#this man has mouth dexterity

[azuretiger]

You know that video of the dog. He can flip it over the bridge of his nose like that.

ko-fi

[janumun]

Painted Red (LaDS Sylus - NSFW ABCs Headcanon]

Rated: NSFW/18+

Words: ~4k

Tags: oral, vaginal and anal sex, usage of toys, fingering, enemies to lovers dynamic/passing usage of guns, bondage, semi-public sex, improper use of Evol, switching power roles, dirty talk, masturbation, mirrors, orgasm denial, praise kink

Author’s Notes: A little treat to myself right before Sylus’ release. Please take careful note of those tags and content warnings before you proceed.

I hope you enjoy your read as much I enjoyed myself writing this!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)   

With the state of indecent disarray one usually ends up in —  quivering, drenched thighs, nerveless arms useless by your sides, a flushed face and an inability to catch your breath — after a single night spent in Sylus’ bed, aftercare is a necessity post-coitus. And fortunately, the man, damn him, knows and understands so, very well.  

And so, he has a pitcher of cold water, prepared well beforehand — even on days your dalliances are not what the two of you intend when you meet — ready and at your disposal by the bedside.  

The moment he pulls out of you, another short one spared to ensure you are still there, with him and well, he’s moving off of you. A clean robe he throws on, loose, over his body before striding over to the nightstand to pour you a glass.  

A cool, pleasant palm he eases against the back of your head to raise, as he encourages you take those big, long gulps of fluid to quench your thirst and replenish your energies. “There you go, well done,” his low baritone settling deep within your belly, your core instinctively clenching in on emptiness to hear his unexpected praise for something so very mundane.  

Truly, you do not know what this man is doing to your body and mind.  

Extra 

Sylus slides into bed with you for the remainder of your night and tucks close under the covers, for your much needed repose.  

Morning afters, you greet with a fresh shower (and on days you insist, with him), a pair of clean towels and a pressed outfit, ready for you to change into and later settle in for a healthy, fulfilling breakfast, whipped up to perfection by his personal chef. All of his house-staff, professional, discrete and well-versed in handling affairs of the Onychinus scion’s household. Whatever the two of you share within the confines of your privacy — animosities or amourous rendezvous —  remains entombed, within that very space.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)   

Sylus takes pride within his dexterity, particularly that of his limbs (...particularly that of his hands, his fingers when it comes to matters of the bedroom).  

One would hardly expect a man of his body stature to possess the nimble flexibility that resides compacted within his body. An erroneous judgment that often proves fatal to foolish foes within a fight.  

And with you, he puts that lethal agility to use: within the push of thick digits up into your clenching walls, the roughened pads of them swiftly seeking and pressing up against the spot at your frontal walls that makes you wail, makes you twist. Makes that body of yours gush against his insistent palm in an orgasm vehement enough, you see dark blanket across your eyes for the scarcity of mere seconds. Truly bringing upon you, as they call it, la petite mort. A tiny death.  

Sylus is extremely fond of your face. It’s not because of the way you look, a mere pretty face in the crowd he would simply gloss over; it’s the striking catch of your facial tells that steal his gaze and keep it captive.  

The wary intensity of your eyes the first time you laid eyes on him. 

Or the way your brow knit in firm concentration when you had him tossed to the ground, once. Nearly taking him by something almost akin to surprise, the weight of your gun, incessant, against his chest. Your mouth turning sour in restless irritation when he dared try tease at your sensibilities, a harsh knee you plunged deeper into his torso.  

The quick work of your mind — a testament of its well-endowed intellect and wit, a Hunter of good repute —  channeling brilliance in crisp words uttered from rouged lips, when the two of you, on one certain occasion, found yourselves in a particularly dire situation. One you’d agreed to accompany him to, undercover, as an associate of the Onychinus’ head.   

Truly, he has been snared with your fascinating mien since the day he laid his eyes upon you, your expressions spinning — amusing — as if placed upon a carousel, the longer he spends in your company.  

And from there on, is born a desire to witness even more.  

When you drive him back into the covers with the force of your wet kiss, parting untimely before he has the proper chance to put his tongue into your mouth and taste for himself (there will be further opportunities, he holds himself). 

The way that well-coveted, devious tongue sweeps a slow path against your upper lip —just out of reach — edge to edge. The harsh dash of red, high across your cheeks, the intensity of your breaths, untamed as his. And those beautiful eyes, a riotous mix of vexation and desire so incinerating, it turns Sylus’s cock to unbearably hard stone beneath the cleft of your ass, he bucks up against you just to see that wheeling carousel within your gaze, shift forms for him, watch that mouth swear at the exhilarating stimulation of your combined symphony, he knows, you too feel. Just for him alone.  

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)  

Sylus enjoys the slick feeling of your skin stained by his cum; that exact moment he pulls out of your quivering walls to release himself in thick spurts down the length of your folds. Slips the head of his cock against the smears of his release, before pushing back, slow, once more into your depths.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)  

There is no secrecy or shame involved with a man in possession of as poised a self-assurance as Sylus; his sexual tendencies he not only owns up to and understands but has no qualms about elucidating his wants in great... obscene detail, to his partner, you.  

He wants you to be knowing exactly what it is you are doing to arouse him and exactly how to get him up to that stage.  

His palms curving about your thighs, scaffoldings of heated flesh that climb up and slink slow beneath the cut of your dress. Covetous fingers that trace delicate patterns against the lining of your panties and yet you quiver underneath that feather touch alone. “Such fine lace.” Garnet gaze, sharp, as it meets yours within the tight, much too confined space of his car. 

The chauffeur in front, separated a mere layer away from the two of you as Sylus wrenches you onto his spread lap, the firm muscle of his thighs unyielding beneath as they shift, subtle, to press you deeper against a broad chest.  

Index and middle scouring a hot, glancing path against your clothed slit before withdrawing, leaving you to scramble for purchase against the fine pressed collar of his shirt, creasing it within your hold.  

Your question snipped short with the soft, soughing whisper at your ear, voicing his true intentions. “I’d very much like a memento, to remember our evening by. Your panties...” Devious fingers pinching at the apex of your heat. “They will do well, sweetheart.” 

A moan tumbles past your lips before you can smother the sound —   you break it against the sweep of his mouth, welcoming —  at such a scandalous request, bold, without a lick of remorse. Just as the man himself.  

“I trust you will help me then, yes?” A long, tapered finger, pressing above underwear, right at your slit. Course thumb leisurely stroking its fire against that tight bead of pleasure. A rumbled groan he breaks free against your ear to feel the wanton slick of your arousal, soaking right through fabric. “That’s right, drench them well. I want your fragrance long on my gift, even after your departure.”  

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)  

Sylus has been out and about. He isn’t capricious enough to have changed sexual partners as frequently as the rumors around Zone N109 might paint him to have, but he is certainly no stranger to sex.  

His preference before you, usually having been for casual, short-lived, discrete dalliances, to indulge in bodily pleasures and no more beyond. With a man as committed to his goals as Sylus is, with a clear concept of how he wishes to manipulate the underworld to his liking, he does not spare much attention to subsidiary gratifications. 

With people at large, he is apathetic to that which does not catch his interest. There is very few within this world that truly does.  

And you, now, stand among those rare few treasures that have all of his attentions arrested. 

He finds himself wanting to captivate you, in turn, not just in body but mind. Truly, he finds you a fascinating being.  

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)  

Seated within his lap, cock nestled warm within clenching depths. 

Hair, a spread of wild locks across the coverlet, mirroring the writhing state of your sweat-drenched body underneath his, as he thrusts into you. 

Hungering fingers clawing at the expanse of his chest, down the strength of his shoulders as you furiously grind upon his cock, intoxicatedly chasing an orgasm just within reach. Strong fingers, he rushes down the length of your clenching abdomen, inquisitive palm digging just beneath your naval to feel for the vibrations that ripple across pliant skin with the vehemence of your thrusts onto his cock.  

Sylus relishes the privilege of your private, salacious unravelings, brought upon by him alone, by what he does to you and what you force out of him, for your singular pleasure. Desires heightened to witness you using his body to bring yourself to shattering ruin, it floods his veins with inebriating arousal so heavy, his body aches with the force of his want. 

As such any which way he takes or lets you take, which allows him privy to your raw, unfettered emotions rushing across your face [See above: B, Body Part] is what he enjoys most. Bringing him to completion the fastest when he is able to witness your mouth breaking apart in moans, watch sex mussed strands of hair stick to your temples, mixing in with the sweat of your body, tear-streaked pleasure smeared vivid across your cheeks. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)  

Your sexual escapades are hot, often times competitive and cathartic; an unfettering of strangled desires. Bursting to the surface within the fever of your intimacy. Arduous cravings that are hardly scotched in a singular session. 

Vocal and perverse though he may be in tongue when it comes to your love-making, Sylus is not one for poetic romanticisms waxed within the bedroom. A man of action rather than ornate words. 

His regard for you exhibited in the grip of sturdy arms that clutch you back against his body, feeling for each part of you pressed against his. In the tongue that laves at sweat soaked skin in soothing mercy, from the relentless assault of his hips against your ass.  

Roughened thumbs that swab at tears from red-rimmed eyes, post-coitus, a gentle towel that skates soft down the quivering length of your ruined body before tucking it clean into fresh robes.  

The manner in which he chooses to stay close and warm your bed, instead of leaving right after, even after the fire within your veins has long cooled itself. Foregoing his own personal mandate, to never spare a single trace of himself behind.  

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)  

Sylus takes exceptional care to maintain good hygiene at all times; a man who looks and smells just as good, the pleasant, sharp undertones to his cologne, having you canting your nose into the space of his neck, as you breathe. 

 Right at that tendon wrung taut with the press of your teeth into a harsh bite, to choke the scream that climbs up your throat with the hard propulsions of his cock into your depths.  

Downstairs, he is fairly clean; a shave on the regular, a mere fine dusting of ivory tracing a path from navel, downwards until it disappears beneath the stretch of his pants.  

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)  

[Also see above: G] Choosing to bury his skewed smiles against your wet moans, the bite of restive teeth you sink into his lip, pulling it wider.  The anchor he throws forwards for both your sakes in the entwining of digits, meshing tight against the other to ride out your highs.  

Sinking a bite in farewell right above your left breast before you part, so he knows how that heart bears its frenzied beats for him alone. A reminder he leaves upon your body to ache by, until the next time he finds himself buried within you.  

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)  

Sylus lies in possession of an exceedingly high sexual drive. And herculean, in-humane self-control to boot. Experienced though he may be, due to the course of his sexual history; he’s been able to keep his casual encounters to a minimum due to how well he is able to compartmentalize his needs.  

Overwhelming desires at times, he often spilled within the confines of an oiled fist. At others, tamping down the more primal parts of himself, until he felt it turn a necessity.  

After you, he allows himself release from that tight-fisted restraint more often. Finishing himself in white relief, trickling down his fingers on the days (...hours) he does not have your warm body to sheath into, does not have the symphony of your cries to help him along.  

Your visage in mind, sharp, jagged; he’s already expecting your next meeting with bated pleasure. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)  

Sylus loves the color red on you, appreciates fiercely how becoming it is on you.

Loves to buy you dresses — scarlet as his eyes, as his desires —  to put on, when you let him. Personally ensures, first-hand, they are well-fitted, within the confines of a cosy dressing room. 

When large hands reach to flit past the split of your dress, cup about your ass, fingers drifting about your waist. “A perfect fit.”He praises, to your reflection within the body-length mirror. Skating further up your body to finger the strap of the outfit, skirting it, slow, down your shoulder. Indolent digits, index and thumb, pinching at the hardened peaks of a breast. Curving a hefty palm about the clothed flesh. “You’re a sight to behold.” 

Red, when he curls a palm in between the cleft of your legs, leaves your flesh smarting with the short, pinching grinds against an increasingly swollen clit, stimulated for hours on end. Ruby, to match the flush at your cheeks. Scarlet, down the crescent of your breasts.  

Wine, when you make his color spill with the bite of harsh teeth into his lip, bursting blood in between your mouths, as you withdraw on panting breaths.  Tipping down in willing obeisance — he gifts just to you— with the violent tug of your fingers, directing him back against your mouth. Lapping at his wound, marking him for your own.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)  

Anytime, any place, any where.  

There isn’t an authority powerful enough on Earth to stay his hand, once the two of you decide you want your bodies against each other. Sylus does not shy from an opportunity presented, and if there is none, he makes one.  

In seclusion, or in public— 

Crowds melting away the moment his fingers whip about your waist, stealing you away into private silence. The weight of his Evol has barely scattered from your shoulders, before the strength of his body replaces it, driving you back against a carved pillar. Mouth pulsing against yours in a slow, heavy kiss. Wet, hot; parting from your tongue on a conjoined string of damp pleasure, that bows and breaks under the weight of gravity.  

There isn’t a moment he does not desire you and he certainly has no specious sensibilities to appeal to, when it comes to the chance to indulge you.  

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)  

Curses, nothing quite turns Sylus on than to see you flourish in the place you shine best. When you are dedicated and singular-minded, in pursuit of your target. When you are forced to contend against situations far out of your control, compelled to navigate the perilous dangers that come with your line of work, be it the Tenebrae, Wanderers or something else entirely. And rise above it all, through the sheer drive you possess, a stubborn nature unable to give up on what you believe in. Not unlike his own, a kinship he finds within you.  

A desire to obtain that fire for his own. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)  

There is little Sylus would ever deny you. Certainly, keep from you, briefly; demands he may not fulfill immediately, in the pursuit of your combined pleasures. 

Sharing you with another, however, is a stringent boundary. 

Despite that first impression he settles, of immovable composure, he’s territorial, rather like a murder of crows, over you. Your heart, your sole focus, he desires to monopolize for his own. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)  

Having your mouth on his cock is stimulating. Having your positions swapped and your ass grinding hard against the strength of his jaw, however, is what truly incinerates the blood within his veins. The leverage it bestows within his hold, to have you. Manipulate your pleasure to his liking, set the blood thrumming high within your own body.

Sturdy arms that cord about the plush of quivering thighs, garnet gaze that rolls up to capture yours, accompanying the wicked bite of teeth into the pliant flesh of your thigh. The flat of his tongue running from base to hood, ensuring not a single drop is wasted.  

Relishing his victory in the slow sweep of lids falling shut, the open grin that pulls taut, with the harsh, fluttering pull of your fingers at his hair, shoving him deeper into your pussy. Signaling your utter defeat. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)  

Sylus is in it for the long game. And no matter what it takes, no matter the cost, he sees to it that he gets what he wants.  

Oh, him fracturing from that torturous tug-and-pull you’ve got going on, is but a feverish wish on your part. Sylus lives for the pleasure of your ruination, delights in the number of times he can crest you to your climax. And when not. 

Part desire, part the necessity to have you well and utterly drenched before he even thinks to breach that soft, quivering flesh. Extended periods of torturous teasing foreplay, obligatory if he is to have penetrative sex with you. His size, he understands, not an easy burden to accommodate.  

He often starts out slow; long, deep thrusts into your body as it clenches and moulds against the shape of him. Stimulated eventually enough, you drip copious against him, pleasure over-riding any remaining scraps of  fleeting discomfort entirely until you’re clawing at the sturdy strength of his back. 

Fingernails pulsing at the firm flesh of his ass, his name tumbling incoherent from a parched mouth, until he’s driving into you with the vehemence of an untethered beast. Guttural groans and whispered sighs, splintering against the give of your neck in tandem to your mounting screams. Quenched against the bite of a breast.  

Letting your desires burn in between you until the moment they’re blanketed, hours later, into the dark of night.  

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)  

Sylus does not wait. When he witnesses desire pool within that provoked gaze, watches the fire that burns parched, as you seek for moisture with the slow slide of a pink tongue against your rouged lip.  

Helping you along into a dark crevice, if you’re out in public. Drawing your panties down against your thighs to reach for the place in between your legs. Roughened fingers plucking at wetness, dragging an indolent path from your slit to the apex of your sex. Curving one long, tapered digit into your clenching walls, stroking, until he brings you crashing for him.  

Proud mouth pulsing a kiss in hushed laughter against your temple, as he assists you in putting yourself back in spruced order.  

Sylus never goes the entire way, when the two of you are rushing against the clock. Ample time, he requires — and makes certain he’d have that, later — to unwrap and uncover the entirety of you, piece by piece.  

An early aperitif, however, is one he isn’t opposed to, especially when it is served, as intoxicating as you are. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)  

He’s willing and he’s game; a word from you is all he requires before granting you exactly what you desire, in spades.  

There isn’t a thing you could throw his way to turn him off you, Sylus is the kind of man to take it all in stride.  

[See also: L, N and K] 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)  

Oh, he possesses a generous, infuriating amount of discipline; immovable rock in the face of obvious temptation. That does not, however, imply there isn’t a savage beast caged, restless, underneath that cool, tempered demeanor. Sylus merely maintains inhumane control over the leash of that sexuality beneath. And he knows how well to untether it too, once he allows himself to let loose his inhibitions.  

Infinite stores of stamina (for daaays), an extremely brief refractory period and an overwhelming desire to wring you dry, entirely for himself, make for a terrifying combination.  

Your hips would long break before Sylus’ cock ever begun to lose its vigor.  

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)  

Sylus knows an opportunity when he sees one and the chance to have you utterly devastated, is one he never lets up on, and toys are just a welcome addition to his arsenal.  

Pretty little baubles, the two of you purchased together on one of your dates — a discrete, neat store tucked within one of N109’s infamous districts, the way he’d encouraged your fascinated survey of the store’s à la mode selection of vibrators and jeweled plugs, a vaguely amused smile plucking at his mouth. Pulling up every single toy that sparked your fancy for a detailed overview from the ever-present staff, more than happy to answer all your enthused questions.  

Rounding a firm hand about your waist to tug to his side, at the end of your purchase trip, breathing a sensual promise into the cleft of your ear, to let you try them all out in due time. 

And he fulfills it, in equal enthusiasm. 

Deft fingers that press up to slide against the insistent vibrations of the object settled snug into your wet walls. Toying, indolent, at the intensity of its stimulation with sporadic flicks of his Evol. Your stuttered moans clawing higher the longer he keeps you suspended within this torturous state of denial. Rejecting your babbles to let you come, that he’s been at it for hours.  

“Not yet,” he instructs, slipping a cool hand onto the shell of your hip to hold down your senseless bucking.  

It is only several, excruciating denied orgasms later does he tug free the plug at your ass, pressing his cock in lieu of its emptiness. And the way your hole clamps down in a vice at the base of him drags a shuddered, guttural groan from him. Your body stimulated so beyond sense, it drags an exhilarated laugh from his chest, in conjunction to your lost moans. 

“This is it, lovely. Are you enjoying yourself that much?” Mouth pulling wider at your vehement nods. “Do you desire more?” Sinking three fingers up to the knuckle into your pussy, without warning. A quick tug of them upwards, has his energy tinkering at the vibrator’s intensity, sending it buzzing higher and you wail your curses at him. “Hah.” He shudders above, pressing deeper against your back. “That’s it, I like those sounds.” 

“Sing higher, darling.” 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)  

Oh, his craving for riling you up and goading you is infinite. 

Even when you have him physically bound and at your mercy; the gorgeous, insouciant pull of that mouth into a skewed smile —  a crafted calculation — has you feeling as if he still holds the entirety of a winning deck within those trussed hands.  

Through each singular groan, every heaving breath and grunt, a disquieting, infuriating grin tugs constant at lips that demand further of your cruelty. As if a perverse beast actually enjoying the cage it belongs in.  

The ram of a harsh heel, deep into his abdomen, has his grunting a long, gravely sound, Sylus’ body driving further into the savage crush of your shoe — pleasure so intoxicating in the knot of strong brows, that parted mouth —  it stirs fiery arousal deep within your own belly.  

Traitorous wetness trailing down the length of your thighs, arousal that Sylus convulses against the binds of his shackles for. Manages to dip forwards just enough —  the brute —  to catch the trickle of wetness against an adept tongue, at your thigh, and lap. Garnet gaze seeking and capturing yours in a haze so vicious your fingers fist harsh into his hair, in an unforgiving pull. Your moans, he steals — victorious — for himself.  

“That is surely not all you can manage to do with me, can you, darling?” 

 And you can’t be too dishonest with yourself any longer; your orgasms far more fervid and ruinous when he’s had you both dancing along to his little cat-and-mouse game for hours on end, teasing you both with the pantomime of the act. Until, finally, finally, his cock plunges past aching, swollen folds and into your drenched, clenching walls.  

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)  

Sylus’ moans are low, licentious burrs; throaty whispers he secretes right against your ear, to turn your legs to quivering flesh. He doesn’t require his voice to rise above a certain octave, not when he has you gushing on his face with the vibrations that buffet deep into your pussy, when that pleasured rumble of his breaks right in between your legs. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)  

Sylus does not care much for binding or detaining you — restraining your senses — for personal pleasure.  

He allows you use of your precious fetters and restraints, for what it does for him — an opportunity to maneuver your pleasure — and for the two of you, that is... if you can manage to bring him under, to begin with.  

It merely isn’t something that works for him, in roles reversed, when he finds himself sufficient enough to draw forth the pleasure he can achieve for the two of you, with his body alone. 

He has innumerable ways within his arsenal he can bring you to mind-numbing finish with, and he doesn’t require the comfort of a rope for that.  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)  

Sylus’ cock is a beautiful, symmetrical thing — rather intimidating at first glance. He teaches your body to take it well, in long, pleasurable lessons. Curving, slight. towards his abdomen. A thick shaft running up into a flared glans that burns in pleasurable penetration the first time you take him in. Numerous, undulating veins along the length, that bump perfect against the surface of your tongue when you swirl around it. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)  

[Incredibly high as detailed at great length in J and S] 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Sleep is the farthest thing from mind when the Onychinus’ head has you tucked at last, exhausted, within his bed. His body — long programmed — hardly permitting the scope of vulnerability slumber brings, in your presence.  

And so, he puts that time to other pursuits. Often nights, choosing to watch over your sleep, carding the occasional stray strand of hair back against your ear. At others, he brings work to bed, spectacled scarlet gaze scouring over lines of text and diagrammatic compilations.  

Not choosing to desert your side, even once, throughout the entire night, protective over your own vulnerability, for as long as it lasts. 

End Notes: Once my fingers actually started on this man, I could not stop even if I wanted to. Sylus has me gripped by my very throat and that worries me greatly LOL.

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[amarynthian-chronicles]

Equivalent Value

Sebastian Solace x Reader

(warning: suggestive themes)

"Come on, Seb, don't be like that. Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

He reached to place a clawed finger under your chin, tilting his head and grinning, narrowing his eyes.

"You are lovely when you beg. My answer remains negative."

"You are a jerk."

"A merchant's honour is very important, little light. As much as I enjoy your charming pleas, I cannot go against my own rules. You need to offer me something of equivalent or approximate value. And your sweet "pretty please" is not going to cut it."

He was taunting you, relishing the power that your despair offered. Perhaps your own pain was a soothing balm to calm his own wretchedness. It was more tolerable to listen to the shrieks of others than one's own, after all.

Still, you refused his answer. You frowned, crossing your arms over your chest.

"It is becoming insanely difficult to scavenge things and I am just trying to survive at this point. If you want to keep your favourite toy in a functional state, that will require some concessions on your end. Can you please make an exception this time? I am desperate here."

Sebastian could not deny the logic of your statement. You had never allowed yourself to be placed in such a position, and perhaps your claims of not having any research files to bargain with were truthful.

Magnificent. He could make you dance to his music.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours, cruel words dripping like poisonous honey from them.

"How desperate are you, my wayward light?"

Mind games with monsters were a dangerous thing and you would normally do your best to win. However, this time you did not have any advantage and you simply wished to get the needed supplies. You sighed.

"What do you want?"

"The most precious thing you could offer to a starving man in this very moment."

You did not stop him when his strong arms snaked around your waist, engulfing and capturing you. You were his prize, the most valuable type of treasure he could acquire. His ally, his accomplice, sharing his secrets.

You were well aware that he wanted you, your mind, body, and soul. Whether you wished to admit it or not, you yourself were the most powerful card you had against him.

"I hereby offer myself. It is all I have. Will this suffice?"

To your surprise, he gently reached for your hand, kissing it in a gentlemanly manner.

"The payment is more than acceptable."

You blinked in confusion at the sudden change of demeanour. Yes, the feral desire was still there, but his actions were now coupled with a certain tenderness that bordered on worship.

Sebastian took his sweet time, placing many gentle kisses along your hand, then upon each finger. His teeth grazed slowly along your wrist. Your cheeks were burning.

"Oh, my."

"My blessing, my little light, sweet salvation. For years, I had remained here, condemned, left to rot in this oceanic prison. And yet, an angel has been sent to me, tormenting me, mocking me with their warmth, their hope. I shall feast, I shall drink that nectar."

"You send such mixed signals, you know?"

"To keep you guessing, of course."

"Bastard."

His lips claimed yours, eager, showing his claim. Your softness drove him mad, his long tongue reaching to explore the warm and welcoming cavern of your mouth. You made little muffled squeaks, surprised at the sudden surge of passion. Even more so at the length of his rather dexterous tongue that was exploring with pure abandon.

Sebastian decided to savour the moment, gliding his claws along your sides, grinning as he felt you shudder under his touch. Such softness. He had been deprived of the pleasures of simple touch and affection for so long.

Deciding that he should grant you the mercy of allowing you to breathe once more, he released you from the kiss. He nuzzled the soft silken skin under your neck, allowing your warmth to comfort him. Your pulse, your beating heart, a symphony only for him to enjoy.

Sebastian had to gather some control over himself, resisting the need to claim you in that very moment. No, he wished to slowly unwrap his present and enjoy each part of the payment that had been offered. Still, his three hands could not help themselves, fondling and scratching, teasing you all over. You were still gasping for breath, holding onto him.

"Seb..."

"I am busy, darling."

"Don't tear the fabric, I don't have a whole closet of clothing, you know."

"Worry not, I shan't disrobe you just yet. Your payment will be in several installments. This is merely the first one. As for the garments, I can procure you whatever you wish."

"Good thing you didn't print a receipt, while you are at it."

Strong hands kept massaging and squeezing your sides and hips, earning your sweet hums and moans as a reward. You relaxed in his hold, leaning your head on his chest, closing your eyes.

"A little to the right, upwards. My back has been killing me for days, this is wonderful. You should be a masseuse, Seb. Three arms work magic."

He laughed gently at your nonsense, resting his chin on your soft head.

"Of course, my dear light."

[soullumii]

sleepyhead | gale dekarios x afab!reader

(18+!!!) afab!reader. second person pov. literally just smut: oral (f receiving), piv, dirty talk, consensual somnophilia. gale lives to please as always

my first gale fic... this man has taken over my entire life.

2k words

Gale’s lips press against yours in the dark, gentle and coaxing. A push and pull. You blink blearily awake from slumber as his hand finds your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleep shift. His brown hair falls over the two of you like a curtain, shielding you from the terrors of the darkness.  

“Mm hello,” you purr against his lips. “What time is it?” You ask when he pulls back. He looks a bit wild, pupils blown wide, his eyes practically look black even in the dim candlelight. He’s breathing heavily, his gaze traveling over you, heated, like the air surrounding fire. He doesn’t answer. 

“Gale?” you repeat, warmth pooling in your belly at the pure desperation on his face. At the want curling in his eyes like a flame.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rough, as though he’s parched. “Though I cannot stop thinking about you. I must…” he trails off, mind moving faster than his mouth can.

One thing you love about Gale is his ability to talk for seemingly hours on end with such eloquence and poetry. But when he’s like this…already hard against your thigh, slowly rutting his hips in circles, captured within pleasure, the words seem to leave him. You love it just as much, if not more. 

He leans in and runs his nose along your throat, breath ghosting over your skin. His teeth graze you, and his tongue follows, licking a stripe up your throat. You moan shakily, cunt clenching around nothing. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, though it’s more breath than substance. Your brain is already beginning to short circuit, especially when the hand on your waist travels down to your thigh, fingertips pressing into the muscle there. 

“You just looked so beautiful on the battlefield today… I tried to contain myself because we had so much to do, but… fuck,” he breathes this against your neck, desperate. He hardly ever uses such vulgar language. “I need you, love.” 

“So you really weren’t lying when you told me you were turned on by my fighting,” you say, surprised.

“I am a lot of things, darling, but a liar is not one of them.”

The sound of his inhale as he leans down to kiss you again sends more molten pleasure swirling through you. 

His hips press against yours, grinding against your clothed cunt in a steady rhythm. You moan into his mouth, your hands reaching up to clench at his sleep shirt stretched over his broad back. 

You’re still sleepy as his hand drifts to the hem of your shift. He slowly pulls it up your thighs, up over your breasts, revealing your undergarments. He paws at your waistband like a cat begging for food. You lift your hips so he can pull them down over your ass. He undoes the ties to your bralette and slides it off your shoulders. 

Gale kisses his way down your body, stopping to close his warm mouth over a nipple while his dexterous hand squeezes and tugs at the other. You moan lightly, pleasure easing through you. He hums appreciatively against your skin, and the vibrations travel pleasantly through you.

“Gale…” you half murmur half moan as he moves his mouth to your other nipple. “I can hardly stay awake…” You feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness. The gentle chirping of the crickets outside your tent doesn’t help.

“Of course,” he says, leaning back. “We can stop.”

“No—no wait,” you stop him with a hand curled around his wrist. “You can keep going while I’m sleeping, I don’t mind.” 

His eyes darken, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. “Really? Are you quite sure?”

You nod with a sleepy smile and settle back comfortably. “Mhm.” 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips. 

Your eyes flutter shut, your breathing slowing as you succumb to your exhaustion. Your limbs feel heavy, even as Gale continues his way down your body. 

“You’re so gorgeous, so perfect,” he whispers into your skin. His fingers curl into your thighs before he slowly pulls them apart, baring yourself to him.

He runs his hands appreciatively up and down your thighs, squeezing and kneading before hooking them over his shoulders.

Gale presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh before retreating. You feel his lips again a second later, just between your thigh and cunt, mere centimeters from where you’re wet and aching for him.

And then you feel his warm breath puffing against your core, and your body squirms impatiently. You peek an eye open to watch him.

He looks so handsome as he glances up at you, eyes soft, mouth twitched into a smirk. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I am,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “Just wanted to admire the view one last time.” 

He chuckles lowly, “Sweet dreams, darling.”

He doesn’t move for a while, and you find yourself drifting off in the stillness. Your breathing slows, your mind growing quiet as sleep takes over you.

---

The moment your breaths even out as your hands fall slack against your sides, Gale presses his face between your thighs. He uses the flat of his tongue to lick a long, hot stripe through your folds. You taste delicious on his tongue, and gods you’re so wet. You’re soaking his beard, and he’s hardly been between your thighs for longer than ten seconds.

He doesn’t care. You keep releasing cute little moans in your sleep as he takes you apart brick by brick. Or rather… lick by lick.

His hands grip your waist, keeping you close. Your hips buck involuntarily to meet his mouth, grinding against his face. Even in your sleep you’re seeking out pleasure from him. 

God forbid he won’t deliver.

He pulls back one of his hands to slide a finger into you. It goes easily. He adds another without any resistance. You’re so incredibly wet. He wants to remain between your thighs forever. Your sweet, slick arousal runs down his hand to his wrist, and he bends his head to lick it off. 

His hips rut against the floor of his tent, the act of eating you out so arousing to him he has to seek his own pleasure to mitigate the pain. He doesn’t mind. He’d rather see you cum over and over again before he ever does.

He slowly thrusts his fingers into you while mouthing at your clit, delighting in your shaky breaths and wanton moans. You look gorgeous, brows screwed together, sweat beading on your temple. You’re going to wake up soon, and damnit he’ll make sure it’s while you’re cumming.

---

Warmth kindles between your thighs, pleasure and arousal pooling deep in your belly, tingling in your toes and rising through you.

Sleep drifts away from you, hanging onto the recesses of your mind, but ultimately not strong enough against the building pleasure you feel. 

You chase the feeling, the promise of sweet release. Your surroundings slowly begin to materialize around you. The feeling of your bedroll clenched between your fingers, the undeniable feeling of a mouth between your legs, the sound of low, rumbling, appreciative moans that vibrate through you.

Even the sound of your own cries are registering in your mind. 

The melting pleasure collapses into one pinpoint. A supernova explodes within you as your clit is sucked diligently while the two, long fingers buried inside you hook to press against your g-spot. 

Your back bows, eyes flying open as you cum against Gale’s warm and inviting mouth with a cry of his name. He guides you through it with gentle laps of his tongue through your folds. He mumbles words of encouragement, but they’re lost against your skin. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Gale.”

“Mm.” You can practically feel his pride radiating off of him from making you come. 

He continues to lick you through it until you’re coming again, hands fisted in his hair as his lips suck once more on your clit, his fingers fucking into you. Your legs quiver atop his shoulders, your mind utterly fucked into emptiness.

When it’s all too much you push him away, breathing heavily, contented tears in your eyes.

“Holy shit,” you huff, trying to catch your breath. “Maybe you should wake me up like that more often.”

His eyes sparkle excitedly. “If that is what you wish, I’d be glad to.” 

“You are such a giver. You really should let me take care of you sometimes.”

He shrugs. “I like giving. It brings me great pleasure to reside between your thighs for as long as you can stand.”

You sigh at his fanciful words, but you appreciate his adoration all the same. He crawls forward as you lean up to kiss him, the taste of yourself on his tongue rekindling the fire in your gut. His hand winds its way into your hair, the other squeezes your hip. 

“I need you inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “Now.” 

He groans, fingers flexing in your hair. Your body jolts with arousal at the sweet tug. 

“Say no more,” Gale says. “Your wish is my command.”

He takes off his trousers then rolls you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips, pulling your ass up and backwards, and his knee comes between your thighs to press them apart. 

He guides the head of his cock through your slick folds and your hips squirm in anticipation.

He leans across your back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “I wish you could see yourself on the battlefield. The way you look with someone else’s blood on your armor… The flush on your cheeks… The way you breathe… You’re so capable, so strong. I cannot help but stare.”

He eases his cock inside you and the two of you moan in tandem at the delightful feeling. Him, at your warmth. You, at the undeniable feeling of being filled. 

He bites lightly at your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Sometimes I wish I could take you right there. In front of all of our friends and dead foes.”

You clench around him at his words, and he groans, hips snapping forward. You jolt against the bedroll, elbows digging into the feather down material. 

“Gale,” you whimper. 

He hums, “Yes. You’d be saying my name just. Like. That.” He delivers those three last words with hard thrusts, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing in the tent. 

He builds up the pace, fucking into you steadily. Your cheek squishes against your pillow as he fills you, your mind still sleepy but undeniably consumed by lust and love.

“What do you think? Would you like that, love? Would you like to be fucked in front of all our companions?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, please, Gale. Need you—“

“Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs. His hand skates across your stomach as his warm fingers settle over your clit. “As much as I’d love to indulge the fantasy, I’m not sure I’d want them to watch.” 

He begins to circle your clit with reverence, in time with his thrusts as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“I want you all to myself,” he grits. 

You cry out, melting against him, knees buckling as you reach your release. It rips through you, hard and fast. Unrelenting. A wildfire raging through your nerves. 

Gale chases after his own climax, thrusts growing sloppy and deeper, moans and praises spilling from his lips before he finally cums inside you, hips twitching. 

Your body trembles as the aftershocks roll through you. 

You collapse onto the bedroll, breathing heavily, and Gale pulls you into him. You both lie on your sides, him softening inside you. He buries kisses into your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Are you all right?” he asks you, his thumb brushing comfortingly along your rib cage. 

“So good,” you respond, brain blissfully empty, as if the tadpole never existed. You already feel sleep crawling across your mind again, pulling you under. You yawn and grin happily, like a cat that’s gotten its warm milk. 

“Going back to bed already?” he teases, leaning up to press a kiss to your cheek. “I wear you out that much?” 

“Mhmm…”

“All right. Go to sleep darling. I’ll clean you up.”

You’re already halfway asleep when you feel his tongue dip into you once more, licking his cum out from inside you—

Oh well. You can catch up on sleep tomorrow.

[akaneoxo]

Lock the Door

Summary- You forget to lock the door one too many times.

WC-1008

“N-need to c-cum please” 

You whine digging your fingers into your boyfriend's thighs. Your legs are trembling as if threatening to close but Choso hooks them over his knees and slightly spreads his legs wider. Holding yours into place. He huffed a laugh as he watched your toes curl in your cute cream colored thigh highs. “I know, baby.” His voice is tired and low but gentle as he kisses your temple. He circles the pink vibrator against your clit a few more times before dragging it up and down your slit. When the vibrator meets your clit again it's soaking and he turns the setting up higher. 

Your back arches and he presses his other hand against your tummy, pulling you flush against his chest as he hums. Canting your hips up you try to push yourself more fully against the pulsing toy. You're unsure of how long you've been sitting infront the mirror. You fully naked save for thigh high socks. Your boyfriend is still dressed in gray sweatpants and a black shirt. Staring into the mirror you watch him kiss down your neck. Dragging his tongue against your pulse.Then he presses the vibrator directly on your clit and holds it there. Your legs kick out and hand weakly grabs onto his forearm. “W-wait-”

“But this is what you wanted, princess. Don't you want to cum?”

You're nodding your head dumbly as your mouth hangs open. Choso tuts pulling the vibrator away and you whine. Turn off the vibrator your boyfriend places it behind him before running his hands up and down your trembling body. Your mewling hands are scratching at his knees as you try to close your legs to get some sort of relief. If you look hard enough you swear your pussy is visibly pulsing with need. You mewl again and a hand comes down to deliver a hard smack against your clit. You pussy clenches. “Stop being so fussy baby” You huff and turn your head only to see Choso eying your reflection through the full body length mirror in front of you. “”Pleasepleasepleas-”

Choso still doesn't look at you. A hand is squishing your cheeks together and turning you back to your reflection. You watch as his long dexterous fingers reach your puffy clit before circling it gently. Tongue lightly tracing your earlobe before he gently brings it into his mouth. Dragging his teeth against it and you openly moan. He cups your pussy before dragging his thumb across the bud quickly and your so pent up that you can cum just like this if he lets you. But hes not going to let you. You fucked up today. Forgetting to lock the door to your apartment after spending all day with your man. 

Choso has told you at least eight times this week to keep the door locked, but everytime he comes in after his shift the door is left unlocked. Why does he need a spare key at this point? He felt as if the stress of your classes were the reason you have been so forgetful lately. In order to make you feel better he had taken you on a shopping trip before his shift today. Got you the new purse you've been begging him to get you for two weeks among other things. After walking you to the door and bringing everything inside he gave you a forehead kiss before sternly telling you to lock the door. So imagine how pissed he was when he came home at 11pm to see the door not only unlocked but fucking open. 

You're always a good girl for him. So what if you forgot to lock the door a couple times? What's the big deal? That was your response when he so rudely woke you from beauty rest. When you finally roused from your cranky half asleep state you realized it was too late. No amount of sorries were going to save you from your fuck up. Choso rarely gets angry and even on a rare occasion is that anger directed at you. It doesn't mean you haven't seen your man angry. You recognize when he's upset. The twitching of his right brow. Clenched jaw. Maybe veins becoming more pronounced on his neck. Which you do giggle at, but right before that is the raise of his slender eyebrow. The eyebrow raise that you dismissed because you were being a brat.

Now you're trapped between your boyfriend's legs being edged to death. You’ll be glad to have an orgasm, even a ruined one at this point. Choso who is usually so gentle and affectionate with you. Wiping your tears. Making you cum as many times as you want has turned into the polar opposite. Holding your legs open so wide. You feel exposed. The air on your cunt feels so much colder than usual because you're so wet. Surly its been over an hour. When will he let you-

A gasp is ripped from your throat when two of his long fingers slip into your pussy and kisses your tear stained cheek. “Cum” is all he utters into your ear before he's fingering you so hard and fast your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull. Mouth hanging open and no words are leaving those glossy lips. His palm rubs against your clit at the same time giving you the perfect friction to ruin his fingers and the carpet. Chosos glares down at your cunt as you squirt. Free hand on tummy holding you in place as he fucks your through your orgasm. He doesn't care about the mess you're making on him. 

“G-god please!” 

You're squealing trying to come down from your orgasm but your boyfriend doesn't let you. Your legs kick out and your hands move to stop him. Crying out that he should give a second. Both your wrists are caught in one as he ignores you. Shifting your body to his liking.

“Still not sorry mama? Gonna be a long night for you.”

[chiwhorei]

The first time with Halsin is almost too much to bear.

Tags: end of act 2/beginning or act 3, Halsin is not in wildform it’s just a pun, oral, Halsin x fem!reader

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

When Halsin kneels in front you you to lick at your pussy for the first time, it’s because he is truly overtaken by the sight of you that he doesn’t feel steady of his feet. Your size and his are no comparison— Halsin towers over you with the stature of a god— but he’s lost all composure and falls to his knees to worship at the honeypot between your legs.

It’s been a long time coming, and the ache of seeing you each day but willing himself not to make a move until his work in the shadowlands is complete— the aching need for you has been almost too much to bare.

When he helps you out of your clothes and sees your naked form for the first time, he knows that every gnawing second apart from you was well worth it. He licks your pussy like a man with no table manners, like an animal with no training, like a bear who’s clawed down a beehive dripping with honey.

Halsin’s tongue is thick and sharp as a drawn blade. He nips at you with his teeth, growl reverberating from the hollow of his chest to rattle against your twitching clit. His hands hold your legs spread, thumbs on each side of your perfect hole to keep you open. It feels like Halsin is trying to crawl inside you tongue first, warm, dexterous muscle lashing at your sweetest, wettest parts. He doesn’t let up until you’ve cum against his mouth at least a few times, allowing himself a bit of selfishness.

The first one was for him, the second one was too— the third one was just to see how far he could push your body into the lapping flames of pleasure. He’s completely pussy-drunk by the time you’ve cum against his mouth again, barely registering the angry-red lines your nails have dug into his back or the begging pull against his hair. Halsin makes you cum so many times with his greedy tongue, he only comes up for air when he notices you’ve gone completely slack in his hands.

You beg him to fuck you, to give you a reprieve from his gilded tongue, and Halsin is more than willing to oblige. After he licks just one more orgasm into your shaking little body.

: ・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・┈・┈・ᕱ⑅ᕱ・┈・┈・ෆ・ :

❥ ᴄʜɪᴡʜᴏʀᴇɪ.2023©️ ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ.

[cornerstoreclown]

So happy to see you’re back, we missed you!🫶

How about reader cleaning those nasty teeth for him? Given he’d allowed it-😉

Consider it done. Gender neutral reader x Art, trying to brush this man's teeth.

---------------------------

This is the third time he’s shoved you off his lap. For the past five minutes, you’ve been fighting the Miles County Clown with sheer determination, spite, and a toothbrush. Who was winning at this point, you weren’t sure. What started off as a simple ambush when he was sitting on the couch watching your TV became a failed plan within seconds the very instant he caught wind of what you were trying to accomplish. 

There were three truths that could coexist peacefully: 

The first one was that you loved this stupid clown. The second truth was that he was fucking disgusting and often smelled like he came out of the goddamn city sewers, and god have mercy on your soul if you caught a whiff of his breath after he finished eating something–or someone. And the third truth follows on the tails of the second one…

Which is that your standards are absolute dogshit. The bar is in hell! Literally in this case, considering WHO you’re dealing with.

Absolutely no way in hell that anyone else in the entire world would be able to get away with this. No one. They’d get a free lobotomy with how far that toothbrush would be jammed up their nose. You’re actually surprised that he’s not yet gotten up out of his seat, but you did catch him at a time where one of his favorite shows was on. That was all a part of your grand scheme. 

You’re back in his lap again, toothbrush with a little bit of toothpaste still somehow miraculously attached to the bristles.

He moves his head away from you again, like a defiant child, and he’s starting to wear down your patience and piss you off. 

“Art.” You firmly tell him, trying to get this brush near his face, and so far, the closest you’ve gotten is within a few inches of his mouth. You use your free hand to try and tilt his head back to keep him from moving, leaving him to respond in turn with a scowl, baring his teeth in the form of a threat. 

Which was fine for you. 

With enough dexterity, you manage to get a few brushes in on the top row of his teeth, feeling a bit of satisfaction until he elbows you in the face and then pushes your head away so you can’t see.

“Fucker!” You say through grit teeth. “Art, come ON! Let me HELP you!” 

You don’t feel the pain when he hits you in the face. Anger and frustration run deep in your veins now, guided by nothing but pure adrenaline as you’re both locked in battle with each other, pushing at the other. You both look like siblings at this point. That’s about how it fucking felt. 

You fight against him pushing your head away, and catch a glimpse of a horrid sight–

His gums are bleeding.

His teeth are coated in blood. 

You knew that his oral hygiene was bad, but you didn’t know how bad, and it becomes apparent to you that everything was way worse than you thought. 

Then he stuns you, zigging when you were expecting him to zag as he switches it up, grabbing your wrists and staring you right in the face, his snarl twisting into a smile. You don’t get a chance to react.

Well, you sort of did.

“Art–” 

You’re cut off as he presses his lips to yours, forcefully kissing you and sloppily giving you the nastiest fucking makeout ever. His tongue pushes past your mouth and goes in, shamelessly sharing whatever taste he had leftover from the mystery dinner he ate the night before, but not without the sharp taste of iron from his bleeding gums first. You gag, the pungent taste hitting your tongue, leaving you to immediately try to back up off of him, and he helps you further by once again shoving you off, this time flinging you to the floor at the foot of the couch.

The toothbrush, your so-called weapon of the day, has been dropped and rolled away from where you landed flat on your back. 

Art wasn’t having it. The show he had been hoping to watch tonight? Ruined, as he gets up off the couch and leaves you on the ground. He had half a mind to kick you in the side on the way out. 

You’ll just have to try again some other time. Maybe.

[etheries1015]

Virgin Lilia who talks a lot of game about eating your pussy but the moment he is given the opportunity to do, he does these timid licks as he cries out how good you taste

YYYEEESAAAAAHHHHHGHAHAHAH I LIKE YOUR FUNNY WORDS, MAGIC MAN. EENNNGYHHHEHEHEH

I like to imagine Lilia being overconfident in himself...who has claimed to you in the heat of dirty talk that he could make you cum simply by using his long dexterous tongue, how he wants to be covered in your fluids and watch you writhe in pleasure from the talent his cheeky mouth can do.

Lilia...who ends up looking at videos upon videos online before actually engaging in the act with you. He's afraid he got a bit carried away when talking dirty to you...but how hard could it be? You just ...lick it, right? The videos he watched seemed simple enough, he felt confident he could easily make you tremble beneath his tongue.

Wrong. Oh, so very wrong. His cock is as stiff as can be, as his teeth graze your skin and snakes down your body, he tugs down your bottoms to reveal your soaking wet pussy. His heart thumps in his chest so loud he fears you may be able to hear it, his face flushed red and gulping in anxiety yet great anticipation. He holds your legs open and lowers his mouth upon your bud, only to pause when his tongue pressed against your wet skin. He blanks on every video he watched, leading him to pathetically kitten lick your throbbing cunt and an embarrassingly loud high pitched whine escaping his lips.

"My pretty bat...you're absolutely delectable." His movements were small and unsure, yet feeling his cock throbbing harder and painfully against the cloth of his pants.

He has heart in his eyes, leading from small strokes of his wet muscle to suddenly acting ravenous. There isn't much method to his actions, only seeing a desperate man wanting nothing more than to indulge in his new found favorite hobby: eating you out.

He cums simply by eating you out. You taste so good and the idea his face is quite literally drenched in your fluids drive him absolutely. Insane. He can never get enough of your taste, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer. He is almost tempted to ask you to sit on him, but far be it for the old fae to embarass himself further through this inexperienced and pathetically desperate display.

All that talk of being the best, and it turns out he was no more than a man overestimating his skills only to end up a trembling mess at the mere sight of your pussy and the slightest contact of his tongue against your flushed skin...but, I'm sure he will be getting a lot of practice 😉🤭

[acapelladitty]

NSFW Alphabet: Cooper Howard

Summary: A full NSFW alphabet for Cooper Howard/The Ghoul from Fallout (2024).

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Pretends that he's not needing anything after sex but actually loves it when his partner wraps themselves around him like a second skin. Won't ever admit to it, but the way his arm snakes around to pull them even closer is hint enough to his real desires.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Likes his hands because they're quick and dexterous, and can justbas easily gut a gulper as they can seek out and tease a clit. Not much pride in his own appearance aside from that. He's also a tit man and the pillowy softness of them is so opposed to his own body that he only enjoys them more, usually with his mouth as much as his hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sterile as all fuck, he can do what he wants with his cum and it makes no difference. Enjoys the taste and likes oral because of it. He does love for his partner to hold onto his cum though, either by swallowing or by pushing it back up their holes with his fingers. They earned it so they're going to keep it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has experimented with his new abilities as a Ghoul in some interesting and intense ways. Usually pushing the edge of pleasure and pain as he tests his own limits. His leathered skin is less sensitive than most so he's spent some of his more boring nights doing things to himself that would have a normal man in fucking hysterics.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows his way around a hole that's for sure. He slept with one or two folks before Barb but he was pretty monogamous after that despite the sleaze of his acting career. He and Barb did share a very healthy, vibrant sex life and he was eager to experience new things with her but nothing too outside of the 'vanilla' realm.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Seated with his partner riding his lap like any good cowgirl should. The close skin-to-skin contact, plus the easy access to their chest, makes it a firm favourite as he's generous with his tongue and teeth. Plus, it lets him enjoy their facial expressions and hold some eye contact as he drinks in their pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Never 'goofy' is a daft sense but isn't above using filthy talk and double entendres while cracking a wicked smirk. Lots of word play around his status as both a cowboy and a monster and he likes to remind his partner of BOTH of those facets of his personality.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Look at the poor cunt 😭 he's a great big baldy bastard with nary a pube on him. The only hair he has are the follicles that fall off the folk he occasionally scalps.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Surprisingly romantic given how gruff and generally detached he is, but only with a romantic partner. A random fuck gets a casual pump and dump while sex with a partner has some meaning for him and he likes to feel his partner close and ensure that they have a good time with him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not at the top of his priority list in the grand scheme of things. If he's feeling horny then he'll deal with it and leave the mess splattered on the ground where it fell.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Roleplay is a kink of his and he would be at his happiest role-playing a very traditional "cowboy saves a damsel and she's looking to repay the favour" type scene. His most 'out there' kinks include a mild touch of erotic cannibalism, ropework, and dom/sub dynamics relating to discipline and cnc.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Strong enough to make any vertical surface a viable spot for a fuck, there are very few areas that Cooper can't turn into a good spot for sex. His preference is for a bed though because he can be a lazy fucker when it suits him but that's an indulgence he's very rarely afforded.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Very easily motivated if he can sense his partner is down for a rough tumble in the sheets. All he needs is a WHIFF of a chance of hole and he'll be rubbing himself across you like a cat in heat. Hand straight to the groin like it was magnetic.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing his partner? Oh no. He'd fucking kill any third party before they could do anything too untoward. He's jealous as hell and volatile with it as he claims so little in the shithole that is the wastelands. Will threaten to tie his partner up and leave them for the raiders and beasts but that's just a horny threat.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

One leftover from his previous life is his love of giving oral. His wife loved it and he loved receiving it in equal measure. However, with things as they are, he'd rather get his rocks off in warm hole when the opportunity and time arose.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally? Fast and rough. However, in the quieter moments when the sun hangs low and he feels relaxed enough to enjoy some time with his partner, he takes great pleasure in some slow and sensual sex.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Due to his circumstances, quickies are often the only option for some hole so if he and his partner are frisky then it's as and when the potential arises.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think choosing to fuck someone in the wastelands automatically qualifies as a considerable risk. But, yes. He's fond of risk and it's something that he'll continue to push and push until he's satisfied.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ridiculous stamina. The kind of stamina that will have smoke pouring from your hole if he's not careful lol. As a ghoul, his skin is slightly desensitised so he can go for longer but usually only lasts one good round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really a big fan of toys (finds his cock and mouth MORE than capable thank you VERY much) but will use easy-to-access objects like his lasso and knife for some kinky play.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only teases when it's a game he's playing. Most of the time, he's looking for some quick, rough action that he and his partner can enjoy in their limited, quieter moments. In terms of vocal teasing? He's very quick to spout off with some sleazy promises and demands.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Tries to be very controlled but does have a tendency to grunt and growl a lot which makes him more animalistic than vocal in terms of his speech when he's fucking someone.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cooper would like to eat a little bit of his partner if they were willing and had the bit going spare. Most of his meals are a necessity but to have a willing offering would be quite erotic and a big deal for him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is the same shade as the rest of his skin but with a slightly deeper tone in his cockhead. Very average length but on the girthier side with a slight lean to the right when he's fully erect. No pubes, obviously.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Makes a lot of inappropriate comments and touches which would have you believing that he's constantly looking for some tail. That's only true because he tends to be hornier in high-stress situations which, unfortunately, is most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't sleep much and there's something possessive in him that makes him happier watching over his fucked-out partner as they sleep rather than sleeping himself.

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Mister Shovel Wondrous item, rare

This magical shovel has an animated face carved into it. It works as a trusty tool and friendly digging companion. Mister Shovel can be wielded as a magic weapon, equivalent to a quarterstaff with a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls. 

Dig. As an action while holding this shovel, you can remove a 5-foot cube of dirt, sand, or clay from a space within your reach. As you dig, Mister Shovel instantly gobbles up the earth and stores it in a pocket dimension. Mister Shovel can store up to twenty 5-foot cubes of earth within itself before it’s full.

Expel Earth. If Mister Shovel has earth stored within itself, you can use your action to expel one 5-foot cube of earth onto a space within your reach. The expelled earth immediately falls to the ground and becomes a 5-foot mound of loose earth. Traversing over or through the mound is difficult terrain. A Large or smaller creature within the area must make a DC 15 Dexterity saving throw to see if it can successfully move into an unoccupied adjacent space, or a DC 15 Strength saving throw if it wishes to stay in its space. On a failed save, the creature is knocked prone and restrained by the weight of the earthen mound until it uses its action to free itself.

Sentience. Mister Shovel is a sentient, neutral good shovel with an Intelligence of 10, a Wisdom of 8, and a Charisma of 16. It can see and hear out to a range of 60 feet. The shovel can speak, read, and understand Common. Mister Shovel is a polite and helpful companion who is always hungry for dirt and happiest when digging. Mister Shovel doesn’t like being used as a weapon, and apologizes to anything it bonks. 

“Man! Thiths sthuffth iths good!-” Mister Shovel was blabbering excitedly through mouthfuls of dirt, barely intelligible as Jesse dug at the base of the wall.

“Shush! I’m not trying to alert the guards!” She hissed. If they were spotted, the whole fort would descend upon them. 

“Hey, itsth not MY faul-” Jesse was sweating profusely as she jammed Mister Shovel into the ground again, muffling its speech. This was a disaster. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 200 magic items, 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.

[girlwithsharpt33th]

𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝐿𝐼𝐶 ~ 𝐺𝑂𝐽𝑂

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑔𝑜𝑗𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒’𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑦 (𝑀𝐷𝑁𝐼, 18+ 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑝𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑢𝑏!𝑔𝑜𝑗𝑜, 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑗𝑜, ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑔𝑠, 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒!

As soon as you insert the key into the door of your apartment, Gojo greets you at the door. The look on his face is truly pathetic, like a lost puppy who has been traumatized after being lost for days.

He engulfs you in a warm hug, twirling you through the doorway and shutting the door. He rests his head on your shoulder and inhales deeply, running his long, dexterous fingers through your hair.

“I want you. ‘S cruel for you to leave me alone this long.” he murmurs, his hands drifting down to your ass and rocking side to side softly.

You chuckle. “Don’t make me feel guilty, ‘Toru. Quite the turn off.” He doesn’t say anything, instead squeezing your ass and giving you a quick peck on the lips. He picks you up, burying his face in your cleavage and nosing around.

“Please. Fuck me.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The short skirt you’re wearing is hiked up to your stomach as you lay on your unmade bed. Gojo gives several kisses and kitten licks to the pretty pink dildo strapped to your waist. He wraps his lips around it, taking it all the way in. It’s quite long and girthy, and you dont hesitate to shove his head down and fuck his face.

He looks up at you with his teary, crystalline irises, determined not to part his lips from your cock. (He takes the onslaught quite well, having virtually no gag reflex). Wet sloppy sounds and muffled groans spill from his mouth.

“Don’t forget your fingers.” you remind him, sitting up slightly and grabbing one of the hands gripping your thighs. You suck a couple of his fingers, not breaking eye contact with him. He removes his mouth from the dildo, rosy lips parted in an o-shape, enraptured by the lewd display.

His idiotic gawking causes you to snort and you push his head back down forcefully. “Back to work, Satoru.” He complies, putting his mouth back to work and fingering himself with his spit-dampened fingers. His hips rock back against his hand, desperate for more friction.

You yourself crave more friction, so you decide to tease him.

“On your ass, ‘Toru” you command huskily, and he looks up at you, panting, a confused expression on his face. He extracts his lips from the pink phallus and reluctantly removes his fingers from his ass with a groan, sitting cross-legged.

You crawl towards him, taking one of his large hands and kissing it as you lower yourself onto his lap. His breath hitches, misty eyes and pinkening cheeks attesting to the effect you have on him. He snakes his arms around your back, engulfing your much smaller frame in a tender embrace. Before he can settle his head on your shoulder, you poke his sternum slowly and shift back, wrapping your hand around his shaft and the dildo.

Your hand, slick with his precum, begins to stroke lazily up and down. You know he’s almost at his limit by the way he immediately thrusts up into your touch, throwing his head back. His long, snowy eyelashes flutter closed.

“Baby, don’t do that, look at me.” you murmur, almost desperate. You’re as weak for him as he is for you. He lifts his head and looks into your eyes longingly.

“Can’t help it. You’re so pretty,” His honeyed words make your head fuzzy. He appears to notice your eyes further darkening with lust at his words, so he continues. “The skirt, everything…stunning. ‘S too much for one man to handle on his own.” he whispers, engulfing your lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

You increase the pace of your hand, the pressure in your stomach blooming at his sweet praises. He becomes vocal again, rolling his hips. The pressure on your clit underneath the strap increases, and you reach your own release. He runs a calloused hand up and down your thigh and cups your cheek in the other, his nonverbal way of talking you through your orgasm.

You recover quickly and quicken your ministrations on his cock, swirling your thumb over the flushed tip. It isn’t long before he spurts into your hand, rivers of cum flowing down his length and the dildo.

He shudders, spent, but wanting more. You finally give into him and the embrace he so craves. He immediately sinks into your touch, inhaling deeply.

“I wanna ride you, sweetheart. Please.” he begs, his voice muffled against your sweat-dampened shoulder.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With shaky legs, satoru carefully sinks down onto your strap. Your clothes, including the pretty skirt you’d been wearing, have long been lost amongst the tangled sheets.

His hands grope your tits greedily, running his broad thumbs over your hardened nipples. He huddles over you and nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, moving his hips up and down rhythmically. His heavy cock slaps against your stomach.

His soft moans and breaths flow into your ears like an addictive melody. His mouth grazes over your neck, sucking and licking rhythmically.

“S’ deep.” he croons drunkenly. You lift his chin up and insert a thumb into his mouth. His tongue circles the digit sensually, a string of saliva dripping onto your chest. So sloppy. So cute.

“Sit up. I wanna watch.” you say, your voice dripping with lust and admiration. Satoru reluctantly sits up and resumes bouncing on your cock. His weight pressing down on the strap causes a pleasurable feeling to build in your core.

Gradually, he begins to move his hips faster, grinding desperately. His mouth is agape, eyebrows knitted, looking at you as if you’ve truly wrecked him. He leans back, using your thighs as leverage as he bounces off of them.

He looks ethereal. The moonlight coming in from the bedroom window illuminates his alabaster skin. His cock is painted a magnificent rose color. He reaches up and plays with his nipples, whimpering.

“You’re like art, satoru.” you whisper, enraptured by his display. You caress his thighs. He grows desperate, seemingly clinging to your praises. His legs begin to shake.

“S-say something else like that.” he whimpers. It appears he’s too focused on his impending orgasm to properly articulate himself.

You grin and chuckle lowly. “You’re so gorgeous. And all mine.” It’s corny, but you know your voice is like manna to him, the breath of his life. It’s more than enough to take him to heaven.

Sure enough, he crumbles, his cock splattering his pearly white seed up his abs. He huffs and dismounts the dildo, laying on his back beside you. You pull yourself up onto your elbows, kissing his cheek.

You straddle his thighs again, licking the cum off of his stomach. He moans faintly, running a large shaky hand through your hair. “Don’t have t’ do that.” he murmurs, but you shake your head and smile.

Once you’ve finished your task, his hands slip down your sides, flipping you around and grasping your waist, pinning your back against his chest. He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and planting a tender kiss against your skin.

“Love you, sweet girl.” he whispers before drifting off. You smile and hold the hand resting on your stomach, feeling the most safe you ever have.

[jolalibrary]

thinking about your off-duty, neighbour ghost who one day enters your flower shop, almost knocking the potted cacti and newly blossoming florals with his width to avoid the downpour.

you don’t think he knows you own it. just taking one glance at you, realising at the same as you do that he’s the man who lives opposite you. the one who is gone for months and then comes back for a short period of time.

and you remain silent, as does he, continuing your arrangement before cutting the awkward silence with a, least you could do is offer your name if you’re going to loiter, neighbour. that’s when you learn his name is simon. nothing else offered, nothing else given. he practically fizzes that he gives you that, it all gruffly spat just when the sun breaks through, then it’s a chime of the bell and a heavy sigh from your lips.

you expect nothing more, only to receive a hello the next time you’re in the corridor a day or two later.

then he’s gone, returning a few months later, then it’s a how’s the shop when you’re both climbing the stairs. another girl, his arm take your bags, helping you to your door. another, he almost smiles at a joke you make, the scent of your takeaway filling the slither of space between you both outside of your respective flats. you wear your surprise that he lingers until his door closes behind him, yours following soon after.

it itching at you, needling. an unsolvable puzzle, a tangle of things you can’t unknot.

and somehow, all unbeknownst to you, a few months after that, the sign in your shop reads closed, the lights turned off and there’s a broken pot smashed on the floor, soil all over where you serve. it’s under your nails, cheek pressed flush to the counter as his fingers—all dexterous, calloused and thick—play with your bundle of nerves as his cock continues to spear into you. it’s hard, rough, quick. one minute teasing, the next minute fucking. primal, needy. and it feels so good, that you barely hear his grunts over the ringing of your incoming orgasm. barely feel the bruising from his grip on your hip. just croaking out a more, a harder—arse cheeks rippling with each contact of his hips against yours.

you brace yourself when he’s catching his breath to pull out, dress and leave. but he flips you over and brushes the soil from your cheek with his knuckles as your back rests on the edge of your workstation. rooting you, cementing you in this odd predicament you’re going to struggle to wrap your head around in an hour or two. more so as you stare up at his face, finding it unreadable, taking in the beads of sweat and the scars that have silvered over time. and the air is thick, tense, almost too much as you clear your throat, you’re not getting a free cactus for that. and he smirks, just barely, eyes flashing before his fingers slide to where his cock has just been, teasing, making you gasp and then whine as he feels the mess the two of you have made before he drags two fingers up to your lips. I’d kill it anyway, he adds as your mouth wraps around his digits.

[jeannyjaykaydeh]

Alastor x Reader

Light Smut

Here's the story behind my post about Alastor's dexterous skills with his cane, which really turns the reader on.

Link to the post:

Warnings: There are mentions of oral sex and fingering; the reader character has a vagina.

The plot isn't very... plot-heavy? It might be a little poorly written, to be honest.

It's mostly just a very horny reader, with a bit of a spicy ending.

Alastor might be a little out of character.

I still hope you enjoy reading it! :)

It's been a boring day at the Hazbin Hotel. You have finally managed to get out of bed after a long time, washed up, put on some clothes and are now leaving your room to go to the lobby. You actually like autumn, but you have to admit that this time of year always makes you feel a little sluggish.

You wonder if this time of year has the same effect on other souls.

Maybe Angel has some interesting news about some sinners you can gossip about. Or maybe Husk will make you that good tea again that only he can make.

You stride down the grand staircase, keeping an eye out for your friends to make sure they are here to save your boring day.

But instead of your friends, you see him: the radio demon.

Goosebumps of fear spread over your body - he has a cold and sinister aura - and at the same time that cosy, warm feeling rises in your chest that you always get when you see this elegant man in his red coat, which hugs a tall, slim body and makes a secret of what exactly is hidden underneath, but still reveals enough to know that revealing this secret is definitely worthwhile.

Your gaze falls on his feet, which are hidden in elegant oxfords with a discreet heel. Then your eyes travel up his body, which stands upright in a distinguished posture with both hands on the handle of his microphone cane. Over his dark trousers, which emphasise his long legs, then to his shirt, which he never tucks into his trousers, but you have often noticed that he wears a leather belt that fits perfectly with the overall look.

Sometimes, when you are lying in bed at night, you are overcome with fantasy and with it the strong desire to be allowed to help yourself to this belt just once.

On these nights, you imagine him sitting in his armchair in front of the fireplace in his room, lit by the flickering, warm fire that creates a warm atmosphere with its crackling. You imagine yourself kneeling on the floor in front of him, between his legs, while he holds the glowing green chain that binds your soul to him forever and looks at you expectantly after ordering you to open his trousers to satisfy him with your beautiful mouth.

You're almost at the foot of the stairs and you still can't stop staring at Alastor. Now you're looking at the strands of his hair, which rest very neatly in a bob cut almost on his shoulders, framing his handsome face, which is also adorned with his wonderful, captivating eyes that look like glowing rubies.

Oh, damn, you fancy this demon!

And you hate the fact that he seems so unapproachable. Like a mystery that doesn't want to be seen through.

As you start to enjoy his cute antlers sticking out of his fiery red mop of hair, your enjoyment is interrupted when you realise that he has a guest standing in front of him and talking to him. And this guest is none other than Mimzy.

She's been dropping by the hotel a lot these days to visit Alastor.

You can't stand her. She exudes an unpleasant aura towards you.

You know that she doesn't like you either. But you don't know why that is.

The reason is that she can't stand the fact that you have a high status with Alastor - which you don't know either. And he probably doesn't either.

But Mimzy recognises it. The way he looks at you and how his usually bitter smile turns into a warm expression as soon as you're near him. How his pupils dilate when you talk to him. And he talks about you a lot. Almost all the time, in fact.

How Mimzy wished she could have been looked at like that by Alastor when she was alive. But she could go to great lengths to make her way into his otherwise dark heart, but she never made it. He successfully stopped her. Time and time again.

And now that place in his cold, dead heart is occupied. This powerful, self-absorbed jerk has let you in there without you realising it.

"Ah, good day, my dear. It's a real pleasure to finally see you among the more lively characters in this hotel" Alastor greets you with genuine joy, which Mimzy only comments on with a discontented grumble.

"Hi" you reply shyly and immediately head for the lobby sofa, which is a little further away from the bar where the two twenties chatterboxes are standing.

But the radio demon doesn't find your aloof attitude particularly pleasant. When you sit down on the sofa, he asks: "Why don't you join us, y/n? It would be a pleasure to pour you a drink and enjoy a nice chat with you."

Your gaze wanders to Mimzy, who seems rather unhappy about her friend's invitation. That alone is reason enough for you to approach them with a provocative grin and join in their conversation.

Angel and Husk aren't here anyway and maybe the two flappers will manage to get you out of your boredom.

But you realise now that you've made a mistake.

Firstly, there is Alastor's immediate proximity. His scent has such a beguiling effect on you that you feel as if you've been catapulted into another dimension.

The arousal in your body increases, you feel the moisture spreading between your legs and soaking your panties with this warm, clear juice.

You try very hard to listen to Alastor, but it seems almost impossible.

And then comes the final signal that you can forget any attempt to concentrate on this conversation when you suddenly notice his hand skilfully twirling the microphone cane between his fingers.

You watch these movements intently and are impressed by his skill.

You've often noticed that he spins his walking stick between his fingers from time to time, but it's only at this moment that you realise how incredibly good he is at it.

You don't take your eyes off his hand. Impressed by the skill of his nimble fingers, you dive into your fantasy world in which you imagine that the radio demon is pleasuring you with these fingers.

That he pushes them inside you and explores every single spot of your wet temple until he finds the one that really excites you.

Meanwhile, he rubs your clitoris with his thumb to drive you to absolute ecstasy.

You imagine him looking deep into your eyes and repeatedly mentioning how beautiful he thinks you are while he drives you crazy with his dexterity in your dripping wet, delicious pussy.

Your whole body tenses up at the thought, your loins burn with desire for this man and your desire to be satisfied by him grows stronger and stronger.

You want nothing more than to belong to him for just one night, and you would even make the dirtiest, most sinful deal with him.

"Hey, he asked you a question, bitch!" Mimzy yells at you and snaps you out of your forbidden daydream.

You look at his annoyed face, then at Alastor, who looks at you in a patronising, expectant way.

"Would you come with me to Cannibal Town later, my dear? I'd like to go for a walk in the park and wouldn't mind your company."

You turn bright red and almost compete with the radio demon's coat.

"I..." you stammer, embarrassed. You can feel Alastor and Mimzy's eyes on you and it feels as if they have read your thoughts and seen this naughty film in your head.

"Excuse me. I have to go" you say suddenly and immediately turn round and hurry back up the stairs to your room.

When you get there, you close the door loudly behind you, lean against it and, completely out of breath, you try to calm down from everything that has just happened.

You wait.

And wait.

Until your breathing gradually settles down again.

When you realise that you can breathe normally again, you sink to the floor, your knees pulled up close to your body, your arms folded on your knees and your head buried in them.

That was probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you.

Fuck!

Why did that even have to happen?

Suddenly you are torn from your stream of thought when there is a knock on the door behind you.

The knock sounds like the hand of a strong man. It sounds firm and authoritative. The sound of the knock alone tells you who is on the other side of the door.

You roll your eyes in despair - why did he have to follow you now?

You quickly get up from the floor, smooth out your clothes and hair to bring some order back to your rumpled appearance and then open the door.

The radio demon smiles down at you and before you can even think about inviting him in, he confidently and naturally makes his way past you into your room. As he stops in the room, he turns round on the heel of his shoe in an elegant turn towards you, stops in front of you in an upright, distinguished posture and places his hands on the handle of his walking stick.

You close the door.

"Hello, my dear" he greets you with a certain irony in his voice, which is accompanied by a radio filter.

You look at him with narrowed eyes. You mistrust him in a way, especially when he grins at you with his arrogant manner, as he is doing at this moment.

You don't say anything. You don't have to, because it's Alastor who keeps talking as he crosses his arms behind his back with his walking stick and starts pacing around your room, looking around as if he's looking for something that will tell him more about you: "You're probably wondering why I'm here. Well, that's a very good question, after you removed yourself from our conversation rather quickly."

He casts a scrutinising glance over his shoulder at you to see your reaction.

You look to the side, embarrassed.

What should you say when he asks you why you suddenly left?

He approaches you and infiltrates your personal space. He gets so close to you that you can almost feel his breath on your face as he bores his gaze into yours to force the truth.

But you try to avoid the truth for now by stammering, suppressing your heavy breathing with excitement: "I... I was expecting an important call."

Slowly, Alastor steps closer to you and pushes you backwards. He sighs in disappointment and shakes his head in judgement. Then he says, "Y/n, you should know that I don't like being lied to at all."

You are stopped by a wall and are forced to stand still while the radio demon stands directly in front of you, barely leaving any space between you and pinning you to the wall.

Your heart beats ever more wildly against your chest. Partly from fear. Partly from excitement.

You breathe in his beguiling scent as he looks at you insistently.

His gaze seems dark, his smile sinister and then he asks something you wish he'd never asked: "Why were you staring at me like that earlier, hm? Do you think I don't recognise a woman's lustful gaze when it's directed at me?"

Your cheeks flush heavily and you feel the moisture spreading through your lower region again.

You can't help but find this moment more erotic than scary.

You avert your eyes from him in an attempt to hide your shame.

But what's wrong with him? Since when has he been like this?

"Nuh-uh-uh. Don't be shy, my dear."

Suddenly he lets go of you.

He takes a little distance from you and with a meaningful grin - his eyes still fixed on you - he raises his walking stick with one hand, the other behind his back, while he stands in a distinguished posture.

And then he starts twirling the cane.

You look at his hand. At his fingers. You watch these talented movements closely and you don't realise that you are biting your lower lip suggestively as you involuntarily imagine these gifted fingers moving inside you.

"From the first time I saw the wicked look on your face, I immediately realised why you are so taken with the way I twirl my cane. And that's exactly why I always do it whenever you're near me" he murmurs in a dark voice.

Excuse me?

Your eyes widen in shock. Your mouth is slightly open, as if you want to say something back, but you are completely lost for words.

He brings his hand to your cheek, brushes a few strands of hair from your face with his thumb and now you can feel his excited breath as it caresses your delicate skin.

"I'm enjoying seeing how much you want me, sweetheart" he says with a static rush of pleasure.

"Go on, say it!" he suddenly commands you and you understand exactly what he wants from you. With trembling lips, you breathe a shy but lustful "I... I want you, Alastor" as you savour his touch on your cheek.

You reach for his hand, bring it to your mouth, close your eyes and spread a few kisses on his palm while breathing excitedly.

Suddenly, the radio demon tears himself away from you to place his hand on the back of your neck, pull you towards him and press an intimate, sensitive and hot kiss to your lips.

Your tongues dance together as if they have always longed to do so, his bittersweet saliva mingles with yours and you love the taste of it spreading through your mouth. Sometimes you feel his razor-sharp teeth running dangerously but carefully over the sensitive skin of your lower lip, hinting at slight bites of desire.

Then you pause to look into each other's eyes. When you open your eyes, you see that his antlers have grown larger.

He gently strokes your head and cheek and then runs his thumb over your lower lip.

"Tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours when you watch me" he says in his radio filter voice.

You gather all your courage - your strong desire for him helps you a lot - and you reply in a low voice: "I... I want you to finger me."

A dark chuckle comes from Alastor and the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a cheeky and triumphant grin.

Then he speaks: "Uh-huh! So that's what you are. It's not like you to hide such sinful thoughts behind that innocent-looking soul. But it seems to me that this season is turning us both into wayward sinners."

Suddenly he grabs you, spins you around, pushes you across the room and then gives you a shove so that you land on the bed with a swing.

Immediately afterwards, he climbs onto the bed with you, bends over you and soon you can feel his hand moving down your body to tug at your trousers. Goose bumps spread under the beads of sweat from your sexual energy.

"Now then. Your wish is my command, darling" he whispers to you with a satisfied and lustful smile.

Joy spreads through you, you smile back as you wrap your arms around him and pull him towards you for another deep kiss.

[uchu-no-bashira]

I can't stay mad at you (NSFW) - Gyomei x BlackFem!Reader.

Authors Note: This was the second half of the fluff. Hope you like it, if you don't I don't care lmfao. Its old, so please excuse the grammar.

TW: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Size Kink, Breeding, Dirty Talk, Slight Begging, Dom/Sub, Reader is black cuz I said so.

Gyomei lay under you in your amorous embrace, kissing you like he'd never see you again, listening to the shakiness of your impatient breaths as you try to undo your bra from behind. Your fingers fumble with the hooks, unable to undo them, no thanks to your husband who was creating friction against your exposed clit with the bulge in his pajama pants. He chuckles, trailing his fingers from the top of your spine to the middle of your back.

"Let me do it, my love."

With a single stroke from his dexterous digits, he unsnaps your bra, pulling it off with his teeth and smiling at you. A breathy cackle could be heard from you before you toss the garment to the side and your lips crash into his. Holding each side of his jawline, you fall to your side before pulling him on top of you. He removes his pajama bottoms and briefs, freeing his large cock and laying it atop your already slick folds.

"I need you so bad right now, Gyomei."

"Music to my ears." He tones as he lines himself up slowly, his tip prodding a dripping wet opening. Anxious hips lean into yours, allowing him to slip right into a welcoming tight pussy. Gyomei furrows his eyebrows at the tight fit, letting out a salacious moan. So perfect, he thinks, knowing a man could grow easily addicted to this one feeling and he'd be damned if he wasn't… How lustful of him. He loves the feeling of delicate digits caressing his shoulders and the forlorn whimpers that escape your lips.

Gyomei moves in closer, his lips attentive against your neck and shoulder as a gentle calloused palm rests upon your hip, the other on your cheek. With eager breaths on his palm, he decides to deepen himself. His hips move teasingly, rubbing your quivering walls just right as a sharp breath resounds in his ear due to your newfound fullness. Those same gentle fingers he loves, pushes through his dark silken tresses with one hand while the other latches onto his shoulder. He adorns the way you attempt to ground herself, trying desperately not to unravel too quickly as you take him inch by delicious, thick inch.

The sound of "Gyoumei~" falling undemandingly from your lips with each thrust coerces a "Yes, my love…" from him in the softest tone. It wasn't a question of what you needed, instead it was knowing in that moment, your need was being met with excellence. The tone of his name, that sweet enraptured tone, tells him to stay where he is while pushing deeper. Your voice quivers as his lips line your collarbone hungrily, his thumb swiping gently against your cheek, taking mental note of the flushed hotness of your skin. He couldn't believe this was your reaction to taking him halfway. You had only one word for this experience,

Breathtaking.

"You feel so amazing around me," he whispers in your ear, humming in pleasure from your breathy open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder and the pleasured moans escaping your throat. The way your smaller body writhes under his large frame and the manicured nails gently pressing into his back while his dick disappears into your sloppy, greedy pussy has the man slowly unraveling.

"You sound so beautiful,” He growls, snapping his hips heedfully into your sweet spot, pulling a guttural moan from you as a squelch fills his ears and a thick creamy ring forms at the base of his dick. He couldn't help but release a soft moan as you claw his shoulder blades.

The way your knees tremble against his waist, and the half-coherent repetition of "So good~ Please don't stop!" Has the man love-drunk on your sounds. The hand on your waist glides down your thigh before resting behind your knee and he smiles at the way your chest rises and falls while he glides his tongue down frivolously to your nipple. He savors the salty taste of your pleasure, swirling around your areola, sucking gently to steadily pull the knot in your stomach free.

"Ah~… Gyou–mei." He doesn't miss that hitch in your breath and the small whimper that follows. He knows you're close, the pulling of his hair and the arching of your back can attest to that. He loves the goosebumps on your skin, he loves your haggard breaths and the way your lip quivers anticipatedly as he traces your skin with his tongue from your nipple. He places multiple butterfly kisses to the base of your jaw, hips moving in and out impulsively while being squeezed between your clenching walls. A soft whimper catches his attention as he thrusts slowly for a moment.

"Just... Like that~…" You're holding on by a thread, feeling a familiar pressure build deep inside as you bit your lip. Seeing stars, your eyes roll absentmindedly to the back of your skull, head tilting, hips rolling, mouth beginning to hang agape. Toes curling, thighs squeezing, back arching, mind numbing, voice rising, brows furrowed, nerves screaming…

You're unraveling and Gyomei doesn't ignore the signs at all, bringing a soft smile to his face as you make a soft squealing noise. He had you right where he wanted you: Desperate for release. His teeth graze your neck, then sink into your supple flesh as the hand on your cheek caresses your body up and down, memorizing every dip, scar and curve in your body. He could hear your heart pounding and your shaken breaths, could feel the way your nails pressed into his skin, but most and best of all he could feel the overwhelming aura of love radiating from your body.

“Gonna c-cum Gyo~” You whisper softly as his hand begins moving back to your breast to roll your pert nipple between his fingers, instantly snapping that thread that was holding you together as he tones deeply,

"Cum for me."

He listens intently to the overwhelming gush of your pussy, your pleasured cries; "Right there! Yes!OhGodYES! GYOUMEI!" The jerking of your body, The beautiful bloom of your orgasm.

Such a stimulating sensation has him filling your pussy to the brim, groaning domineeringly into your ear until cum overflows from the sides. He knows you've made such a pretty mess for him based on your pleasured wailing, but this warmth is something euphoric. He doesn't pull out. He won't. He can't get enough of this closeness and he doesn't want it to end, so he supposes he'll steep in this mess… Until you both need to take a shower of course.

[dirtyvulture]

Darkest Knight

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

AN: Came up with a new idea, let me know if you all like it. 👀

Natasha shivers when the door opens behind her, wrapping herself tighter in the thin jacket jacket that is not meant to be worn during the winter. Although she’s sitting in the corner, trying to make herself as invisible as possible, the icy wind stabs at her back and it practically takes her breath away. Her whole body aches from a lack of sleep and food, although so far the bartender had only been generous enough to give her a single glass of water.

It’s almost 9:00pm, evident by the pitch-black gloom outside the windows stained with dirt and snow. Natasha doesn’t know what time the restaurant closes, but she has no way of leaving it safely, having used the last of her energy to stumble here through the surrounding woods on foot. The next city over was probably at least 25 miles away. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed and despondent, reaching for her water glass with trembling fingers. 

A lot of luck had gotten her this far, more so than her own skills, but she feared tonight would be when it finally ran out.   

Someone drops noisily onto a barstool three seats away from her. “I’ll have a beer.”

Natasha looks over warily at the person joining her. You’re wearing a leather jacket over a flannel shirt that is only buttoned halfway up, and Natasha feels colder just looking at you. You puff on a cigar as you pull out a few folded bills and toss them on the counter. The smell of smoke causes her to cringe away in distaste and she notices you immediately take the cigar out of your mouth and stamp it out on the counter.

The bartender comes over, frowning at the new ashy ring on his wood countertop. 

“Add it to my bill,” you grunt, pushing the money towards him and swapping them for a bottle. After you take a sip, you glance over at Natasha for a second, turning to face ahead and watch the television behind the bar. 

Natasha drinks her water, wondering if she has the dexterity to steal from the tip jar when she can’t even feel her fingers. She had seen how much cash you had in your pocket–at least another $50–maybe if she played you up a little you’d buy her dinner. You were the only one in the restaurant who hadn’t eyed her like a meal, and Natasha knows you only put your cigar out for her. She has to put her plans on hold, however, when she hears heavy footsteps pad up from behind her. Someone taps on her shoulder.

“Hey, honey,” a gruff voice mumbles. 

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but from the corner of her eye sees that it’s the big bald man who had been watching her from a booth since the moment she entered the restaurant. 

“You came here alone, didn’t you?” the man asks. “You walked here.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. She notices your attention has moved from the television to the man standing behind her. 

“Let me give you a ride home,” the man says, his voice heavy with unsaid intentions. 

“No, thank you,” she says. 

The man leans in closer to her until his alcohol-laced breath is hot against her ear. “It wasn’t an offer, honey.”

“She said no,” you growl. Both Natasha and the man looked surprised at your intervention. 

“Fuck off,” the man spits. “You’re always taking girls home, let me have this one.”

You roll your eyes at his comment. Natasha looks at you with trepidation now as you get up, your footsteps somehow heavier than the man’s despite being shorter than him.

“Go home, Stu,” you tell him. “Alone.”

“Not tonight,” he spits, grabbing onto Natasha’s arm. Normally, she would never allow herself to be handled like this and would have broken Stu’s nose on the counter by now, but that’s a fight she didn’t know she could win in her current state. She tries squirming out of his iron grip but is dragged off the barstool instead. No one sees you lunge forward, cranking your arm back and punching Stu in the face. Natasha cringes when she hears what sounds like clanging metal and pushes away from Stu as he falls to his knees, crying and screaming while clutching his face.

“Are you okay?” 

Natasha looks up and sees you offering her a hand. She grabs it, your palm rough but warm, and hops over Stu to stand next to you. She’s shocked to see that the lower half of his face is completely drenched in blood from his broken nose. 

“You motherfucker!” Stu gasps, struggling to his feet.

“Stay down,” you suggest. “We should probably leave,” you tell Natasha, and against her better judgment, she eagerly follows you outside even after witnessing you take down a full-grown man with a single punch. 

The wind is prickly against her skin and the cold weighs down her bones. Snow falls in hard pellets and Natasha lifts her arms over her face to protect it.  

“My truck is over here!” you shout over the wind and Natasha numbly chases after you. It’s a beat-up red pickup truck that has certainly seen better days, but Natasha gives no comment as she climbs in and you turn on the heater, blasting her with warmth. “Sorry about Stu. I’ve never known him not to be an asshole,” you say, adjusting the vents in Natasha’s direction.

“Thank you,” she blurts out.

“Oh. Uh, you’re welcome.” You sound like you’re not used to being thanked. You turn the windshield wipers on to clear off the snow collected there. “I know Stu was right about one thing, though. You’re not from around here.”

“No,” Natasha admits. “Do you know if there’s a motel nearby I can stay in?”

“The closest one is thirty miles out,” you say. “But we’d be lucky to move even five with the snow picking up.” The windshield is almost fully caked in a layer of white again. “My place is only two miles from here. You can crash for the night and I’ll take you up to the city first thing tomorrow when the weather clears.”

Natasha wants to tear up at your generosity. She hasn’t known you for more than five minutes, and you’ve already rescued her from a creep and offered her a place to stay. Maybe her good luck is hanging on longer than she’d thought. 

“I’d like that,” she says, and you nod, revving up the engine and driving out of the parking lot. The drive is completely silent but in a comforting way. Although you’re focused on the road, you only have one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift in a very relaxed, almost casual way. Natasha stares at your hands, curious as to why she can’t see any bruising on your knuckles from when you practically turned Stu’s face inside-out. You seem to notice her staring because you suddenly clear your throat and adjust your position, moving both your hands to the 5 and 7 o’clock positions of the steering wheel.

True to your word, your cabin is relatively close to the restaurant, although the drive feels longer to Natasha because you can’t go faster than 15mph. You park on the driveway, hurrying out before Natasha can even unbuckle her seatbelt to have her door open for her.

“Thank you,” she says, although reluctant to step back out into the cold. 

“Go through the front door,” you tell her, handing her your house key. “I need to get some firewood from the garage first.”

Natasha darts to your porch, fumbling with the key frustratingly before she can get the door open. She stumbles into your home, stamping snow off her shoes. She finds the light switch, flipping it on and surprised to see how barren your house is. There’s a couch, a television, and a potbelly stove in the first room, and an opening to the kitchen on the left and your bedroom ahead. There’s not even a shelf of books or knick knacks as far as she can see.  

“Sorry about the mess,” you grumble as you come in behind her, carrying an armload of splintered wood. “I wasn’t anticipating any visitors tonight.”

“It’s cozy,” Natasha comments as you throw a few pieces of wood into the stove and light some tinder underneath. 

“The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it,” you say. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Oh, wait, you don’t have to do that,” Natasha starts. “I’m your guest–”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave her off. Natasha doesn’t know how to respond to your unending kindness. Sometimes, she forgets that good still exists in the world after all the evil she’s been running from. “I’ll heat up some soup. I hope you’re okay with ham and potato.”

“Thank you,” is all she can manage.

“Go ahead and wash up. I’ll need some time to warm up the soup. Use whatever you need. There’s a clean towel and some clothes on the left side of my closet that might fit you. They belonged to…an old friend.” Natasha hears the wistfulness in your voice, her curiosity piqued. But she doesn’t pry and goes into your bedroom, closing the door. She finds the clothes and a folded up towel that you mentioned, so she carries them all into the bathroom.  

The hot water has never felt so wonderful as Natasha washes off the grimes from several days’ of traveling. But she enjoys it for too long and soon, the water runs cold. Motivated to step out, she dresses in the clothes you provided, glad for the wool that keeps her insulated and toasty. She joins you in the kitchen, where you’re ladling soup into two chipped bowls on the table.

“Feel better?” you ask her. You’ve taken off your leather jacket now, your checkered flannel fully hanging open over a white tank top. Natasha has no idea how you’re able to withstand the cold in the cabin, although the fire from the potbelly stove has made the temperature much more tolerable. In one less layer of clothing, she can see the muscles in your chest and shoulders, which certainly explained where your powerful punch came from. You have a beaded chain around your neck holding a pair of dog tags. While Natasha is still not sure what to think of you, she has a better idea now. 

“I feel amazing,” she says, “Although I think I used up all the hot water–”

“It’s fine. Do you want a beer?”

“No, thank you. Water is fine.”

“Sure.” You pour her a glass from a pitcher in the fridge and grab a beer for yourself. She waits for you to sit with her before dipping her spoon into her bowl. The soup warms her up from the inside and before she realizes it, her bowl is empty before you’ve even had a few spoonfuls. Her cheeks heat up as you fill her bowl without being prompted. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs and once again you only grunt in response. After you finish your soup, you don’t refill it, instead sitting back and sipping your beer. Neither of you talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Natasha finishes her third bowl, scraping every drop onto her spoon, before her curiosity finally wins. 

“Can I ask why you’re being so nice to me?” she asks. 

You stare at her as if she’s just asked for your answer to a complex math equation. There’s a few seconds of pause before you respond. “Because you’re someone who doesn’t ask for help, even if you really need it.”

Your answer has Natasha even more confused.

“You remind me of myself,” you add, as if this is enough clarification. When you talk, your voice is low and gruff, almost like you’re not used to having someone listen to you. From the furnishings in your home, or lack of them, it’s clear you live alone and probably have for a while. With the closest settlement 30 miles away, Natasha is surprised you haven’t set up further out. Whatever life you had lived, it seemed like you just wanted to retire in peace, despite that you didn’t look older than 30 years. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she says. “After tonight, you can drop me off in town and I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not a burden,” you reply. 

“And I’m not trying to be.” Natasha takes her bowl to the sink to wash it, but you stop her.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up in the morning. You should get some rest.”

“Come on, let me do at least one nice thing for you,” Natasha begs.

“Hmm,” you mumble, your face twisting as you appear to think hard about her request. “How about you let me use the cold water in the bathroom to wash up, and then the bedroom is all yours?”

“Deal.” 

But while you’re in the bathroom, Natasha sneaks back into the kitchen and washes the dishes. She can’t help herself; it just feels wrong to take advantage of your hospitality without giving you anything in return. She leaves the dishes to dry on the counter, then guiltily hunts around the remaining rooms for any further insight into your life before you get out of the shower.

In one of the kitchen drawers, she finds a small pocket knife that when folded, can be concealed perfectly in the palm of her hand. She had lost her own knife running through the forest earlier that day, and even though she can’t imagine having to use it against you, it makes her feel better to have a blade on her. She pockets it, hoping you won’t miss it, and keeps looking. But there is nothing to find: no receipts, no tags, not even a handwritten sticky note to yourself.

Natasha jolts when she realizes she hasn’t even asked your name yet. 

You emerge from your bedroom, your hair flattened by the water, a towel slung around your neck. “Bedroom is all yours,” you say, dragging a moth-eaten blanket to the couch and dropping down on it. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“One more question,” Natasha says. “I’m Nat. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

Natasha smiles. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Nat.”

***********************************************************************

BOOM.

You feel like you’ve only just fallen asleep, but you sit up at the sudden noise, momentarily forgetting where you are.

“Police! Open up!”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

“What the…?” You blink in confusion, tripping over the blanket as you stumble to the door. Peeking through the blinds, you see four men in SWAT gear standing on your porch. All of them are armed with multiple guns and one of them holds a battering ram. But you don’t see any police insignia on any of their uniforms. A tank of a truck is parked on your driveway, blocking the path to your own, and any chance of unnoticed escape. 

“Police! Open the damn door!”

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Natasha suddenly pops up in your bedroom doorway, her hair tousled and face drowsy. 

“We’ve got company,” you respond, as there’s pounding at the door again. “They said they’re police, but I don’t think that’s true–”

“Oh, shit,” Natasha gasps. “They found me.”

“Found you? Who?” The hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

“I’m so sorry. Oh my God. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” Natasha begins pacing your living room as bright lights stream through the windows. You probably won’t have much more time before they force entry.

“Nat, what’s going on? Who are these people?” you ask, running over to her. You’ve hardly known this woman for 12 hours, but you have a fierce desire to protect her from whatever’s hunting her. When you had first seen her in the bar, looking roughed up and sad, you had the urge to help her. But scaring Stu off wasn’t enough and even taking her to your home couldn’t keep her safe.

“I should have never come here,” Natasha cries. “You don’t deserve this, after everything you’ve done for me–”

“I can help you,” you insist. “Please, Nat. Just tell me who they are–”

She looks up at you, and even in the darkness the fear in her eyes is unmissable.

“The Red Room.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Any guesses on R's mutant inspiration? :)

Click here for Part 2!

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[imissnanami]

i got jjk on the brain... who do you think is the best with their hands?

*angels choir sings all star by smash mouth* MDNI

TY FOR FEEDING ME ANONNY😭🤝

I hc that all the jjk men had the best, biggest, thickest hands and fingers that have the juicy veins and are just so perfect that none of them are bad by any means at all ;( I actually spent a long time thinking about this and ended up going through a process of elimination😤 (ALSO I REALISED BELATEDLY I WENT COMPLETELY NSFW, IF U WANTED SFW I WILL TOTALLY REDO IT MY BAD ANONNIE) tldr; Toji brok-e-guro

Gojo can't be the best because his fingers are reduculously long, reaching all the best places. The problem? Once he found that out he started to slack on his technique overall, relying on length :(

Geto can't be the best cause eventhough his fingers are so ridiculously thick and stretch you so perfectly, he too isn't using his whole hand. Poor bby boy☹

Choso my love is, in my books, the King of Head. You can not tell me that he wouldn't just spread your legs and go for it, digging in. Because of that, he never practices with his hands and therefore can't be the best.

In the same vein, Sukuna would pop you on his two (2) penises. Like why use his four hands when he could be inside you or eat you out with his stomach mouth??? Quantity < Quality

Our runner up is my hubby Nanami!! 🎉🎊 our man has the perfect length and width of fingers. But most importantly, when he's fingering you, he uses his palm too🤩 King of using his WHOLE hand, and going at the perfect pace. Love him sm.

And surprisingly to me lmao, I think Toji would overall be the best with his hands😌 Mr broke boy handles soooo many weapons and knows them inside out. You know he knows how to move his fingers, man has perfect hand eye coordination and dexterity. The T in Toji actually stands for technique and how well he can finger you. I feel like he'd just be able to make you feel amazing. Mamaguro was one lucky lady🥰 jk toji was lucky to have her😤

But what do yall think🤔