pushed himself even further against you.

You didn't know how he managed to breath, but in all honesty it looked like breathing was the last thing on his mind at that moment.

His warm tongue never ceased to stroke your heat, paying close attention to your clit and drawing mindless shapes against and around it.

The hint of his mustache was driving you crazy.

The whimpers leaving your lips mirrored the little breathy moans and groans he let out against your damp skin.

When his scorching hot tongue slipped inside of you and his blunt nails dug into your skin, you came with a sweet tired chant of his name on your lips.

But he didn't stop.

His eyes flicked briefly upwards but he didn't even come up for air.

He delved right back in with no other care in the world that wasn't to feel you, taste you and breathe you in for the rest of his life.

Your body fell backwards on the bed and he moved closer. He moaned softly against your skin as your legs instinctively closed around his head, the vibrations of it making your back arch and your grip in his hair tighten.

You couldn't see it but his eyes rolled back the more you tugged at his hair and the more your cunt gushed for him. He drank you in relentlessly like he was trying to quench a never ending thirst.

He gifted you three orgasms that night, one more mind blowing than the last.

Then when he had had enough and you were trembling and had tears of pleasure streaking your cheeks, he slumped on the bed and wrapped you in a much awaited hug, breathing heavily.

“I needed that so bad, angel. Thank you” he whispered against your neck.

You didn't have words to answer him. His talented tongue and mouth had erased every little bit of sanity you still possessed.

You simply kissed him and tried to fix his disheveled hair.

An indefinite amount of time later you detangled yourself from him with a quick peck on his lips and a smile that he mirrored. You slowly made your way downstairs on wobbly legs, ignoring his grumbling about staying there with him.

You got him some snacks and a bottle of water and returned upstairs.

When you rounded the corner and entered the bedroom you were met with Jake’s sleeping form sprawled underneath the covers, his breathing deep and even and his face buried in your pillow.

He had the most beautiful and peaceful smile on his face as he slept soundly with your sweet taste still on his lips.

_________________________

Taglist: @gvfpal @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jessicafg03 @doodle417 @hellowgoodbye @ejoygvf @jaketlover @jakekiszkasbabymama @objectsinspvce @indigostreakmorgan @witchofendora @myleftsock @gretavanshmeat @gretasfallingsky @giraffehippy @jennasometimesreads @katiegvf @sinarainbows @laney_gvf @themorningbirds @starcatcherchords @lipstickitty @meetingthestardust @joshskittytickler @livkiszka @twistedmelodies @ignite-my-fire @gvfmarge @writingcold @brujamagik

[macabr3-barbi3]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN Y'ALL

We'll have a masterlist for everyone soon but AHHH I'm so excited! I'm so proud of everyone and so glad to have some new people join us in the server, everyone has done such a fantastic job and it was so cool to see everyone work through their ideas 💗

A huge thank you to my beloved @fraugwinska for planning and organizing this event with me and making us so many amazing graphics, and encouraging me when I hit a wall. And thank you to everyone who participated and has posted or will be posting soon! I love all of you 🩷 @redvexillum @ritualofcirice @chefskjssart @dewdropdinosaur @lumikello24 @xalygatorx @melodyonthewireless @kewpikayo @jurijyuu ❤️

For the fic that started the brainworms squirming, come check out Hex: Smile Like You Mean It!

Summary: Someone has noticed you noticing them. Tags: video-game typical violence, exhibitionism, mutual masturbation, off-screen character deaths

He was watching you. Always watching you. 

Well- to be fair, he was always watching everyone. You knew when he was the trial's designated killer because you would catch the glint of a red light in the trees, a glare off the lens of a camera that watched you from the corner as you tried to work on a generator as stealthily as possible. Before you even had a chance to wipe the grease of the gears off your fingers he would be on you with a spark of electricity, razor sharp claws raking down your back or arm as you tried to get away with his distinct laugh ringing in your ears.

The other killers could be mindless- chasing you around the same rock or set of trees for minutes at a time while the others popped off generators left and right, absent obsession fueling their pursuit of you like they didn’t realize you were merely buying time for your friends. 

Vox was just as ruthless, but worse- he was smart. Cunning. Somehow he always knew which corner you were going to turn, which windows you were going to try and vault through, and despite your best efforts you could never get him close enough to a pallet to slam it on his head and bust that screen of his wide open. You had managed it one time, relishing in the satisfying crunch of shattered glass as he swore and you darted away.

Only for him to find you while you healed yourself and drop you onto a hook anyway, his smirk taunting and cruel before chasing your teammates away when they tried to rescue you.

And despite it all, you felt drawn to him. Not drawn enough to actively seek him out in a trial, but sometimes you would watch from the sidelines as he chased the others, follow his meandering path around the lodge at Mount Ormond from the balcony on the second floor. At first it was a macabre fascination- where had he come from? What had brought him here? How much of him was really a machine? Your curiosity regarding his body warped over time to a keen interest, and before you knew it the purpose of your eyes on him had changed- no longer just watching him to see where he carried your teammates off to but appreciating the way his muscles flexed and moved beneath his clothing, admiring the delicate lines of his claw tipped fingers when he grabbed the edges of a window to chase after someone.

This was why you felt you were different from his surveillance of everyone else- you knew he could see you when you did this, watching him the same way he watched you through the cameras, and he never altered his course when you engaged in this behavior. It was only when you were working on generators, healing your friends, doing the things that needed to be done in order to survive, that he would spring forth from the cameras and start slashing and taunting.

The first time you had felt that flash of heat through your core watching him lick a stray drop of your blood from his claws after he threw you on a hook, you had been so ashamed you didn’t even bother trying to keep the Entity’s claws from coming down for you, your teammates too far away to help anyway. It got easier to live with though, something new and dangerously exciting when you looked at him and imagined the way his body looked under his clothes, wondered how calloused his fingertips were and how they would feel dragging across your skin with the intention of pleasure rather than pain.

Almost like a punishment for daring to feel something other than fear and despair when you looked at him, the Entity wasn’t kind enough to give you chances to observe Vox all that often; time didn’t really exist in this realm, but it felt like you had been in back to back to back matches for days, only at the campfire long enough for your wounds from Pyramid Head in the Swamp to be reset before you were being whisked away to be locked into a head cage by the Pig at the meat plant. It was never ending, constant torture that had you exhausted, moving slowly and always fumbling on the generators; which in turn had your teammates upset with you, and they would leave you to bleed out on the ground or struggle on the hooks while the rest of them worked away at the generators all the way across the map.

This time, when you landed in Haddonfield and everyone took off without you, you opted to just stay out of sight- you would hide in lockers, maybe hole up in a car and just rest until the others had finished the generators or gotten themselves killed, depending on who the killer was. Then you could make your way to a gate or try to find the hatch as long as they didn’t find you first.

You hear Yun-Jin start a generator near you and sneak off in the other direction; a smart choice, since your heartbeat picks up not even a full fifteen seconds later, Yun-Jin’s scream echoing with the sound of Vox’s laughter as he tosses her onto the hook. 

You peek over the rock that you hide behind as he turns, brushing dirt off his suit and straightening his bowtie- when he looks up he locks eyes with you across the field, flashing you a wide, sharp-toothed smile before he zaps into the nearby camera and is gone, another scream from David sounding off shortly after.

Your heart is still, so you take the risk and head towards Yun-Jin crouched low to the ground, just in case he’s watching. Your arms shake as you help her down, and she doesn’t say anything before she’s rushing off, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. You sigh and kick at a rock on the ground, debating if you should follow her and offer assistance.

“Damn, not even a thank you? And you all think I’m brutal.”

You stumble to the ground in your haste to turn around, but he doesn’t rush at you- just watches, like he watches through the cameras, like he watches you watch him. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs. “I’m not here for you, doll- not yet.” He drops to a crouch in front of you, his screen so close you can feel the static on the screen making your hair raise; he brings his fingers up from the ground, wet and red with Yun-Jin’s blood. His face changes, pulling up a surveillance feed; you can see Yun-Jin in one little square, desperately trying to heal herself without assistance; David and Ace work on a generator in the basement of one of the buildings, not even glancing at the cameras that hold them in their glass stare. You’re half expecting him to spring suddenly, luring you into a false sense of safety, but it doesn’t come- a little cursor comes across the screen and clicks on the staticky image of the men and he’s gone.

You’re not going to assume he would let you escape twice, so you creep into one of the houses and find a locker in a room that didn’t appear to have any cameras. You should feel bad, you think, about simply hiding while the others tried to do what needed to be done to escape; but Yun-Jin hadn’t even said ‘thanks’ for risking your ass to pull her off the hook, and most of the other survivors never bothered to help you either since your exhaustion had started to get the best of your normally nimble fingers. A couple were reliable- Adam, Jane, and Claudette could usually be counted on to help get you out of a sticky situation- but these three in particular that you were facing Vox with? They could help themselves.  

The others are too far away to hear them scream, but the two booms that ripple across the map when two of your teammates are sacrificed to the Entity can be heard from anywhere. There’s a scuffle outside the house and David stumbles in, bleeding from a deep gash in his back- a crackle of electricity and Vox is right after him, another swipe of those sharp claws dropping him to the floor. Vox peers at the locker in front of him- like he can see you through the slats, he winks before he picks David up and leaves the room to find a hook.

You should run. Flee the locker before he came back, your heart kicking into overdrive as the final sound rings out that tells you David is gone.

You don’t get a chance. The door to the locker is yanked open, and there stands Vox, his arms resting on the top of the opening and leaning in so that he’s all you can see, so you can’t escape. “Looks like you’re our lucky winner!” He says cheerfully, sounds like an old-timey game show sounding off from his screen, and he reaches into the locker to grab your arm. “How handy- I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you, my dear. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”

Connected as you are, when he flashes into the camera you’re pulled with him- left with a feeling not unlike laughing gas at the dentist when you’re deposited into the living room of one of the houses. “Have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the couch before you as you wobble on your feet. When you turn jerkily, only half a thought in your head saying to run, his grip on your arm tightens; he turns you to face him, other hand coming up to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “Sit down.” He says firmly this time, and the red of his eye is swirling with black lines that seem to say trust me trust me trust me.

You sit, and Vox looks surprised. “Fuck, I didn’t think that would work,” he laughs. “That’s good to know.” He looks thoughtful for a moment before he drags the nearby armchair to sit in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees while you watch one another. “Something to try in a trial sometime, maybe-”

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, and he laughs loud and fake in the overwhelming silence of the room.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation! I gotta tell ya, I was having a lot of fun chasing you and your friends around but it was starting to get a little stale- and then there you are!” He gives you a wide smile, the sharpness of his teeth glinting in the low light of the house. “Always looking at me from behind trees and shit while I hunt down your teammates, watching me from the balconies and through windows- I know all about surveillance but it’s enough to make a man blush, sweetheart.”

His words make you blush- you had figured that he knew about you watching him, but not that he had picked up on your… interest. You try to stammer out a rebuttal and he laughs, waving you down with a mischievous look in his eyes. “None of that denial,” he chides. “I’m not here to judge; I’m quite flattered.” He winks at you again, the swirl of his eye lazy but not compelling you in any way, merely holding you in its gaze. “And that brings me here with a proposition! Mutually beneficial to the both of us, I can assure you.”

“What… do you want?” You ask cautiously, and his smile turns wicked, red drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.

He shocks you by stripping off the vest he wears over his white shirt, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m a performer at heart, doll- the nature of a man in news means I love an audience, and an audience of one can be exciting in the right context.” He leans back into the armchair and pops a few buttons on his shirt, running his hands down his chest to the belt buckle that rests at the center of his waistband. “I want you to do what you’ve been doing so well lately- watch me.”

His belt clinks as he undoes the buckle, and your mouth runs dry. He teases electric blue claws against the zipper, a growing bulge under the seam that’s obvious to your eyes in the dim light of his screen. “What’s. What’s the mutually beneficial part here?” You ask, only stammering a little, and he chuckles low and dark.

“Depends,” he murmurs, “do you think the ‘show’ is your good part or mine?” He brushes his fingers against the outline of his cock, having hardened further under your watchful gaze, and a groan crackles out of his throat, staticky and harsh.

“It could be both,” you say absently, watching him finally draw the zipper down- the glowing that comes from his lap should be off-putting, but it’s not. You clench your thighs together, resisting the urge to rub them for some attempt at friction when his hand dips inside of his slacks and pulls his length out; hard, leaking from the tip until he swipes a dark blue thumb over it which a moan, a soft neon glow that seems to come from somewhere inside.

“It’s actually meant to be yours,” he says, “which means you’re kinda leaving me hanging here, sugar.” He stretches a leg across the expanse between your chair, knocking his foot against your feet to move them to the sides, the sweatpants you wear stretching tight across your lap as he essentially kicks your legs apart. “We should both be getting something out of this.” 

You catch his meaning, only hesitating for a moment before shifting enough on the couch that you can start shimmying your pants down past your knees. 

“Gimme a real show, doll,” he whispers roughly, dragging his fist up and down his cock slowly. “Let me see you.” His other hand finishes unbuttoning his shirt, the skin that he exposes a deep navy, littered with scars that only serve to draw your attention more fully to him. His claws tease over a glowing nipple- was that a USB port? - and the action causes sparks that rain down his abdomen.

You keep your gaze on him as you brush lightly against your clit through your panties, the shock of pleasure making your hips jerk. You apply more pressure, a swift circling around the sensitive nerves, and a moan breaks free of the barrier of your lips. Vox meets it with one of his own, the fist around his cock stroking earnestly, the fingers of his free hand trailing up and down his body, coming down to cup and squeeze his balls while he watches you.

“Fuck me, that’s fucking sexy,” he growls, his voice like gravel- his eyes are narrowed in between your legs like a man possessed, the intensity of his gaze like fire, like lightning. Your entire body is flushed, dripping with sweat when you copy him and let your free hand cup your breasts, tease the nipples through your thin shirt. “You like having eyes on you, sweetheart? Pull those little panties aside, show me what you like.”

You do as he asks, pulling the gusset of your soaked blue panties to the side and trailing a finger through the slickness of your folds. Your breath leaves you in shaky gasps as you press a digit inside, the angle not quite right for hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. It had been so long since you had indulged in a little self pleasure, certainly at least before you had been swept up in the fog and taken to the entity’s realm; even with the thoughts you had had about this man you had never gone so far as actually touching yourself with the lack of privacy around the campfire and in the trials. The touch alone was good, but to have Vox watching you so closely, the wet sounds of him stroking his cock mingling in the air with those that came from your fingers pressing desperately into your cunt, a second joining the first too soon, was burning bliss that raced through your veins. 

His tongue hangs from his mouth, drool dangling obscenely from the end of it; he leans forward enough that it drips over his prick, the added wetness making everything so much louder as his rhythm sped up. “Come on, sweetness, fuck that pretty pussy for me,” he pants, his eyes glued to where your fingers begin thrusting into yourself, the drip of your arousal leaking from your stretched entrance. “Nice and loud so the camera picks it up.”

Your eyes dart to the surveillance camera in the corner of the room that the two of you had come jolting out of, the lens wide and glaring and pointed right at you. “You’re recording?” You ask breathlessly, hot desire flashing through you at the idea of him coming back to this moment between trials, looking at a playback of you fucking yourself on your fingers like a whore just because he told you, because he wanted to watch you do it. 

“She won’t let us stay here forever,” he says, a harsh grunt tearing free of his throat as his strokes pick up speed, slick, rhythmic sounds that echo in your ear and make your head slow and fuzzy. As he says it, the whole realm seems to creak and groan and shift, like reaffirming that the Entity was displeased with how you were using her little world of chaos. “Just getting a little something to tide me over til next time.”

Next time. A moan slips from between your lips, letting yourself lean back further against the cushions so you can angle your fingers correctly to brush against the textured spot of sensitive tissue inside. “What’s the plan for next time?” You inquire, watching his fingers glide effortlessly over the illuminated flesh of his cock- he seems to harden further at your words, leaking from the tip in a way that makes your mouth water. With any luck, your next encounter would involve actually getting to touch him; to feel all that hard flesh under your hands, raking divots into his skin, tasting the salty musk of his precum on your tongue before sinking into his lap. Your cunt flutters uselessly around your fingers, pleasurable but not enough when you think about being stuffed full with the promising erection that Vox held in his fist.

“Once I get rid of your little friends,” he says in a stage whisper, “I’m going to d̸̡̩͍̔ͥ͜ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊s̩͙͖̋͛͟t̴͕͖͓̀r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚y̯̤͑́́̓́ y̯̤͑́́̓́ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚û̶͙̽̿͆̈.” His hand flies in slick strokes over his cock as he races towards completion, the pixels of his eyes not even blinking as he watches you desperately try to shove your fingers further, reach as deep as you knew he would. The corruption of his voice, like his internal system was at its very limits, makes you clench hard around your fingers, arousal burning in every bit of skin that was under his gaze. “Bend you over the closest surface and fuck you stupid- make sure every time you catch a glimpse of my cameras you remember being stretched around my prick and b͔͔̳͈̊̆ͥ͂͜͝ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ to cum.”

Your legs tremble, muscles tensing as your orgasm barrels closer. “Oh God,” you moan, so close that every part of you aches with the need for release- your head thrashes against the cushions of the couch, nerves overstimulated and raw and eyes locked on where his thumb brushed against his head, the entire length twitching in his grip as he watches you in turn.

“Or maybe I’ll let them live and fill up that sweet mouth first,” he grunts, “see if your muscle memory is good enough to do a generator while I fuck your face- better not fuck it up unless you want your teammates to see you g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠i̵͓͙̱͚̎͟n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ for a killer’s cock-” Static flashes across his screen, a sudden snowstorm that glitches his face out before he lurches forward, his free hand gouging deep gashes into the arm of the couch you lay across. “F̵̦̺͕́̐͟û̶͙̽̿͆̈c̷̹͖͋́̃k̶̸͙̭̹͆͟, g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞ c̷̹͖͋́̃û̶͙̽̿͆̈m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡--”

The camera in the corner goes dark as he spills over his fingers, the glow lightly flashing up the length of his shaft with every pulse into his hand- his release splashes across your bared skin, hot and thick, a deep, dark flash of arousal through your core at the sensation. You’re a hair trigger away from your own orgasm when he pulls his claws from the couch arm and stills your hands. The burning pleasure cools, frustration taking its place at his interruption until you see his face has come back, his eyes dark and drool dripping from the edges of his razor sharp teeth.

“Open those lips for me, sugar,” he says softly, and you do so with no hesitation; his claws slip between your lips and over your tongue, the salty, musky taste of his cum overwhelming your senses. You try in vain to get your fingers moving again, Vox’s hand squeezing lightly to deter the attempted movements. “Suck,” he says darkly, his left eye glowing red and swirling, but you’d have done it even without the compulsion that weaved through your mind, so desperate for whatever pleasure he could give you that you’d do whatever he asked. 

You apply the suction he’s requested, hollowing your cheeks and sliding your tongue between his fingers, licking every drop of his release that you can find. He keeps those fingers in your mouth and uses his other hand to knock yours away from your pussy, careful with his claws as he tears your soaked panties from your body and swipes his fingers through the slick of your arousal. You moan around his fingers when he slides a digit into you, long and strong and immediately putting pressure right where you need it, where you couldn’t properly reach before. “That’s fucking right,” he growls, and the gravel in his voice has your cunt clamping down on him when he pushes another finger in, thrusting fast and hard- the coil in your abdomen tenses, drool and humiliating noises escaping through your parted lips as he drags you to the edge. “Go on, baby, fucking s̩͙͖̋͛͟c̷̹͖͋́̃r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡ f̷̵̫̞̉͢ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊…”

Your orgasm rips through you like a hook to the shoulder, every muscle clenching hard, your soft inner walls fluttering as Vox’s hand is drenched. Your veins are alight with electric pleasure that’s prolonged with every additional push of his fingers fucking in and out of you, his thumb coming up to brush insistently at your clit. The added sensation toes the line of too much, the pleasure almost painful as he works you straight through one orgasm to another, his eyes- and the camera- never leaving your body as it seizes up again, Vox’s presence finally leaving your mouth so you can whimper and cry his name loud enough to echo in the empty house.

When he finally withdraws from the clutch of your pussy, his fingers are soaked and dripping with your release- he brings them to his mouth, long tongue darting out to lick you from his skin. He slides a hand under your head and tilts your face to the corner of the room. “Smile pretty for the camera,” he says, letting his tongue trail around the shell of your ear, and you feel a fucked out grin steal across your features before he lets you collapse into the cushions again.

Everything is pleasant and fuzzy- your body still tingles from the aftershocks of two vigorous orgasms, and Vox’s arms are strong and muscular under your back as he lifts you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and he’s repositioning you to rest against his shoulder, standing and lifting you from the couch with ease. “Fuck, I knew you’d be good for me. Stay just like that, yeah?” He makes his way through the house, and as you walk you can hear the hum of the hatch- it seemed like now that you had both finished, he was going to let you escape…

But your eyes open when the hum of the hatch fades, Vox’s grip still strong on your waist as he also bypasses the exit gate. “Um- Vox?” You crane your neck to see him striding purposefully towards the hook in the middle of the road, the Entity’s claws already poised and ready above it. 

Panic overrides the soft pliancy that had taken over your body, immediately struggling against the firm hold that he had on you- but you’d never managed to successfully wiggle free of him in any trial. “Don’t be like that,” he chides you, your movement at least pulling him a little off course. “It’s nothing personal, doll- we had a good time together but at the end of the day, business is business! Gotta answer to the lady upstairs- don’t hold it against me next time.” He passes by a pallet, and in a surge of desperation you reach for it- your fingers just manage to catch it, pulling hard so it slams into his body, a solid sound that echoes in the empty realm.

It’s enough- just barely, but it’s enough. His grip loosens and you drop from his shoulder, and you take the brief moment of his confusion to slam his head down hard into the wood. It breaks under the force of him, the sound of shattering glass and cursing filling your ears before you dart away on shaky legs, not waiting to see the aftermath.

The hatch isn’t far away, and you see him stand from where you had slammed him down- cobweb fractures span across his face, and his eyes are fractured and angry in every piece of broken glass visible. “It’s nothing personal,” you call to him, and you can see the pieces of his expression glitch out- whether it’s shock, anger, admiration, you can’t tell, but you aren’t going to take the time to figure it out. “Don’t hold it against me next time!” You drop into the darkness of the hatch, his frustrated scream echoing in your head as he fades from view.