#tw : overstimulation

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

i like to think that the superpowers would leave a mark, even after they lost them. that they'd have lingering effects on the players. or, at least, their psyches.

gem has a tendency to dissociate, to feel disconnected from her body. joel frequently has to reel her back to reality and ground her when she spaces out like this.

for bdubs, sometimes it feels like time too slow, or doesn't move at all. a sort of dissociative time blindness and impermanence. not to mention his cardiac rhythm is TOTALLY askew.

for tango, everything goes too fast. his mind feels like it's on another plane, thoughts running a hundred miles a minute, but his body is too slow to correctly comply with the output from his mind. movement stuck in slow motion with a brain running at the speed of light.

lights have become too bright for ldshadowlady. she has photophobia and light sensitivity, she always has to squint in the daylight, and being around any sort of bright light for too long gives her a headache.

jimmy forgets he can be perceived. he has loss of object permanence but only with himself - he often forgets other people can see him, or even that he's there at all, that he's existing as a person and not as a ghost.

impulse forgets where he is sometimes. he has mild transient global amnesia - he can forget how he got somewhere, or where he is, or where he was going.

pearl struggles with the high places phenomenon; she forgets she can't fly. scott had to stop her from walking off a cliff - forgetting she couldn't spread her wings and soar - more than once.

scott becomes an involuntary pet regressor. sometimes, he forgets he's a human again, and he'll growl and bite and chirp and meow instead of speaking.

if martyn was still alive, everything would be too loud. he'd get overstimulated by noise easily, unable to filter irrelevant sounds out of conversations, mind constantly tuned into everything and as such struggling with hyperacusis and auditory processing.

ren has impostor syndrome. so many roles, so many faces, which was really his? he doesn't know himself, the only person who really did know him - who could tell him who he is - is gone now. maybe he died along with them. all he sees is a ghost in the mirror.

[pluto-on-mars]

Brainrot

I literally just wanted to write abt Tsukishima fucking you dumb and being mean abt it <3

if you wanna commission me HMU!!!

Tsukishima kei x reader (18+ MDNI)

Includes: dumbification, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, thigh riding/fucking(?), fingering, edging, oral (f receiving), plot what plot/pwp

Wordcount: 1,326 (unfinished)

Tsukishima was always one to tease, and you would normally put up with it. Normally you could handle his teasing touches to an extent. But currently, you felt like you were burning, mind hazy as Tsukishima's lips captured yours in a searing kiss.

His actions were intoxicating, swirling your tongue with his, and occasionally sucking on it. You felt like you were melting, Tsukishima's intense actions causing the spark of arousal to ignite.

You moaned into the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as you tried your best to keep up with his actions. Your arms draped around his neck as you pulled yourself impossibly closer to him.

He shifted, causing his thigh to go right between your legs. You rocked your hips, trying to get anything to touch you right where you needed it. Suddenly, he pulled away, chuckling in amusement as you leaned forward trying to kiss him again. Hands came up to grip your hips which halted your movements.

You panted," Kei, please." His face was still close to yours, allowing you to feel the words as he spoke," Please? Please what?" There was a slight mocking tone to his words that went straight to your core.

You tried to buck your hips against his thigh but it was no use, his hands kept you firmly in place but for some reason that just aroused you even more.

Your face flushed, embarrassment crawling into your mind. You whispered," Please touch me."

You watched as a condescending smirk splayed across his features He moved his face closer, lips lightly brushing against each other, but not exactly capturing yours into a kiss.

He pulled your hips down, making your clothed cunt press against his thigh. Your breath hitched as he started to slowly rock your hips," What was that? I'm gonna need you to speak. louder." He punctuated his words by bouncing his thigh.

You felt like you were going to burst, brain processing his words much slower than usual. You begged," Please use your fingers to fuck my cunt, Kei please."

Tsukishima inhaled sharply, his hand going between your thighs, the other rubbing circles into your hips. " Well since you asked so nicely." he cooed out.

His slim fingers traced around your clothed clit, giving feather light touches that was something but at the same time nothing. Your breath hitched, about to beg him to stop his teasing.

But he pushed your underwear aside, cold fingers gathering your slick and swirling it around your clit. You bucked your hips into his hand as you gripped him tighter," Fuck! Kei-"

He let out an amused chuckle as he teased you," Look at you, so wet that you don't even have to suck on my fingers before I put them in you." Your breath hitched as his fingers slipped into your entrance.

He started to move his fingers, quickly finding that spongey spot inside you that made you see stars. You dug your face in the crook of his neck, as you tried to bite back your moans.

His lips brushed your ears as he muttered his words," You know better than to hide from me, or are you just a stupid whore?"

You let out a wanton moan as he started to speed up, thumb suddenly circling your clit. "Oh shit- faster! Please Kei 'm gonna cum!"

He nipped at your ear as he sped up his pace, fingers reaching your g-spot with every movement. You let out a desperate keen," Kei! 'M about to- fuck! 'M gonnacum-"

Suddenly, just as the knot you felt in your abdomen was about to snap, Tsukishima stopped. He laughed at you," What, did you think I was gonna let you cum that easily? You really are dumb."

You rolled your hips, needily nipping and kissing his neck in hopes that would somehow convince him to give you more. He huffed," Look at you, such a desperate whore trying to use anything to get off."

You frantically nodded," Need you Kei!" Tsukishima let out a low groan as your words went straight to his cock.

" Really now? Show me how much you need me." he rasped. You slowly started to rock your hips against his thigh, moaning as you felt him flex his thigh. You felt hot under his gaze as you sped up your pace.

Pressing into his thigh, you moaned as he started to play with one of your nipples, rolling it with his thumb. " Fuck, look at you making a mess of my thigh."

Going faster, you felt fuzzy, static starting to buzz throughout your limbs," Kei 'm gonna cum, please let me cum!" His hands grabbed your hips as he rocked you faster, slowly making pressure build in your abdomen.

"Go ahead, cum for me slut." His name-calling sent you over the edge, the orgasm that you had been waiting for finally arriving. You gripped onto him as your thighs started to shake," 'M cumming! Fuck! Shit Kei!"

Tsukishima would be lying if he said he didn't love to hear you moan his name. His gaze locked onto your face as it started to morph into an expression of pure ecstasy.

He slowly stopped rocking your hips against his thigh as you came down from your high. He put his lips on yours as he swallowed your moans, lightly biting your bottom lip as he laid you down.

His tongue worked his way inside your mouth as his hands trailed down to your tits. Pulling away from the kiss with a sharp pop he left a trail of wet kisses against your neck. Slowly going lower, and lower, hands following in his mouth's wake.

His mouth traveled to your inner thigh, nipping at it slightly. Your legs threatened to close when he let his breath fan across your sensitive cunt. Using his hands to keep your legs open for him, he used his tongue to lick a long stripe up your pussy and swirled it around your clit.

You tried to close your legs around his head, but he was just too strong. " 'M still sensitive!" you cried out. But that did nothing to deter him as he wrapped his lips around your nub and hummed.

" What was that?" He muttered against you, sending vibrations throughout your core. You cried out," Just came- Please 'm so sensitive. It's too good!"

" A whore like you can handle it." He teased right before his tongue delved into your wet hole. He ate you like a man starved, lapping at your folds and thrusting his tongue in and out.

Your back arched as you felt another orgasm begin to build again. Tsukishima moved his hands to hold your hips down, allowing you to close your thighs around his head. Your hands moved to grip his sandy blonde hair, meeting his sharp gaze as he looked at you.

Tsukishima felt you clench around his tongue and he brought a thumb to your clit. You let out a choked moan as you babbled out," Cumming again! 'M gonna- cumming! 'M cumming!"

Tsukishima moved his tongue faster, spurred on by your moans. He moaned into your cunt, your juices covering his face. Finally moving away from your hole, he captured your lips in a kiss. Its passionate nature feeling like a gentle contrast compared to his intense actions.

The sudden feeling of Tsukishima sinking you down on his cock made you see stars, his sinful groan making your walls clench around him. " Fuck, you're so wet, didn't even need my dick to make you such a mess."

He grabbed your hips, setting his own pace as he used his hands to slam them up and down, pushing his dick in and out.

" Such a slut, cumming before I could put my cock in you." He grunted, hands gripping down harder as you tightened around him.

" You-you said I could." You managed to choke out in your breathless state.

" Oh?" You knew it was an immediate mistake when you felt him stop," Still have enough sense in you to talk back I see?" he sneered.

Flipping you around so that your ass was up in the air, he wasted no time pushing his dick back between your folds. Slamming into you at a brutal pace, you couldn't stop the desperate moans that escaped you even if you wanted to.

" Can't have that now can I?" He husked, making his thrusts harder.

[maladaptiveobsession]

*pokes* oh my god! i really love all of your dol headcanons, the suicidal one admitedly made me cry, it's just that good! :'D not sure if you take request or not, you can ignore this if you aren't, but i'd absolutely would love something related to bailey taking reader's virginity...? his dialogue in canon (before it was removed rip) when he took pc's virginity drive me fucking crazy :)

“Your body was always mine.”

Synopsis: You owe Bailey, but are short on cash. He takes your virginity as payment.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, anal mention, biting, cervix kiss, deflowering, fingering, masturbation, noncon, oral mention, overstimulation, scratching, purity/virginity kink

Words: 2,159

A/N: Sorry this took so long. It’s been a rough month or so. I wish they would have left us the ability to fuck Bailey at least until they had more lewd content to replace it with. I refuse to acknowledge his canon disinterest in the player.

In a town such as this, where temptations festered in the shadow, it was a miracle you’d preserved your purity for as long as you had. He can’t imagine how you managed, though he supposes your affiliation with the church must have contributed. Fat load of good that did against him, though, didn’t it? It hadn’t been intentional, but he’d gradually accrued your virginities, unraveling your innocence thread by thread.

Once in a moment of weakness, driven by frustration. You’d pestered him all that morning with dumb shit, and in a haze of anger and desire, he overwhelmed you, his hands gripping your body as he bent you over his desk and roughly violated your ass. You fought valiantly, but you were just no match.

"You should be putting out more if you're this tight. What do you think you're good for?"

Once with the intentions to torment that insufferable prick, Avery. You may have been that bastard’s date for the evening, but he was your guardian, and it was about damn time he reminded you both who actually owned you. With the right encouragement—threats against that other brat, Robin—he hadn’t needed to lift a finger for your mouth to get to work. The look on that man’s face as you choked on him was the highlight of his evening, though your inexperienced tongue running alongside his shaft was a contender to be sure.

"Don't get any funny ideas. Just take it."

Once more that same evening without thinking. With all the adrenaline coursing through his body, he hadn’t considered the significance before grabbing your hand and thoughtlessly dragging you off to his car. He hadn’t registered the way your hand tensed against his own until long after he’d dumped you off at the orphanage.

Lastly, by your discretion, too drunk for you to realize the “handsome stranger with kissable lips” was in fact your caretaker coming to collect your dumbass after you’d gone and got yourself roofied. You were lucky it was the day before collection; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered. For reasons unknown to even himself, his resolve to remain indifferent crumbled under your clumsy lips, pulling you close to dress your lips with his and turning that chaste brush of lips into a ferocious battle with his tongue. You probably still think it was that haunting freak you barely tolerate who took your first kiss, but he hasn’t forgotten.

"Surprised are you? You'll learn to kiss better soon."

Now, behind the locked door of his office, he finds himself clawing at the remnants of his self-control, trying desperately to ignore the desire that began to bloom since he first pinned you against his desk. He palms at the ache pressing against his trousers, shame creeping along his spine. He should never have let things get as far as they did. There were lines he had resolved not to cross, and yet here he was, hips jerking to the thought of your warm tongue, soft lips, and tight ass.

The thought that you’ve been sauntering around town with that virgin cunt of yours unprotected, purity vulnerable to any prowling perverts, evokes a possessive rage that has no place invading his thoughts.

He sure as fuck shouldn’t be entertaining the thought that you’re only some doors down, just out of reach. The desire to own you in full has him in a chokehold. Growling, he reclines deeper into his swivel chair, impatiently fishing his cock out from his trousers, leaking pre-cum down over angry veins.

Fuck it, just this once.

With a sense of urgency, he gathers himself in his hand, tightening his hold damn near enough to strangle, and begins furiously pumping his hand. It doesn't take too long before he reaches that precipice, jaw and core tightening as he inhales sharply. Warmth spreads over his hand, pace and grip relaxing as he eases himself down from his high.

Releasing a sigh, he reaches across his desk for a tissue. After cleaning himself off and resituating himself into his pants, he glances down at his wristwatch.

12:30 AM

Right, there was still the matter of your debt. Before he could erase you from his thoughts, he had to collect your payment for this week. It was admittedly early, but the day of collection nonetheless, and he could swing by damn well any time he pleased. He steels himself before pushing the door open and striding up the stairs towards your room. The sound of your laughter mingling with that of another orphan—Robin, his mind supplies to his distaste—pulls at his insides like a vice.

The door swings open violently, the force startling the both of you into silence. The sight before him reignits that possessive rage; your hips straddling his with only a pair of panties protecting you from his exposed length. Underneath you, the boy cringes as Bailey's attention rests on him, eyes widening in bewilderment and terror. The air was thick with tension.

“Get out.” He bites out as calmly as he could manage, nails digging into his palms.

Robin casts a rueful glance between the both of you, torn between the desire to shield you and fear. You assure him that you’ll be fine, gesturing towards the door with your chin.

“But—” Robin begins, but is interrupted by Bailey.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he snarls, the animosity seemingly making the air colder and heavier. Quickly worming back into his night shorts, Robin slinks by Bailey while sending one last remorseful glance your way before vanishing down the corridor.

Silence punctuates his departure. Rage simmers below the surface of his skin, threatening to burn him. The sound of shuffling sheets punctures the quiet, instinctually causing him to look your way. Breath catches in his throat, soaking in the sight of your exposed thighs. As you reach for your bottoms, awkwardly twisting your body, he sees what he believes must be that brat's fluids discoloring your underwear. Lips twitching, he’s overcome with the desire to tear it from your body and have it burned.

Had he arrived even an hour later, you’d have surrendered your virginity to that urchin. Struck with violent impulse, he feels the final strand of resolve disintegrate. He stalks forward, his presence overwhelming as he closes the distance between you.

Scrambling back until your back is pressed against the headboard, you glare daggers, demanding to know why he’s here. The slight tremble of your voice reveals the fear underlining that false bravado you’ve taken to wearing. He makes note of your shifting eyes, frantically searching for an escape, and snorts in amusement. There would be no trouble subduing you, especially at this distance. Perhaps you came to this realization yourself, your eyes snapping back to him with a trace of defeat settling onto your features.

“You owe me.” A grimace overtakes your expression. Ah, now this was a first. Of all his orphans, you were one of the few that were consistently prompt with their payments. No wonder you were offering yourself to that brat. Now, no guilt would weigh on his conscience; you owed him and he intended to collect. You had only yourself to blame for whatever happened next.

Gathering your voice, you stamper out a retort, voice raising as you speak. “I-I’m a little short, but I ha-have enough to cover Robin! Do whatever to me; just leave him out of it!"

You nervously extend the bills out, and he snatches them, flicking through the stack to tally the sum. Satisfied with the amount, he stuffs the wad of cash into his pocket before glancing back up to you.

“I know just what to do with you. Don’t worry, I have no interest in that brat joining.” Closing the distance between you, he snatches your ankle and drags you towards him before you can resist.

You yelp as he pounces, quickly pinning your arms above your head and adjusting his grip so he can hold them down with just one hand. He doesn’t give you a moment to react before he snatches your lips with his own, silencing any potential objections. His tongue swipes across your lips, thrusting down your throat—domineering, rough, and speaking of suppressed desire. Pulling back, a string of saliva connects your lips.

“Wh-What was that about...?” You gasp out, greedily sucking in air, nearly suffocated by his intensity.

“You owe me.” He begins, hand drifting down to cup your sex. “And you have something I want.”

Tears gather at the revelation, struggling against his hold. “N-no way! Haven’t you stolen enough from me?”

Snatching your cheeks in his fingers, he clenches as a warning and sneers. “You fucking owe me, so unless you want me knocking on that brat’s door for payment, you’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you.”

You sniffle and sob, but otherwise settle down, realizing you have no other choice but to comply. Watching your eyes for any signs of rebellion, he feels assured you won’t try anything and releases your face and arms. You go limp, defeated. He hooks his finger in your panties, impatiently pulling them off your body before tossing them to the floor. He doesn’t bother to take off your shirt.

Though having seen you exposed before, he can’t help but stare in appreciation at your glistening lips. Swiping his middle and ring finger between your folds, he wastes no time before sinking knuckle deep, aided by your slick.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. That brat do this to you?” He begins pumping his fingers and circling your clit with his thumb, enjoying the crinkle of your nose and eyes as you try to maintain composure. “Or do you actually want this?”

You shake your head and try to say no, but your voice breaks into a whine as he curls his fingers against a sensitive spot. He takes the initiative to attack that spot, pressing a hand against your chest to hold you down when you begin to squirm.

"Just relax. I'll handle everything like always."

Feeling your chest rise faster and walls clenching tighter, he pulls away just as you’re about to reach your high. A whine leaves your throat against your will, feeling betrayed at the loss of his fingers. Without warning, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into him and replacing his fingers with something much thicker. The sudden intrusion steals your breath away and sends you over the edge, vaguely registering the pain through your climax. Perhaps he was just impatient, or maybe he cares some semblance to distract you from the pain of being split open by something so large. Either way, he gives you no time to adjust to his size, fingers digging into your skin and leaving crescent-shaped marks.

His eyes and lips pressed tight, overwhelmed by your tight heat. He’s plucked plenty of virgins, but none had brought him such intense pleasure. Melting into you, he sinks his face into your neck, tongue gliding across your skin and savoring your taste. You shiver as his lips trace your collarbone, the nipping of his teeth forcing sharp breaths from your throat.

It’s subtle, but you can hear his muted groans as his hips snap against yours, hungry and desperate. The sounds of wet, heated sex penetrate the thin walls of your room, sure to be heard by all. He can’t find it in him to care when all he can focus on is how sweetly you massage him, bringing him closer to the precipice of pleasure with each thrust. The crown of his cock kisses your cervix, your back arching from the sensation as your hands and legs wrap around him. Your nails dig into his back as that coil in your stomach tightens, leaving deep scratches in their path.

As you push against his thrusts, his hand slips between your bodies, teasing your clit with fervor. You feel yourself slip over that edge, head snapping back against the bed and calling out his name with eyes twisted shut. Feeling you tighten, he loses composure and begins frantically chasing that high for himself. Sensitive, you whine from overstimulation, softly calling out his name to catch his attention. The sound of your soft voice helplessly calling for him and only him lights his nerves and leaves him helplessly gripping the sheets. He bites down on your shoulder to stiffle a moan, spilling into you. His hips grind into yours as he winds down, hands tenderly gliding across your body.

As he pulls back, hot white pools onto the sheets below. He admires the mess he’s made: your bruised skin, neck raw and glistening, and lips parted as you try to gather your breath. His thumb ghosts over your lips, amused by the dumb look settled on your face. Satisfaction thrums through him, having claimed the last of your purity.

"Your body was always mine. Like your first time."

[jammysworks]

smut after the cut

18+ MDNI

warnings: p in v, manhandling, conrad is a little bit of a softy towards the end, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), language, mention of y/n, shitty writing, overstimulation (female), light spanking

this isn’t how you expected to be spending your friday night; with conrad tossing you around and fucking your brains out. he missed you so much because of college and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

his dick sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, veiny hands gripping onto your hips pulling you back every time you tried to squirm away, letting out a deep and quick, “stay still baby, fuck.” he needed your pussy and would give anything to keep feeling you wrapped around him even if that did mean going until you were sobbing and shaking from how many times you’ve orgasmed.

his hand began to creep down to your red and puffy neglected clit, toying with the bud as you screamed and whined trying to move his hips away from yours, only to receive a light smack of the bottom. “b—ooh—but con i can’t take it anymore!” blabbering out a jumbled up sentence, attempting to get him off of your poor pussy. but it was no use, he couldn’t stop, it felt so good.

the burning ache you were feeling began to disintegrate as you felt your orgasm approach, gripping onto the sheets, his hands, anything that could stabilize you. your hips raising against his, trying to fight the feeling but he had a tight grip on you forcing your orgasm to continue. you moaned and screamed for him to stop. “wa—wait, connie i—oh my god! conrad i can’t do it!” tears flowing down your red cheeks, drool leaking from the edges of your mouth as you felt yourself release the pent up pleasure. your pussy gushing all over his abs and dick. but his movements continued. “cmon, just one more.” he grunted out, his hips starting to move slightly sloppily as his own orgasm began to form in the pits of his abdomen.

his eyes penetrating your tearful ones while he reached down to wipe your salty cheeks. “deeper. need to be deeper..” he groaned out to himself over top of your loud moans. his hands reaching for you ankles as he propped them on top of his shoulders releasing a loud whine from the figure below him. “too deep con..! s’ too much!” you screamed, convulsing on his dick for the 5th time. his release beginning to approach while his white salty liquid flooded the walls of your pussy, his cock acting as a plug to keep them all inside.

his hips pulling away from yours while his index and middle finger pushed his cum back inside of your quivering hole, his two fingers basking in the aftermath as they reached your swollen kiss bitten lips. your tongue instinctively sticking out and wrapping around them as they went inside your mouth, receiving a deep “fuck..” from the muscular figure. “we gotta clean this mess up, huh?” conrad asked with a smirk playing about his features.

please don’t be afraid to request works you would like me to try <33 thank you guys so much for the love on my last fics i didn’t expect that for my first time writing haha. thank you lovelies!!

[underoospeterparker]

can’t remember if I already sent this in but tasm Peter Parker x reader who has sensory issues and gets overstimulated easily. n him just calming her down, giving her something to fidget with or chew on cause he knows that calms her, getting her into comfy clothes that aren’t scratchy or tight and just taking care of her. asking her loads of questions and giving her options to choose from so she feels more in control of the situation <3 ugh i love him

thank you for requesting!!

tasm!peter x reader / mcu!peter x reader, 0.8k words

tw: overstimulation

You're resting your head in Peter's lap while he tangles his fingers in your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. Peter's friends are sitting on the seats opposite to you, and the two of them are laughing about something rather loudly. Peter glances at you every so often, leans down to press a soft kiss to your temple. Every time he does that, you let out a quiet hum of contentment, press your head further into his lap.

You're exhausted from a long day of school and came home to Peter's friends. You'd given them both a hug when you arrived, but Peter already noticed you were out of it: Your eyes were unfocused, you had this dazed look about you, and you kept fidgeting with your hands, wringing them out.

Peter had given you a concerned look, clearly worried, as if asking 'Do you want them here?' You'd given him a gentle, reassuring smile, mouthed to him that it was fine. You were currently rethinking your decision as their voices grew louder. You began to hear the screeching of the kettle, the scratches your cat was making on the wooden table, the spin of the fan. You could feel your tight knit sweater sticking to your body, and you could hardly breathe.

You forced yourself to take deeper, longer breaths as you curled up in Peter's lap. His hand paused on your head but then resumed its ministrations, as he looked up in shock at something his friend had said. It all sounded like a blabber of words to you: You felt confused; disoriented. The air conditioner was on, but you felt hot. Boiling hot. You tried to pull at your sweater, wanting it off.

You resisted the urge to scream, and to calm yourself down you tried to focus on the ground, on the carpet, but you couldn't: Everything else was far too loud.

"(Y/N)?" Peter's voice cut through the noise. You press your hands to your ears, trying to block out the noise, to soften his words. You turn around to face Peter's stomach, try to hide in his hold. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" His hands reached for yours, helped cover your ears. You looked up through blurry vision, meeting his loving and concerned gaze. Peter tilted his head slightly, searched your eyes for a response to his question. You shook your head slowly in reply, let out a quiet whine as you burrowed yourself closer to him.

Something in his eyes clicks in realisation. He held out a hand to his friends to get them to stop talking; helping you stand up with a hand on your wrist, gently moving you to a quieter room. Peter shut the door behind the two of you, sat you down on the soft comforter. You mumbled something incoherent, struggled to get your sweater off, the tightness suffocating you, making it hard to breathe.

Peter's eyes soften as he reaches for the hem of your sweater, helping you pull it off your head. He squeezes your hand before moving towards the closet, grabbing your comfiest pyjamas as helping you slip in to them with two hands on your shoulders. He doesn't speak until then, knowing you needed to feel comfortable and snug before you would be able to fully converse.

He settled you on the bed, covers not on because he knew you were feeling hot. "Can I get you anything? Your fidget toy? Or your stuffed animal?"

His voice was soft, only a murmur, and you nodded gratefully. "Both, please?" You asked quietly.

Peter presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and untangles himself from you, nodding quickly. "Of course, bug." He returns in under a minute, giving you the two items and watching as you settle down with them. "Do you want me here, or should I go?" He touches your leg soothingly, rubbing a hand up and down.

"Here," I mumble, "please?" Peter melts a little, feels his heart squeeze. He climbs onto the bed behind you, careful not to touch or jostle you too much. When he remains quiet, you add, "Can I have a hug?"

He softens. "Absolutely, honey." Peter doesn't wait another second before wrapping you up in his arms, bringing you closer to his chest. He thumbs at your neck affectionately as you curl up in his hold, wanting to be as close to him as possible. "My poor, sweet girl," he murmurs softly. "You're doing so good. Are you feeling a bit better?"

"Mhm, yes," I say quietly, "thank you." You give him your best, most grateful smile. "Y' the best, baby."

Peter rolls his eyes affectionately against the crown of your head. "Says you, lovely girl."

[littlemissomega]

Hungry

alpha!Rhyand x omega!reader

Summary: Rhysand finds a way to make his mate eat during her heat

Warnings: smut, cockwarming, teasing, reader not wanting to eat but Rhys convincing her too, bargaining, heat and rut, overstimulation, mention of biting/marking, breeding kink, pet names (Alpha, Omega, little dove, baby), wing play/stimulation, food play if you squint, bad writing, not proof read

Note: Both characters have sensitive wings.  Sarah J. Mass created the character “Rhysand” in the book series “A Court Of Thorns and Roses” 

Masterlist

“Alpha nooo! I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Shh little dove,” Rhysand coos, “It’s for your own good!”

“I don’t wanna, I just want you!” Y/ whines.

“You have to eat, baby. What kind of mate would I be if I didn’t feed my omega?”

“I don’t need food, I need you!” Y/N wiggles her hips up as if to prove it. Rhysand groans.

Since the mating bond snapped into place almost 2 days ago, Rhysand and Y/N have been caught in a frenzy of searching hands and unquenchable need. Naturally, it triggered YN’s heat and Rhysand’s runt. But while Rhysand had suffered the sweat drenched, desperate and foggy musk of his runt before, this is Y/N’s first heat. Rhysand nearly chokes on her needy scent, struggling to control himself. Everything from her dripping pussy, peaked nipples, ruffled hair, and glazed over eyes makes him want to fuck her silly. Well, more silly. She squirms under his graze.

“Omega, you have to eat,” Rhysand orders, voice shifting into that dominant husk that makes Y/N’s bones turn to jello and every fiber of her being needs to obey him.

The burning pit in her core that had been temporarily appeased threatens to swallow Y/N whole. She writhes, gripping the sheets and moaning.

“Pleaseee! I need you in me now! Feel so empty, Alpha, it hurts so bad so achy! Need you so bad!” she babbles. Rhysand moans at the sight.

“You really will be the death of me, little dove,”

Rhysand pulls her into a sitting position- having to support her weak body- into his lap. His fingers graze the tips of her wings, and Y/N almost cums on the spot. She instinctively grinds against his hard cock. A growl rips from his lips and he grabs her hips, stilling her. 

“I’m feeling partially gracious, so I’ll make you a deal, mate,” he groans into her ear, pushing her sweat stick hair back.

She whimpers in response, breathing in his scent deeply. He smells of Ilirian leathers, fresh parchment, night drenched breezes, and cracking fire. The fire goes straight to her core.

“You eat what I feed you, and I’ll let you warm my cock while you do it,” Rhysand proposses, picking up the bowl of praise and little pieces of bread he summoned earlier.

“Okay, please, Alpha, just need you in me so bad!” Y/N practically cries. His cock twitches under her before he slides in in one fluid movement

Y/N clutches Rhysand’s shoulders as she struggles to adjust to his size. She’d lost count of how many times he’s made her cum, but it never seems to be enough. Her body craves more, more, more. Needs it. He becomes the very air she breathes in the frenzy of her first heat.

She tries moving on him, but he grabs her nips, anchoring her against him. Y/N lets out a moan and he takes the opportunity to pop a grape in her mouth. 

“Chew,” he orders.

Her jaw obeys on its own accord.

She swallows to say, “Alpha, please, I need more!”

“Yes you do need more grapes, little dove!” Rhysand coos, slipping two more in her mouth.

Y/N pouts, but chews and swallows all the same. She wiggles her nips, searching for some kind of friction; causing Rhys to pinch her thigh.

“Hey!” she exclaims. Rhysand stuff a small pice of bread in her open mouth.

“Be good,l little dove,” 

Y/N swallows and licks the crumbs off her ips. Rhysand’s cock twiches in her. An idea pops in her head.

“Alpha, can I have some more grapes?” she asks innocently.

His brows shoot up.

“Of course, omega,”

Rhysand slips a grape through her lips, but she closes them before he withdowls his fingers. Rhys looks at Y/N curiously until starts gently sucking on his fingers. His eyes fill with lust and a growl bubbles up in his throat.

“Careful,” he advises, every syllable dripping with dominance.

Y/N releases his fingers with a ‘pop’, and bites down on the frappe. The sweet juices fill her mouth and she swallows.

“What do you mean?” she asks, again acting innocent.

Y/N leans forward so her nipples graze Rhs’s toned chest. She wraps her arms around his neck, allowing her fingers to graze his wings. He moans and jerks his hips up into her. Y/N’s head drops against his chest as hot sparks radiate through her.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you little dove?” he groans between his teeth as his cock shifts in her tight walls.

“Eating grapes?” she responds breathily, reaching for a grape and popping it in her mouth. The movement causes her to shift an inch off and back against his cock.

Rhysand’s hand grapes her hips with a near bruising grip.

“You’re making it really fucking hard to be a good mate right now,” Rhys groans against her neck. The area prickles, “Cause all I can think about now is all the very very bad, inappropriate things I want to do to you. And I can’t do all those things if you’re running on an empty stomach,”

“Your cock’s got me feeling pretty full though,” she whimpers, squeezing her tight walls around him.

“Caldron fucking boil me,” Rhys growls before snapping into action.

IN a flash, Y/N is flipped on her back with her knees flush against the sides of her chest. Rhys pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in, causing a moan to slip from her lips. 

“There you go, little dove, is this what you wanted?” Rhysands pants, thrusting into her at a relentless speed.

Every drag of his cock inside her is like fire and light and night exploding, and all Y/N can do is nod, throwing her head back. Every drop of coyness drains from her body.

Rhysand takes the opportunity to connect his lips with her new mating bond. The mark of his fangs is a stark contrast against her flushed skin. Y/N writhes under him as he sucks the freshly injured skin between his lips.

“Oh, is that sensitive?” he rumbles against her skin. Y/N nods again, lacing her fingers through his hair.

Y/N’s chest rises off the bed as Rhys’ thumb makes contact with her throbbing clit.

“And that?”

“Fuckkk, gonna cum, Alpha,” Y/N mewls, her toes curling.

A hand glides across Y/N’s wing, and her world shatters. Stars explose in her vision and every cell and nerve in her body pulse and pound and light on fire.

Y/N can barely control her body and doesn’t know what to do with it at once in the intense pleasure. Her hand slides down and grasps onto Rhysand’s wings, tugging the feathers gently. 

Rhysand’s shouts and moans of pleasure join hers as his hot cum fills Y/N. The overwhelmingly full, warm sensation shocks her as Rhysand’s knot swells into place. Her head falls to the side and her back arches off the mattress. Y/N is subconsciously aware of saying something, but has no control of her words as tears of pleasure glide down her cheeks.

“Holy fucking Mother, ‘s so good, so good oh my god, don’t stop, too much, so full! Fuck feels so good, caldron boil me, fuck you fill me so well, holy fuck feels so full!” Y/N writhes, tugging and twisting on the feathers of Rhysand’s wings.

Rhysand can feel another climax boiling even though his hips had stilled; his knot practically gluing him in place as his mate pulse and squeezes around him. Just the wing stimulation has him right on the edge. 

He grazes his fingers back and forth across his mate’s wings, stimulating her in such a gentle yet instantly pleasurable way. Y/N squirms enough to rock the bed.

“So good, so good, can’t! Oh my Mother, too much!” Y/N babbles, pressing herself further into the mattress. 

“I know, little dove, just one more time. Cum one more time for your mate. I’m gonna cum too, pump you so full of my pups you’ll hardly be able to walk,” Rys groans.

They had never talked about having children before, but in that moment, Rhysand has an uncontrollable need to keep his pretty mate knocked up, glowing, and dripping his cum for the rest of her life.

“One more time,” he repeats as he presses his thumb against the hypersensitive spot on her wing, simultaneously grinding into her as much as his swollen knot will allow. 

“Rhysand!” Y/N screams as he fills her again. Night explodes through the room.

His load of cum fills her to the brim. It feels she’s about to burst as her climax hits her. Y/N’s vision blacks out and all she can feel is Rhysand’s hot cum.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, little dove,” Rhysand moans.

A night drenched breeze cools her sticky skin as the world comes back into reach. Her eyes flutter open to see Rhys panting above her.

“Wow,” she moans breathilly.

“Wow,” he repeats, smirking at her.

Y/N lets go of Rhysand’s wings as she realizes how tight she was gripping them.

“Fuck, are your wings okay? I didn’t know I was being so…”

“Rough? Don’t worry, I liked it, little dove,” Rhys chuckles, flipping them over so Y/N is resting on top of him. She collapses against him.

A whimper slips from her lips and Rhyand’s knot slips deepers inside of her.

“I know, baby,” Rhysand coos, “It’ll go down soon. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Y/N whispers.

“Good,” he repeats, gently rubbing her back.

Y/N’s eyes droop shut and she feels sleep calling as Rhys taps her gently. She hums in response.

“I think I found my new favorite snack,” 

Masterlist

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@liidiaaag

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[fallstaticexit]

When your Gen X, boomer cusp boy mom mother can't read the room to save her life.

AN: If anyone is interested in some more Lyric lore, you can check out my TikTok for part one and part two of her backstory. Trigger Warnings: pregnancy loss, depression.

prev / next

Myrah: Oh, my sweet boys! I missed you so much!

Sonny: So you went and got married, huh? Didn’t think to tell us, mama?

Olive: [whispers] Girl, not your mom getting her groove back.

Lyric: [groans] See, this is what I’m talking about...

Nina: [whispers] This was not on my Myrah visit bingo card.

Ernest: We eloped. Nothing too fancy, since it’s both our second marriage. I can send some photos your way, just got to get them developed.

Mel: Developed?

Myrah: My Ernie is an old soul. Very old school.

Sonny: Uh-huh. How old exactly?

Lyric: Isn’t there a dinner we’re supposed to be eating or something?!

Myrah: Oh, that’s right! Everyone sit, I’ll bring out the food.

Sonny: Yeah, maybe get this man a shirt while you at it..

[awkward silence]

Sonny: How’d you meet my moms, man. What’s all this about?

Mel: This isn’t some life insurance scam, is it?

Myrah: Boys!

Ernest: We met at a Divorce Support Group.

Lyric: [sucks teeth] Why are you still going to those? You were divorced over 30 years ago...

Myrah: There’s no expiration date on support! I can still go. We take a trip to Cancun every year.

Ernest: She was telling her story about being a young mom in a loveless marriage, and I really felt that. I was a young father, too.

Sonny: [grumbles] Tuh. Ya don’t say?

Ernest: I asked her to join me for coffee one day, and well, the rest is history.

Myrah: Ernest completes me. We don’t let things like our age keep us from being happy. Ernest satisfies me in ways you can’t imagine-

[Everyone groans]

Ernest: Meeting your mom really changed my life, kids.

Olive: I get it. It happens to the best of us. I fell in love with a beautiful, elegant, rich older woman, and my life has never been the same. I’ll probably never fall in love again.

Sonny: ?????

Myrah: Thank you, Olivia. Kids, I just want you to be happy for me. Don’t I deserve that?

Lyric: This is weird! You get married without telling anyone, and it’s to some guy who’s like half your age. Why would you think we wouldn’t be upset about this?

Myrah: Well, honey, you’re not a little girl anymore. I can do as I please and not have to tiptoe around what my children think. I’m allowed to live my life however I want.

Ernest: Your mother’s right. And I think if you gave me a chance, I could show you how I can be a great father figure and role model to you and your brothers.

Lyric: Am I in the twilight zone?? What the hell is happening right now??

Ernest: Ah! Little man’s burgers! Must of slipped my mind. I guess age is catching up to me.

Sonny: Mhmmm, which is how old again?

Myrah: I’ll get it. Sit tight, baby.

Lyric: [sneers] You! Did you know about this?

Sonny: What! No!

Mel: I mean, you did say you talk to mom everyday. She never mentioned this?

Olive: Can we get these dishes passed around or...

Sonny: I mean, she mentioned having a friend name Ernest once but I’m thinkin’ he’s some old guy she met!

Ernest: [chuckles] Yeah, I get that alot. I normally go by EJ. Ernest Sr. is my father’s name.

Sonny: Uh-huh... and who yo daddy? Probably went to school with him...

Myrah: Alright, got one burger for my big strong, handsome grandson!

Myrah: What? What’s the matter?

Lyric: Mom, there’s cheese and stuff on it! He doesn’t like that! He’ll only have it plain!

Myrah: Ok! Ok! No problem! I’ll just pluck it off! I-I didn’t know-

Lyric: You would have known if you’d bothered to get to know him at all! You don’t know anything about any of your grandchildren, Mateo especially! All you care about is that he’s a boy.

Lyric: You don’t listen to me when I tell you about things that overwhelm him. You don’t listen to me at all! I’m not going to let you make him feel invisible like you did me.

Myrah: Lyric, wait! Please don’t leave like this! Talk to me, Sunshine!

Olive: Um. Thanks for the to-go plates, Mrs. M. I bet it would have been really good when it was fresh.

[tires screeching]

[hanayumi]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝

— bonten!sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo 🔞

part 2 of brittle to the bone || prev.

if mikey is harsh, imposing, unyielding, then haruchiyo is just that with playful charisma superimposed over cruelty.

wc. ~9k

tags/warnings noncon, predator/prey dynamics, yandere undertones, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, forced infidelity, self-harm, degradation, overstim, mind break, mentions of gunplay, minor character death(s)

notes he’s very mean

snapshot;

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

∗

Be good.

‘Be good’ — by which Mikey meant, you suppose, no speaking to others in the compound, no leaving the house, no stepping inside anywhere but the bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen… all the places that you’ve been wandering in-between for years without ever going outside. Is there anything else?

Well, you can’t bother yourself to remember. It’s not like you can do anything in here that’ll piss him off anyway. The time you’ve had to spend alone has started to blur into an impalpable being — an amalgamation, of sorts — warping and slowing your perception of reality to a tenth of a millisecond whenever Mikey isn’t around to monopolise your attention.

…I’ll reward you like a good little bitch when I get back. Can you do that for me?

Don’t leave the penthouse. Don’t enter rooms you don’t know. Don’t speak to anyone other than Haruchiyo. It should be pretty simple. Yeah, you can definitely do that for him. You can be good. You can. You’ll show him.

(As long as Haruchiyo doesn’t kill you before you get a chance to.)

You close your eyes, an image of the man with roseate hair floating into your memory. His lilting voice, the rattling of his pills, the way he kissed your hand after introducing himself and the way he smirked when Mikey made his announcement. A prickling chill runs down your spine like cold water. 

You clench a bundle of the sheets into your face, burrowing into the lingering scent of Mikey, and decide that you hate the way Haruchiyo speaks. In a slow, condescending drawl, smirk bared, revealing the carious fangs of a seasoned predator, the narrowed slits of his eyes scrutinising (for what, you have no idea) as if he thinks of your life as even more insignificant and disposable as the dirt between his shoes. 

There’s another thing, too. Something that fills your little heart with enormous anxiety and forces you on simmering coals within his presence, even now when you’re all safe and sound in this room with its four white walls and thick, locked door.

You can read that grin like an open book.

He thinks that your relationship with his boss has an expiry date. That it’s only a matter of time before you’re disposed of, too. That, without question, you were only there as a form of stress relief, your sole purpose being to tend to his boss’ every need. An emotional outlet, of sorts.

(You hate it because you know he’s right.)

But you don’t tell him that, don’t want to offer him the satisfaction — instead you scamper from his gaze, always slipping out of a room just as he enters it, going as far as to strategically plan out your daily activities to ensure that you wouldn’t be catching any glint nor shadow of that vibrant pink.

And for the most part, it’s working. And even if it didn’t, he has a funny way of looking at everything and anything as if it were leagues beneath him, so much so that you find it easy to simply duck your head and deem yourself unworthy of staying in his presence any longer than you already have. It’s weird, how simple it is to evade him — how predictable, easy, like child’s play. When he has just about given you as much attention as one would to a stray twig obstructing a sidewalk.

So, just like every other nagging worry, you stuff Bonten’s-Number-Two-Sanzu-Haruchiyo away in a cabinet for safe-keeping.

Time without Mikey also means that you’ll at least get a bit more time to yourself (albeit a large portion of it would be spent calculating how to avoid the man he left in his place). 

You’re using it wisely, you think — alternating between counting the grooves in the ceiling to toying with the strands of velvet rug in the middle of the too-spacious bedroom, to daydreaming until sprawling scenery of the outside-world blooms behind your eyelids… okay. So you haven’t been able to get anything truly productive done. So what? The word ‘productive’ feels alien in your mind — almost as if there’s something fundamentally cursed about its three syllables, as if it belonged in a realm unattainable to someone like you. You haven’t had to worry about being pro-duc-tive in years. It was always Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.

At some point, you think dismally, I’ll have to get up. But now is not the time. So you count, and count, until you feel your consciousness slipping away, and your eyelids droop, and you sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sleep that blunts the ache of isolation and the burning of your bruises, tip-toeing featherlight over your skin like a reminder of the person who left them. 

(Mikey doesn’t leave sticky notes on the fridge telling you to remember to brush your teeth and comb your hair. Everything he gives you comes from himself: his flesh and bone, his pain, his heart, his bruises.)

When time meanders forward, and inevitably touches upon evening, and you stir from sleep feeling an unbearable feeling of emptiness in your stomach (almost as if a large cavity was drilled into your abdomen), you shake the drowsiness away starting to feel an oncoming panic that Haruchiyo somewhere somehow found a way to sneak something into your breakfa— oh. That’s right.

You didn’t even have breakfast.

Your gut howls in agony. Reluctantly, you unwrap the self-made cocoon of blankets, preparing the mental artillery required to slip out the bedroom. 

Haruchiyo seems to be missing from the kitchen, which is a good thing, a pleasant thing — though you aren’t stupid to assume that he is shirking his duties as your ‘guardian’. Living in a sprawling penthouse with just two people, minus the seclusion, leaves you enjoying an overwhelming sense of privacy most of the time. But now? Now it feels like there’s bear traps under every tile in the floor, shuriken blades concealing themselves behind every groove in the ceiling (there were about 200 that you counted before dozing off).

It takes a few furtive glances down the corridor and you (fruitlessly) keep a knife within arm’s reach (‘I don’t know why I’m doing this it’s not like I’m even capable of wielding a knife’), but you get to work quickly, preparing a decent meal the only way you know how. The purple blemishes lining the expanse of your neck and thighs still throb in protest when you move, although now it’s become a dull, persistent, guileless ache. You’re all alone, since it appears that your housekeeper is nowhere to be found — got scared away, maybe?

Come to think of it, staff don’t stay for very long around the Bonten building (either that or the numbers are endless; every day you see a new face), and you were always too busy to pay attention to anything but the hulking man demanding your attention.

Even so, something about that particular woman made the word ‘bold’ pop up in your mind in thick, underlined letters.

She’s been around for a few weeks now, looking to be about the same age as you (maybe a little older?), and always wore her black hair pinned back neatly, revealing youthful and bright eyes. She isn’t permitted to stay long — no longer than when she finishes up cleaning and cooking food that’ll last the next few days — and neither of you know each other’s names. Though she did offer you the most sympathetic of smiles when the smell of good food left you poking your head into the kitchen. You think of it sometimes, when you’re lying in bed sleepless.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this on my own, you frown, wiping sweat from your brow. Not that you haven’t cooked before, you have — you just can’t remember when. Your fingers curl feebly around the vegetable peeler, strips of potato skin falling onto the cutting board like ribbons. How long has it been, since you’ve put so much care into something other than Mikey? Again, you’re reminded of how much of your time that he eats up on the regular, like a blackhole both in his presence and absence; like a mechanical heart that your empty cavity of a ribcage can’t pump blood without. The thought alone should petrify you.

Don’t think about that.

There you go again, fretting over things that can’t be fretted about. You stubbornly follow the woman’s phantom movements from what little you gleaned from watching her from afar, guiding your hands over a boiling stove. The sizzles generating at the bottom of the metal pot reminds you of firecrackers. If your memory serves you well, there should be extra seasoning in the top cabinet. And you have to remember to work fast, too, just in case Haruchiyo decides to stick his head out in curiosity.

One by one, along with those forbidden thoughts, the various base ingredients are banished into the pot. Minutes later, you taste the thick broth with a spoon and damn, you realise, this actually tastes kind of good. This actually feels kind of good.

Yeah… yeah no, maybe you’re starting to get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll actually turn out okay after all — the next two days, your isolation, this makeshift stew. Not as good as the woman’s, but you reckon she’d give you a pass for trying. It’s only been a few days tops, but you cave and sigh; you kinda miss her presence. It gave you something to mull over amidst constant chao—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blood freezes.

At the doorway, Haruchiyo looks dishevelled, pissed, a single olive eye twitching. Your legs caramelise into a thick hardness, rooting you to the ground. The pot continues to sizzle above the flame. Since when did he…

“C-cooking?” you begin warily, glancing for the nearest exit, trying to keep an impervious look on your face even though every second that slips by a silent fear creeps up on you like a chokehold. You flinch as he stalks closer with the air of a forensic inspector, looking over the mess that is the kitchen, the wildly strewn pots and pans and utensils — all because you panicked and couldn’t find the ones you were looking for.

(Around the counter? No—that will take too much time. What if you shoved your way past him? No, god no—are you stupid? He’d catch you immediately—)

“You’re dumber than I thought,” he snarls, his mouth donning that prized scowl, leaning forward before you can react and jabbing a finger at the cutting board. “You don’t even know how to handle a fucking knife?”

“Wha—huh?”

You blink; the pellets of onion, potato and carrot lie limply on the scuffed wood. Misshapen little pieces, some thick and some way too thin. Your hands lie frozen in time, one grasping at a chunk of orange and the other gradually growing slick around the knife.

He clicks his tongue in disdain.

“At this rate, you’re going to kill yourself before I do.” Haruchiyo and the long tendons of his fingers pry the weighted blade out of the comfort of your hands. Insistently, in a way that tells you he’s mad—oh god he’s mad— but strikingly, without a touch of malice. Is he mad? Is he sober? He won’t turn it—the knife—on you—right? Your breath hitches.

“Mikey would maim me to a pulp if you succeeded in that little stunt,” he arches a brow, as if using Mikey’s name in such a manner left a bitter taste in his mouth. For some reason, blood rushes to your ears as you watch the man in an unbuttoned suit hunch over the cutting board. You give him space to examine the ingredients, biting your tongue in shame. “If you wanted food you could’ve just said so.”

You could’ve just said so.

Something doesn’t feel quite right about his words, but you’re too relieved to dwell on it. You are graced with a sliver of respite, a moment’s peace; at least you know Haruchiyo has no intentions of killing you. He can’t. Probably.

The silky-smooth incisions he makes on the vegetables and meat send a tremor down your spine, each chop bouncing around in your eardrums. He’s helping you and yet, you almost feel bad for wanting to run. You don’t want to know where he learnt to wield a blade like a razorlike extension of his fingers.

“You know a lot,” you whisper, biting your lip afterwards, minutes in when the aimless hovering becomes too much to bear. What the hell are you doing, trying to make small talk? 

“I know enough,” he shoots back, long lashes fluttering like large silver fans as he turns around to squint at you. He likes to look at you as if you were some ancient vase excavated from the earth, you realise. Or like a fossil. As if you originated from a completely different time from him.

Nothing much of a conversation passes between the two of you after that; you awkwardly go through the motions, trying your best to stay away. He mutters some weird cantation under his breath as he sections off the potatoes from the carrots, moves them over to a plate as he readies the meat.

It’s almost faelike, how systematic of a man he is. How quick he is to catch on, requiring minimal instructions from you, despite seeming like a person of inferior culinary calibre.

When he’s done, Haruchiyo pats his hands on his thighs, breathing a sigh. His gaze mulls over the piping stew still bubbling with the newly-added ingredients, before plucking itself away and landing on the door to the study just a distance from the kitchen (his hiding place; his deep cavernous den). Just before he saunters to the room, twisting a hand on the door knob, he says, “I don’t cook, so don’t expect me to.” 

(You didn’t.)

It was a brief encounter.

In the early dusk, long after your meal, you hear him crawl out of the study like an emerging creature of the night, and when you’re halfway through turning over a page in a novel (a dusty old one that you found hiding inside the drawers of the bedside table) you hear the sound of cutlery scraping against ceramic, echoing from where the kitchen must be.

It’s strange, the gladness that washes over you — you hadn’t really expected him to react, let alone try your cooking. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure that he ate in the first place. (He said he doesn’t cook, but he knows the ‘correct’ way to use a knife? Odd.) You frown, none of the words on the page construing a decipherable meaning to you.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing the same space with Haruchiyo won’t be so bad after all (now that you know he eats and sleeps like a human being, is normal-functioning in most aspects of his physical body).

With this thought in mind, you carry on business as usual in your small corner of the house, lightly pondering which part of Japan Mikey has found himself embroiled in.

At nightfall, your ears unwillingly pick up loud thuds down the hallway, and you triple-check that the door is locked before climbing into the soft covers, stifling a shiver. Regardless of whether he’s been oddly tame or not, it’ll take a while to get used to this — the strange, unexplainable things that go bump in the night. 

The bed… feels emptier. Desolate. Something feels odd, like the calm before the storm. It’s just your imagination. You close your eyes, falling asleep imagining Mikey’s arm around your hip. Ironically, you can’t seem to sleep well without him.

∗

What is this?

He’s felt like this before, of that he’s certain. A longass time ago. Judging from the huge blip in his memory when Haruchiyo tries to recall, it must’ve been eons since then. Eons and eons and then some, back when inactive volcanoes still spat real, smouldering lava — he’s sure it’s been that long.

It’s curious, and it amazes him more than it disgusts him. He should be disgusted, the logical part of his brain adds; he should have just minded his business and carried on as usual. He should have let you cut yourself in that dangerous manner (what’s a tiny cut going to do, add another notch to the scar-ridden pole?) — let you experience what it’s like to live life with an impish brain. 

He wasn’t intending to interrupt. Ten, fifteen minutes must’ve ticked by, with him standing there in silence (you are quite the careless one). He couldn’t push down the onslaught of annoyance at the way you bent over backwards to reach the top shelf — are you trying to make his job difficult on purpose? Haruchiyo is a lawless beast, sure, but even beasts have their master’s orders to abide by, along with a special place in hell for those who don’t obey orders. Maybe that was your goal — maybe you wanted him gone. Maybe deep down you’re a spy sent to eliminate Bonten from the inside.

That is how he almost relished in pure excitement, at the promise of bloodshed regardless of how minor.

And yet, and yet, when he saw the flat silver falling just millimeters short of slicing into your soft digits, something compelled him to step in. (To help? Or to finish the job? No, he knows why. It was to chase this surreal, abstract feeling.)

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

He wonders how you had the time to teach yourself how to cook. Or if you’d already known before you were brought here (in any case you didn’t look very experienced). If the flavourful explosion in his mouth attests to his boss’ favourite dish. Comfort food, his brain supplies. What is that? He never understood the little nuances that people sprinkled in their vocabulary, though the terms lingered in his head like pesky flies. (If it’s shit, it’s just shit, right?)

He’d been so used to the staleness served at dilapidated bars that he’d forgotten almost completely what it means to have a proper meal. If it wasn’t stale or nasty it was too fancy for him to stuff down his throat — he has always been a picky eater, wanted things to be just right, but somehow the smell alone was enough to entice him out of the study.

And when he took the first bite, something strange happened. A feeling akin to warmth flooded his veins. (It’s amazing, isn’t it? It was like poison. His head started spinning and his mind morphed into a jumbled maze of thoughts; so deeply entrenched in its twists and turns he was, left palm slowly running across hedged walls, groping for an exit. Or trying to find whatever treasure, salvation, lied in the middle.) It never ever struck Haruchiyo that you might’ve snuck something extra into the food to incite this wild reaction in him. No— you’re too innocent for that. Kind. Warm. Trusting. Soft…

Not once did you knock on the door. Not that he expected you to. Not that he wanted you to. (You’re stupid but not that stupid.)

He must’ve been in there for hours, oscillating between the fabric of time and space, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one. 

Flashes — funny things, like trusting someone, like cutting his fingers by accident as a kid, sitting outside the doctor’s office (“What are they going to do to me?” a young boy with flaxen hair whispered. “They will put you in stitches. It will not hurt. Just a few pricks, nothing more,” someone whispered back… who?) — materialise before his consciousness often. Uninvited. Unwarranted.

When he is awake they come to him like blessings, like offerings to a long-forgotten deity. When he is asleep they take on the sparkle and sheen of a fairytale — so blurry and blinding that he could never hope to brush his fingertips across such an ethereal feeling in his mortal life.

Because a common thread was that these recollections (or fairytales, or glimpses into the ether, or as he personally likes to call them, fever dreams) never lasted long.

The feeling always, always chose to leave last — that silent poking and prodding going on without his consent, shady dealings happening at the edges of his conscience that scream at him to mourn for a past innocence, something that he has no chance of ever recovering. Memory, in this way, comes like slippery eels in the palm of his hand: if he’s lucky, he’ll catch one. If he isn’t, oh well.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, plastering his spine to the back of chair in hopes of relieving the pain throbbing behind his eyelids. Defeat tastes acrid, bitter, on Haruchiyo’s tongue; it’s no use fighting the waves of agony strobing like a heat wave.

His arm adeptly loses feeling and the metal spoon crashes down onto the plate. It’s empty now, and his stomach is somewhat filled. Yet this shitty-ass migraine chooses to latch onto his brain like a leech. God. Can’t you just—I don’t know—let me off? This one, goddamn time, Haruchiyo curses. He’s pissed. He’s sure he left an extra stockpile of that good stuff somewhere…

Old habits die hard, but it’s difficult to dwell on it when all he can feel is gratefulness for his own foresight. Mikey finds ways to avoid him a lot when he doesn’t feel like entertaining his highs, kinda like throwing a bone to stave off a dog’s abundant energy. But for the most part, he lets Haruchiyo do his own thing — lets him chew on the proverbial bone to his heart’s desire. Thus, once again, Haruchiyo finds himself with a fistful of pills. (It’s the only way he knows to curb the pain.)

He’d really meant to pounce on you by now, he thinks, as he swallows another. Gulp. He meant to already sink his claws into your neck, the same way Mikey does. Gulp.

But he can’t. Right now he can’t even stand straight his head hurts so bad. As if something from within him wanted to turn his body inside out, displaying his innards.

And, fuck, when the itch resurfaces again like an old friend, there’s little he can do to stop it. (When has he ever been the type to argue with instinct, after all? If anything… he is a slave to it. It’s understandable. Mikey’ll forgive him. He’s too used to running free, veins pulsing at the first whiff of prey. It doesn’t do anyone good to cage a wild animal.)

Haruchiyo and his dimmed gemstone eyes, clouded over with a drug-filled haze — a comfortable, fitted collar around his neck and the leash held firmly within his grasp. A slave. A weapon to his own instinct. Nature proclaims that it’s law for predators to hunt prey. How many girls has he killed? How many that look like you and how many just to satisfy this instinct of purging prey.

Haruchiyo has lost count at this point. Everything blurs and twists into one: pill-shaped candy, the boy with pale hair, the warmth of the food that felt like a paperweight on his tongue… you clutching the tip of your finger, thick blood gushing out. (The ‘what-if’ that would’ve happened if he hadn’t interfered.)

Deeper and deeper, he starts to feel dizzy, as if he were plummeting down a rabbit hole. He stumbles from the kitchen and into the living room, heads towards the noise that made his ears prick up like a predator groping for blood. Thirst. He’s unbearably thirsty.

It’s not you— is that you? He goes rigid; blinks away hysteria. It’s you.

All he can think of is you— all he can think is, Mikey will forgive him.

∗

At an abandoned dock two cities away a figure sits patiently, embroiled in a decrepit darkness. Moonlight creeps across his hunched back like vines over a wall. Dark bangs fall messily across his face with some strands still matted in a sticky substance. Sweat, or blood. Mikey scrunches up his nose. If you were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning himself up.

But you aren’t. And the thought is enough to wind a bunch of thorns around his chest.

The cylindrical shape feels strange as heck against the insides of his mouth. He’s poked his tongue through the barrel a few times before, out of pure curiosity, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn trapped in its mitts. But the taste? Well, it’s just as he expected it to be — bland. Flavourless. Unappealing. Just as unappealing as life without you.

(The fuck? Takeomi called me all the way here just to deal with this?)

Then again, he did take a longer time than usual to exterminate the local pest populace. Mikey doesn’t know if this particular thorn in his side is exceptionally formidable, or if he is exceptionally off his game today. (Huh — no, that can’t be it. It’s not as if he saw hostile figures blurring into two then three then four like a cheap ninja trick, even as he struck them down unfazed; not as if, after the tenth one the blood got too heavy for him to focus, and everywhere he turned, intrusive images of your skin plagued his psyche like a disease… no, that can’t be it.)

(…Right? Right. No way.)

He’s miserable. He wants to go home. He wants to hold you and he wants to make you taste the barrel of the gun as he is now — make you run your tongue along its concave shape and ask if you can taste the gunmetal on your teeth and call you pathetic when you start trembling like you always do. Would you let him? (Of course you would. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.) You are obedient, Mikey likes that about you, and you’re always willing to go along with his whims — though, he frowns, it’s mostly because you’re scared. Probably.

Somewhere in the dark a rat squeaks, scuttles into a crack, leaving the timid cry resonating within jagged walls. It reminds him of yo— he throws his head back and gives a long, hard groan, one that spirals in the stillness. 

Okay that’s it. He clutches his head. I’m getting out of here.

“Oi. Come, Senju,” he calls monotonously, not waiting up before hopping down, setting his course deeper towards the direction of darkness. A barely audible pair of footsteps follow close behind. But Mikey’s thoughts are occupied; he thinks about the flat surface of the gun and what colour it’d make your skin turn, and he thinks about Haruchiyo sitting faithfully in the penthouse, doing his job. (He’s a little worried, and that’s an understatement.)

Mikey sighs, nose breathing in the musty, oppressive smell of the sea.

One more day and he’ll be back where he was with you; one more day and he’ll be home. But at the very least, he thinks, this little business venture has turned out to be the tiniest bit amusing. His first time exploring Japan in months and he’s already got himself a souvenir to take home.

∗

It’s… raining.

A fine, feathery, bountiful rain that’s only noticeable from ripples of water cascading soundlessly on the full-length window, and floating umbrellas shielding commuters from the downpour hundreds and hundreds of floors below.

From your bird’s-eye view, they all but resemble dewdrops of microscopic colour, so far away that you can barely tell they’re alive. You press your palm flat against the glass, feeling the heat of your own skin absorb the cool surface, feeling the tiny vibration brought forth by the morning raindrops on the other side.

How long has it been? Since you’ve been on that other side?

A backdrop of grey paints the city. A familiar view, but one that you’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s quiet. Way too quiet, at that.

Where is Haruchiyo?

The chill spreads to the tip of your toes when they meet the marbled flooring. You slip off the couch, contemplating the merit in searching for a man you would otherwise do triple somersaults to avoid. Is this a good idea? You chew on your lip. It’s not. But where is he?

You’ve been feeling uneasy for the whole morning. Earlier there’d been a crash (multiple) coming from the hallway, and besides making you drop your book it also brought with it a nauseating wave of anxiety. Not that you expected Haruchiyo to be quiet at all times, goodness no (last night was a test of your patience), but there was a certain instinct imbued into you that made the hairs on your forearms stand on end whenever things were a hint out of the ordinary.

A certain intuition that came part and parcel with living with dangerous, scheming people.

Why is he grunting like that?

(That was a grunt, right? No… no, it definitely was.)

There was the sound of something sharp, like metal, grating against the floor — what was that? You scurry over to press your ear to the door, listening hard for anomalies, trying to conjure up hypotheses in your brain that don’t equal to Haruchiyo throwing a messy fit or getting ready to jump you or — well, kill you.

A clunk. Several thumps. A knife, maybe? Or he could be moving furniture, or, or—he could be practicing with his rumoured katana (you’ve never seen it but heard people talk about it in hushed whispers) — there’s no way to know for sure. All these unidentified sounds send seismic fear rippling through you.

With Mikey there was no need to question anything, because it was only a matter of time until you found out. But now that you’re alone — alone and defenceless and the most vulnerable you’ve ever been since you were fresh out the womb — it strikes a waning courage in your steps as you venture into the unknown, sweaty palms encircling the cool metal door knob, trying your hardest to stifle the click it makes when it unlocks.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to the source of the sound. Because it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek. Right? Just to check in. Just to be safe. Just to make sure he isn’t putting funny stuff inside your cupboards.

And. Well. If you were being honest, being Mikey’s little pet must’ve changed you a lot.

Complacency that thickened your skin, artificial layers of cosmetics over baby-smooth doll fabric. The false sense of protection under Mikey’s invisible iron fist comes with its own, hefty price. It must have gotten to you somehow. It must have done something to build up that liquid courage in your veins, in its own twisted way, surely, because—because no sooner than when you poke your head through the doorway into the living room do you see it.

See them.

You stare at the pile of grisly red organs splattering the cold hard floor; stare at death itself.

And, on top of it, as if crowned the victor, no one but Haruchiyo hunches leisurely over the grisly mound of flesh. Cleaning the mess behind his fingertips with his tongue. Eyeing his handiwork. The glinting edge of the tiny scalpel in his hand still dripping with scarlet, sharp edge pointed towards god knows what’s left of that person ohgod—

Your gut drops to the floor in horror. That uniform. That’s her. That’s the woman. Shit—fuck. What was once a sweet young woman is now a mangled corpse by the hands of Haruchiyo. Something… something is terribly wrong. She doesn’t look like she’s been dead for minutes. No, her eyes are far too cold. Like gaping holes. There is blood from her mouth, no, there is blood everywhere —

Haruchiyo hums, his rosier-than-cotton-candy hair dip-dyed in scarlet. Drip, drip. “Looks like… ah, I’ve roused the attention of our reclusive little rabbit.”

It’s the same man who’d grasped your hand in a courteous gesture just the day before, who’d saved you from slicing your fingers, the same goddamn murderer who’s just got his hands on the only person in years to address you like a regular human being. Idiot. You’ve done it this time. You’re a fucking dumbass. He’s a murderer, murderer — he’s going to kill you.

You’re next.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?” His grin only widens at your stupor, your slow, petrified jaw hanging agape. “You look scared. Do I make you feel scared?”

Your legs won’t budge; you whimper.

Run. Runrunrun — your body is screaming at you, imploring you to hurry the fuck up and run for your goddamn life, but you don’t. Pleas fall on deaf ears. Your body is caught in a bear trap, forcing you to take in the gruesome scene before you. There is so, so much blood. More than you’ve ever seen in your life. And all of it, all of it, is hers. 

Just the other day she greeted you with her usual warm smile. Just the other day she was a living, breathing human, who ate and slept and radiated heat.

“Your face tells me you want to run,” he trills, eyes narrowing into slits. “Gonna run away?”

His tone is shrill as a sharpened blade, deranged, with every word mounting into maniacal glee. “Run with your little tail tucked between your cute thighs, back to your big, strong Mikey?”

Bloodshot and unfocused eyes zero in on your face and his body convulses like a zombie erecting from the dead, joints creaking like bars of scaffold. Slowly, assuredly, he rises to one knee, he points the scalpel at his own collarbone, and wait, wait, why is he— 

“Look here, little bunny,” he coos, a big wide smile twisting the scars on his mouth; his wrist twitches, yanks, the blade following suit, dipping obediently into his own flesh. His own skin. His own blood that leaks pure sparkling scarlet from a thin crevice. 

A scream tears through the room, one you can only feel is yours from the vibrations ringing in your hollow throat — he doesn’t wince. Sheer horror sends your body flying back, hands clasped tight in front of your face to shield you from the deep dark red. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real. Red is matted to pink strands of hair, red is glittering across his mouth like the snout of a beast, red is slowly advancing across the carpet. Wake up. You tremble, whimper. This is bad this is bad this is bad.

A cackle rips into the air, one with a chilling, blood-curdling echo bouncing off the walls, and no sooner than when he takes a step forward does the impenetrable cement in your veins crack. 

Fight or flight.

You turn and bolt, feeling the weight of your numb appendages carrying you as far as possible, away from that—that sickening blood, that red crawling ever so closely towards you like hot, molten lava—

You race, stumble, dive into Mikey’s room (Idiot! Mikey isn’t even here! The exit — you have to get to the exit!), managing to grab a spare key off the counter before fleeing like a bat out of hell towards the front door, salvation, the only way out.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

But then your back’s hitting the wall as you scramble to flee, jolts of the impact swelling up your spine as you hurtle into a dodge when Haruchiyo lunges, bloodied fingertips snatching your wrist and pulling pulling yanking, until the keys crash to the ground with a deafening clatter, until you’ve been sucked into the floor with a scream clawing at your throat, until you’re submerged limb by limb into that deep deep red that you hate.

“NO no no no no, letmego, letmeg—”

“Shh, shh!”

The cool tip of the blade drags along your cheek, thinly scraping against the surface, slicing into half the wet tracks that tears have left on your face so that slivered carmine wells up through the broken skin. His body has no right being this warm, pressed up against you, your knees and arms already going slick with blood. It’s over. He’s caught you.

Your eyes stay screwed shut amidst the barrage of hot tears bursting behind your eyelids. He has you pinned down for good, you realise, a strained whimper fighting its way in the back of your throat. There is no escape. The pain is real. You can feel the slim thread of blood rolling down your cheek, mixing with the tears — only for him to lean closer, lapping up the traces of it with a satisfied chuckle.

His saliva leaves a slimy, wet sensation on your skin. It’s the worst feeling you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Please… I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell Mikey— please, just let me go…”

“Ah ah ah.” The man — Sanzu Haruchiyo — hushes you again, a finger on your lip, his shuddering breath fanning erratically on your face, his voice fading into yet another hysterical chuckle. But it’s deep, breathy, and taunting, thrumming loudly in his chest, and sending a tremor through your very soul. “I think you’re forgetting a teensy, tiny fact, little bunny— Mikey’s not here.”

Your nose fills with iron when he is this close. Haruchiyo’s eyes — those bulging, green masses of insanity — shift and convulse as if you were faced with the mouth of an abyss. His grip on your wrists tightens to an agonising degree the more you plead and squirm, leaving you with no choice but to hold your breath, hoping desperately that someone will come to your rescue.

Where is Mikey? 

You’re going to die here. You’re going to die here… and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pushed up against this psycho killer, who’s just murdered a person innocent of all crime, an outsider who shouldn’t even have been here. Is this how you find closure? From someone other than Mikey? 

Manjiro… the thought is enough to shoot a terrible pain in your heart, something unwarranted like denial, like indescribable terror, like—like regret. 

I never told him I love him.

Twin dilated pupils absorb the sight of your writhing, suffering form, shuddering in their sockets from unmatched euphoria.

“Why don’t we play a little?”

∗

Truth be told, Haruchiyo doesn’t know what time of day it is, what day it is, and all he remembers is feeling fatigued with an indescribable, insatiable hunger. He thinks he’s never felt so dissatisfied in his entire life.

But this… this is nothing short of a feast, isn’t it?

“You…” he begins, seething through his ultra-wide grin. “You’re a huge slut!”

His hands, not knowing where to touch, land greedily on every inch of your traitorous skin. Groping, taking, as if the gates to heaven inexplicably opened; a creature of hell, he is — a pitch-black entity descending upon a fine-feathered angel. He can’t stop himself, not when you’re so helpless to fend him off.

“If I had known… that you would be going around getting wet at every man touching your little pussy like this…” He bites back a laugh, the scarred edges of his mouth contorting. 

You look confused — terrified, but mainly confused. And scared as to why he hasn’t ripped apart your insides yet and god you’re fucking delicious. Your nightdress has long been torn to shreds. Blood — not yours — is splattered everywhere on the marble flooring. Haruchiyo’s obscene groans come like second nature at this point. It’s good, it’s too good — your cries, your shivering, your scent, the way that he can taste how salty your tears are and hear the wetness gathering at his fingers. 

“You’re a damned whore, aren’t you?”

You look stunned, stupefied, as if your little brain can’t comprehend what Haruchiyo wants to do to you, as if the squelching noises coming from between your thighs are a mechanism separate to your conscious body — as if they don’t tell him all he needs to know. 

“S-stop,” you snivel, wrists straining in his grip, though he thinks it couldn’t possibly hurt from the way you can’t help your half-moans, so delicate and frantic, flitting about in his ears like a pair of small butterfly wings. “Stop, please, a-ah, don’t touch me there—”

“Here? Oh, but what if I want to?”

Frankly, this is the most fun that he’s had in ages — your kitten-like mewls and crystalline tears, soft hips twisting fruitlessly and the friction only serving to make his blood rush south, adrenaline sizzling in his veins even more so than when he was in the midst of mutilating that dumb placeholder, that fake…

“You feel so nice and soft inside, little bunny.”

Haruchiyo shoves his fingers past the lips of your cute slit, prodding and poking like it’s his first time touching a virgin. Warm, tender, and suckling on him like a fawn to its mother’s breast… the gentle clasp of your pussy against his fingers feels like nothing short of heaven. God almighty, no wonder Mikey couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His cock becomes erect, the tip becoming sensitive as it strains against precum-soaked fabric.

He watches you squirm, watches as your tits heave with every breath you take. For the first time Haruchiyo is close to you, closer than ever before, to the point where if he brandished the scalpel now there’s no telling whether he’ll lose control and gouge your pretty eyeballs out in a fit of blind lust. Just like he did to so many others before you — just like those other porcelain, fragile, counterfeit dolls. (Except there’s really nothing that comes so close to perfection as the real thing.)

“What do you think is stopping me from killing you, hm?” 

He poses this question in the midst of circling your shining pearl, bringing you closer and closer to climax, coaxing panicked moans out of you as if the realisation just hit you that maybe he will rip apart your insides after all. 

Then, when you whine out instead of replying, Haruchiyo pauses, pressing his weight against your soft body for good measure, keening at your smell. He sighs—

“It’s because torturing you fucking turns me on.”

You used to smell like roses — like Mikey. But the you in this moment smells like sex, sweat, and potent iron, blood from his fresh killing and blood from his own flesh and bone; he has never felt such uncontrollable desire in his life. This is it, he thinks, this is the treasure waiting for him at the end of the maze. 

His lips latch on and suckle on your exposed nipple, tongue circling and biting and lapping hard until it draws cries of pain. His face returns to your neck, a slimy tongue sticking out and coating you with saliva, feeling himself quiver with desire when your entire body convulses. His hard length grinds against your inner thigh like a mad dog, eager to insert itself into your warm and inviting hole. 

But not yet. Just a little more.

He releases your wrists. Sharp nails latch themselves onto your scalp, straining against the roots of your hair to tug you eye-to-eye with his gaze. People like to say that Haruchiyo gets a spine-chilling, deranged gleam in his eyes when he’s in the middle of torturing someone — what do you see this time?

A monster? The devil himself? Or something more divine? Otherworldly? Something like a god?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip; not bad, he credits his brain, eyeing the tremble of your lip and the way tears cascade down your cheeks and jaw and drip onto your breasts, he might just crave to make you worship him. More than anyone else. More than his King; make you become his own private devotee.

“Does Mikey also do this?” Haruchiyo’s gravelly voice whispers filthy vice in your ear. “Does he? Tell me.”

Your back hits the floor. He sticks another finger, two, then three, inside your cunt, wriggling and feeling for the one spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your non-stop whining, your incoherency, your lack of capacity for full sentences, all of it is starting to unravel his control — spilling out like a spool of thread underwater, dispersing never to be reeled in again.

“Tell. Me.” 

“N-no!” you rasp, hips quaking. 

“Liar,” he smiles. You’re a liar. You’re a filthy liar. He saw you. “What does he do to your little clit, huh? Rub, rub. Oh, you feel so soft and slippery here.”

“Stop, please, a-ah! It’s too much, it’s too much…”

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” he is quick to comfort, fingers speeding up, abusing your tiny nub, as if his ears were blotting out your frantic cries and tearful struggle. So, so sensitive. He almost feels like you’ll break. “Cum all you want. Again and again. We’ve got all day.”

He attaches his lips like a parasite to your cheek, licking at the small cut, sucking every drop of blood that leaks out, all while his fingertips never cease their momentum. You resist and jerk away from his face, only for him to wrench your jaw tightly in place.

“No, I don’t want to cum, I don’t—” You struggle like a rabbit with its hind legs bound, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a feeble effort to mute your cries of pleasure. “I-I’m gonna—”

You cum without warning; a spray of liquid pools at your entrance, your thighs spasming under him as if charged with electricity. He coos as if to cheer you on. Fuuuck. He’s not done. There’s no way. Droplets of your juices taste like dews on his tongue; so much he wants to do, but he only has two hands. 

As you reel, incapacitated with the afterglow of your orgasm, his palm lets go of your face to wrap around the flushed tip of his cock, giving a few sharp pumps, imagining what it feels like to be buried in your warmth. Well, he won’t have to imagine much longer.

“So pretty, you’d put every other girl to shame,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and another to your lips, silencing your whimpers. “I hated you, god, but turns out you’re good for at least one thing.”

“Let me… let me go…”

“Nah. But did it feel good?” He wants to break you. He wants to see you drowning in so much pleasure that you collapse and black out and crave nothing but his cock.

Your face scrunches up. You’re looking at him, he thinks. Though your expression looks weird, and you’ve stopped struggling.

“Mikey… Mikey’s gonna… he’s gonna be so mad,” you start to hiccup, tears dripping silently onto the marble, bottom lip trembling. Haruchiyo goes still, watching you cry at a loss for words.

He’s confused.

Mikey? Really? At a time like this? And he sees it again. That blatant softness that filters over your eyes — that ickiness. You’re so in love with his King that it’s pathetic.

It hadn’t been obvious before, but it is now. It’s thickening the skin between your heart and the outside world: it’s still there, the veins permeating the layer of visibility just barely, but the pulsing is faint.

And he sneers. Who do you think you are?

“You came because you’re a disloyal whore and you know it. Looks like you didn’t really love him after all, huh?”

At his words, you let out a hurt-filled gasp, as if they made their way into your heart and deposited lashes of agony there. Your mouth hangs open with tears still streaking down your face. The sight makes him want to coo at you.

“Look — you’re all messy and slick down here.”

Before you can tell him to stop, his fingernail scratches your abused clit, hard and fast as if trying to coax another orgasm out of you. Just one more. You can endure it, right? He’s watched Mikey do worse to you. He’s watched Mikey splay your legs open at his mercy and threaten to let every man in the room have their way with you.

Your body thrashes in retaliation but it’s no match for Haruchiyo’s strength, helpless to fight back as he pushes you further and further until you splutter and give a keening cry.

“What would Mikey think if he saw you like this?” he laughs, tuning out your pleas to slow down. “He’d fucking kill you.”

Another spray of your juices — another sharp scream of pleasure. By the third, fourth, your body starts trembling in overstimulation.

“I’m going to make you cum, again and again. Until you regret ever coming here. Make you regret trying to tempt my King.”

Haruchiyo mindlessly nibbles at your ear, before brutish hands reach down to force your legs wider. It’s about time, isn’t it? His cock throbs painfully at the wait.

“No, no, no… you can’t—”

He ignores you, rearranging his hips so they align with yours, gripping your abdomen like a vice as if trying to bruise. More, more, more. All his filthy fantasies start to spill out of the crevices in his brain. All he can do is watch the lavish black rush out in an endless downpour, and he, wrought with an incurable thirst, helps himself to your body, spellbound by the adrenaline you incite in him and the softness and warmth that you—

Ouch. He feels a prick.

From his shoulder, a tiny cut. A warm drop of blood beads at the broken skin. Ah. you’ve got your puny, trembling fingers on the handle of the scalpel.

How clever. A laugh bubbles from his throat.

“Oh, little bunny. Are you sure you want to do that?”

His hand removes itself from your body, snatching the blade out of your grip. You panic and try to retrieve it, but in your moment of desperation he chuckles and slides his cock in, stuffing you with inches of his length at one go, stretching you out like a cushy sleeve. 

You yelp, foal legs kicking at air. Haruchiyo takes the time to tuck the blade away. 

“Stupid, stupid,” he clicks his tongue as you wail in defeat, tiny paws padding at his chest like you want him to pin you down harder — like you crave for him to abuse your little hole until you can’t walk for the rest of the year. “You’re just a little stupid, aren’t you? Gone all mush-brained from me teasing you?”

He wastes no time in bottoming out, leaving the tip brushing against your womb, beating on the squishy walls again and again. His pace is manic, uncaring, straight from the get-go. Nothing can compare to you. Your tight, slick walls accommodate him so lasciviously, so perfectly, that he swears you know what you’re doing. 

“You know what? I’m not even mad. Not when you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” His King has an eye for quality, he thinks, adjusting his grip so he can thrust deeper in you.

A mess of blood, cum, tears — a mess that he has made you, forced onto you like ink on a canvas, and he bled a bottomless black. You’re coming around slowly, letting the ink sink into your putty flesh and submitting yourself to the sensation, hips unknowingly rising to meet the timing of his thrusts. That’s more like it, he licks his lips. You’re cute. Obedient. He wouldn’t mind taking you home.

“Hey, hey. Here's—uh—an idea. Why don’t you become my own cocksleeve? I’ll tell Mikey that you—hah—fought real hard, but you just couldn’t resist putting a thick, hard cock inside you. I’ll tell him you couldn’t help it.” 

Haruchiyo chuckles mid-pant, having grown rather fond of you and your insides. He’s heaving like a beast, sweat gathering at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut to ride out this pure bliss. It’s a first for him. Has he been doing sex wrong his whole life?

“After my King disowns you… after he throws you out on the streets… I'll pick you up and give you a home. this little pussy… I’m going to make it my own.”

“Ah, ah— sto— ah…”

You’ve gone stupid for good, now. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mindless babbling spilling from your lips (he can barely make out Mikey’s name in poor, broken syllables), your breasts bouncing and pussy twitching as it overflows with juices. All words are lost to you in this state. 

And yet you’re still hugging his thickness diligently, just like a custom-made cocksleeve. He really ought to reward you. Haruchiyo reaches down to stimulate your clit and shudders at the feeling of you clenching tighter.

That far-off look in your eyes, your thighs periodically convulsing with spurts of cum spraying out pathetically between your folds — it’s almost too good to be true. You’re spent, brainless, mouth agape and tongue lolling out with drool overflowing from the sides when Haruchiyo finishes in you. He can make out broken parts of your speech: feeble efforts of voicing his name.

Not Mikey’s. His.

“You’re mine to play with now,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter at your pitiful mewls. “What do you think? You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Without thinking, with a heightened lust that betrays all logical thought, he sheathes himself again, all the way to the brim with a heady groan. The cum still potent and thick inside your hole spills out and paints his cock in a hot mess of liquid.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes glazed over with so much pleasure that you look as if you were far, far above the clouds.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

[yourlilsweetheart]

thinking hard about how adorable you look when you get all dumbfounded from overstimulation, my hand still stroking your pretty, leaking cock even when you've already cum a few seconds before. i coo sugared praises to you when i notice how flustered your face is, small tears in your eyes and a silly smile on your lips. you're my good little boy, aren't you? so obedient just for me, letting me do anything i want to you even when my caresses are already starting to hurt. you look so gorgeous, my love. i adore the sight of your body all marked, spanked and bitten. i adore seeing your thighs trembling with each pump i give. i adore hearing your whimpers, cries and moans, not knowing if you want me to stop or if you'd like me to continue pleasuring you. what i adore the most though, is that we both know i'm the only one who can get you this high <3

[blueicequeen19]

Tag Team

Warnings: dub-con with JB & JJ, restraints, orgasm denial, over stimulation, use of toys 🔥

I read the text again from John B, telling me to meet him at the Chateau well past midnight. We'd been messing around for a while and my body was excited. The anticipation was killing me. We'd done everything except fuck and I don't think I can wait any longer. I knew what he was packing and I was desperate to feel it inside me. My pussy pulses as I step inside the dark house. That was weird. He always left a light on for me.

"John B?" I call out his name just as he emerges from the hallway, his expression blank. A small smirk plays at my lips as I stop in front of him, resting my hands on his chest.

"Why is it dark in here?" I whisper, leaning up to kiss him. He lets me, not kissing me back.

"Are you scared?" John B murmurs, his hands finding my waist and pulling me closer. I kiss him again and he licks his lips.

"What's going on? Why won't you kiss me?" I scoff, my body suddenly on high alert. He gives a small smile before cupping my face and kissing me softly. I reach down and palm his cock through his shorts as he backs me up towards the kitchen table.

"Strip." John B says in a husky voice, his cock growing in my hand. I quickly kick my sandals off and bare myself for him. He spins me around and pushes me to bend over the table. My legs shake in anticipation as his warm hands slide down my back and over the swell of my ass, squeezing as he goes.

"John B." I moan his name as his fingers glide over my pussy in a light teasing touch.

"Such a pretty pussy." I hear him murmur. "I want to tie you up so you can't escape me. Is that okay?" He asks, using two fingers to circle my clit. I buck and moan as I nod desperately.

"Please, John B. Please touch me." I moan as he ties my legs open with soft rope to the legs of the table. He moves in front of me with more rope in his hands.

"Keep begging. I love hearing you beg for me." John B murmurs, carefully tying my wrists together then securing them to another leg of the table. I was stretched tightly, unable to move or escape him. He could use me anyway he wanted like this. I was so wet.

"John B, please, use me. I need you." I gasp, hunger running through my veins. He slowly unbuttons his colorful button up, revealing delicious abs and light chest hair.

"Is this what you want?" John B whispers, dropping his shirt to the floor as he teases me.

"More." I plead, watching as he strokes himself through his shorts. He was so hard.

"Are you my good little slut? Do you want me to fuck your pussy or your mouth?" John B rasps, that voice making me shudder.

"Both." I cry, licking my lips as he unzips his shorts and pulls himself free. His cock was beautiful and hard with a slight curve. Begging for attention.

"You need all your pretty holes filled?" John B whispers, stroking himself just inches from my mouth. My mouth was practically watering with the need to taste him. I nod. A wicked grin forms across his face as he bends at the waist so we're eye level.

"Did you think we wouldn't find out?" His voice is low, eyes ablaze as I try to wrap my mind around what he just said. We?

I yelp in surprise when another set of hands grab my ass, digging in their fingers as another clothed cock is pressed against my pussy.

"Did you think you could play us both?" My eyes widen at the sound of JJ's voice, his hands sliding up and down my body. Panic started to set in as I yank on my restraints. I was trapped and exposed to them. Both of them. They were both here. They figured it out.

"You tricked me." I say breathlessly as I glare up at John B. They both laugh.

"Tricked you? We're going to give you what you want, slut. We're going to fill all your little holes with our cum. We're going to use you how you've been using us." John B smiles as JJ molds himself to my back, kissing and biting my skin. My body was buzzing. I was so turned on I could hardly breathe.

"But we're going to have a little fun first." JJ growls, retreating back down my body and I hear him drop to the floor. A second later his mouth is on my pussy. I cry out as he devours me, thrusting his tongue inside me then sucking on my clit.

"We're going to leave you like this for a while. Leaving you wanting and desperate for release." John B says but I can't focus on his words. My body is trembling uncontrollably as JJ eats my pussy. The man could use his tongue. My orgasm was so close. So close. My toes start to curl, my body growing taunt when he stops. I cry out in frustration as JJ laughs, getting to his feet.

"Poor little slut. So desperate to be filled." I gasp when JJ's thick cock presses against my pussy, coating himself in my arousal.

"We will fill you. Eventually." John B swipes his thumb over my parted lips then shoves two fingers to the back of my throat. "Suck." He demands. I close my mouth around his digits as JJ thrusts against my slit, letting his head catch but never going inside. I'm becoming a wet, blubbering mess as they tease me. I use my eyes to silently beg but John B doesn't care as he keeps making me gag on his fingers.

"God, she's so wet." JJ growls behind me, the head suddenly catching my entrance and I moan loudly.

"Don't fuck her. Not yet." John B snaps, making JJ growl in frustration. I wiggle my ass in a desperate plea but JJ laughs, slapping my ass hard.

"Just the tip, then I'll stop."

"JJ." John B warns, removing his fingers from my mouth like he'll have to physically stop JJ. I could feel JJ's cock pulsing against my pussy. His restraint was wavering. I wiggle my hips again and JJ slaps my ass, pulling his cock away with a curse. Tears start to fall from my eyes when I hear him spit between my cheeks and his finger is pressing against my asshole. I tense but I can't pull away.

"What's wrong, slut? You didn't think this hole was off the table did you?" JJ taunts, pushing a thick finger in without much warning. I cry out. God, it hurts. It burns. But as soon as he starts to pump it slowly, I'm on the brink of cumming again.

"She likes that."

"I know she does." JJ stops again and I sob, my body starting to hurt from the restraints. John B lowers himself in front of me so we're eye level, wiping my tears while JJ rummages around behind me. What was he doing?

"What was your goal? Ruin our friendship? Did you think we'd fight over pussy?" John B says, swiping his thumb over my bottom lip.

"It is a nice pussy." I hear JJ say as something small and oblong suddenly ran through my slit. I jump, panic setting in again. I open my mouth to make a smart comment when the toys comes to life, vibrating me to my core. I scream and my panties are suddenly shoved in my mouth at the same time the toy is pushed inside me. It's curved and a piece on the outside is pressed directly against my clit. I cum hard and fast from the sudden stimulation, my whole body convulsing despite their taunting laughter. If this is how I die, I'll take it.

JJ moves in front of me, letting me see them both as tears flow freely. One orgasm turns into two and my body convulses violently, my muscles screaming against the restraints.

"Do you think it's too much?" John B looks at JJ with fake remorse. JJ pursues his bottom lip and shrugs like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Nah." My eyes fall closed as they both stare at me with wicked grins. "We can always turn it up from your phone though. Or down." JJ says, smirking back at John B.

"Oh, we forgot something." John B steps away and I don't even bother trying to plead with JJ. I knew he liked shit like this. I hear John B rummaging like JJ was earlier and I know something is coming. JJ looks to his best friend like he's trying to avoid getting caught while quickly freeing himself from his shorts. My eyes widen as the glistening tip of his cock is brought to my cheek and he smears it from one side of my face to the other. I grunt through my gag, glaring at him as he smears his precum all over my face.

"Might want to relax." JJ's condescending voice says, smirking down at me. A moment later something cool and metal is being pressed inside my ass. I scream into my gag as I cum just from being filled. I hear their laughter as I jerk against my restraints, my body threatening to give out. John B appears again with a satisfied smile just as JJ tucks himself away.

"Be good for us. We'll be back.. eventually." John B jerks his head at JJ, signaling their departure but JJ hesitates, his hungry gaze washing over my naked and exposed body.

"Oh, we're going to have so much fun." JJ murmurs under his breath, licking his lips, before following after his best friend.

It was going to be a long, wet night.

[agatha-agere-all-along]

Could you do little and fem reader with mama Agatha? Where reader had a bad overstimulating and anxiety inducing day and heads home to be with Agatha but stubbornly refuses to let herself drop and Agatha has to slowly coax herself in? And could reader have a little age of 2-4? Sorry for being so specific 😭. Thanks for consideration!

No worries! Only thing I changed is reader is non-gender specific! But you're free to imagine it as fem! ^^

ALSO SORRY I TOTALLY DIDN'T SEE THIS 😭

Mamagatha + 2/4 reader! - Overstimulated.

(warnings! Mentions of doctors and meds. Anxiety, and overstimulation!)

You would consider yourself an anxious person. You fidgeted, a lot. Or stimming, as your doctor called it. They'd prescribed you medication to help with it, but you certainly didn't notice a difference.

When Agatha entered your life, however. It's like, a lot of that crushing weight suddenly didn't exist. And most days, you felt less anxious and more... you.

Today was, so, not one of those days.

See, you worked in a very people demanding job. Not one you wanted but, you needed money. Bright lights lit up the store, the slushie machine you had to clean today was all yucky and sticky, you got yelled at. Then, you also had to cram in an online class, trying your best to not let your poor grades slip further. Which, the stress made your anxiety spike for the test tomorrow.

Speaking of slipping, you just- wouldn't. When you got home, you barely even acknowledged Agatha greeting you. You really, really, really just wanted to lay down with your lights off and cry, preferably? On your own.

Reaching the basement, though, where your temporary room was set up—A mist of purple magic locked the door, a hum came from behind you. "So, take it I'm invisible?" She joked, before noticing you gave a quiet groan. Her smiled remained but her eyes frowned. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Bd..wrk..dy.." You mumbled something under your breathe, her face softens. "Does my baby need Mama today?" Her words, while tempting. You shook your head and push past her to instead go to the kitchen. "Not a baby..." murmured yourself.

"Mmmhm, sure you aren't." Her mouth turned into a slight grin, she had a feeling you wouldn't go five minutes without dropping. But if it took some coaxing from the witch, then she'd work her magic. (Not... literally-)

"Want me to atleast get ya a drink?" She offered as she strode into the kitchen with you, reaching for the fridge as you lazily climb onto a stool, face smashed against the counter top.

"Nghh.." You whined, as a cup us placed before you, you look up. "...not a baby." You repeat, as, she'd given you a sippy cup.

"Oh, I know... just, figured ya want that. You know, big kids are using those all the time these days, it's all the rage really." She was spewing horsecrap and you knew it. But you were thirsty and there was juice in front of you, so despite your grumbling, you drank it.

Oh, wow, that made you feel small.

"You a baby yet? Because Mama just put your blanket in the dryer before you got home, yeah?" Ohhh, warm blanky....

She brushed hair out of your face, and you whimper and nuzzle your head into her shirt. "You like that?" She asked, you didn't wanna admit it. But, yeah... you needed to be small, especially after today, you were feeling anxious and upset.

"Can Mama pick you up?" You actually had to think about it, not a hundred percent sure her hair would be okay, sebseoy wise, today. But after a second, you nodded, letting Mama scoop you up.

She coos, "There's my baby!"

[dreams-of-me]

Why Don't You Love Me?

Eren x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: domestic abuse!, toxic! Eren, semi-public sex, verbal abuse!, cervix kissing, deep penetration, vaginal penetration, creampie, overstimulation, AFAB Reader, BIPOC reader.

This is a prompt for my dear friend. She is a Yeagerist just like me and she deserves a fanfic that will make her coochie throb! This is based off the relationship between Nate and Maddie from Euphoria and I will not be taking and questions at this time.

"You're such an asshole leave me the fuck alone."

"Oh I'm the asshole because you want to show your ass to other men while you belong to me?"

" I don't belong to anyone but my fucking self, and if I were to belong to someone it wouldn't be you Eren. "

Eren's rage had reached his limit and grabbed you by your throat. He slammed you against the nearest wall and brought his lips close to your ears as he spoke slowly and calmly.

"Listen here bitch, you belong to me even if you don't want to. Even if we break up, you belong to me. You're mine got it."

You couldnt breathe Eren was at least a foot and a half taller than you and her was holding you up by your neck. You looked at him calmly as he spoke because even though the position you were in was painful and terrifying, you could not help yourself when the thought of him fucking you right up against the same wall. You were undeniably aroused by that little vein that popped out of Eren's neck as he spoke.

He let you down and you gasped for air as he walked away. You knew he could've killed you if he wanted but everything before this moment is really what kept you with him. Everything before this moment is what allowed the relization that everything he just told you is true. Even if he were to kill you, you'd be his.

Eren was the type of guy that was absolutely smoking hot and he knew it. Because he knew it he walked around Shiganshina Secondary School like he owned it. He was the social king, the football captain, the hottest guy in school, and average level intelligence. Unfortunately, this made it super apparent that he need a queen very soon as he was in his Junior Year and people were starting to believe that he was Gay from hanging around his best friend Armin so much and Mikasa didn't help as she looked at every girl that got close to him with a death stare.

Eren was also very picky. He didn't want a girl that was too tall or too short. About medium height. Had to be practically hairless, they need a nice rack and a fat ass. More importantly the needed to be confident. He also had a thing for POC girls, how their darker skin seemed to glow in the honey sunlight of golden hour. How the gold jewelry always complimented their skin, and the Lucious lips that was always beautifully adorned with all types of gloss. God, don't even get him started on how they smelled. Which is what brought him to you. You walked past him on the way to your class and he smelled warm vanilla and linen with a fruity scent. He turned around and watched you ass sway away from him as you entered your class.

Later that day he looked for you in the cafeteria. He spotted you with a teammate, Jean it looked like you were reviewing some class work so he walked over to you both.

"No Jean, this needs to be done by tomorrow so that we both have time to prepare to the game this Friday."

"Okay fine ill get it done as soon as I can. Oh what's up Yeager-"

"You're gorgeous. Give me your number?"

"You're not too bad yourself. Its XXX-XXX-XX34." You say confidently. Your lips move with such slow ease that he is entrapped hearing nothing but what he might imagine your moans sound like under him.

"I'll see you at the game this weekend QB 1, but hopefully. I get to see you sometime before that. Text me."

"Yeager, you're hot shit and everything but we have practice let's go."

Eren picked his jaw up off the floor as he watched your hair swing behind you as you walked, turned your head quickly to find him staring then winked. He felt is heart jolt and blood rush straight to his dick. That's the moment where he knew you had to be his queen.

"OH FUCK YES"

"I know, take it all for me."

"EREN FUCK"

"Dirty mouth, its okay I like that. Are you ready for me."

"Please please plea- AH FUCK"

"Fuuuuck."

You would assume this was a porno. You're in a dark and empty classroom blinds closed as the band plays the start of the halftime performance for the night. A classic, Seven Nation Army. The scent of popcorn and hotdogs from the concession stand was in full blast. This was their first game of the season and in the first two quarters Shiganshina's football team had a 21 point lead to 7 from the opposing team.

You had been texting Eren nonstop about everything. Talking about sweet nothings. Getting showered with compliments as well as the occasional gift at the end of the school day. A new set of nails, some lingerie shopping, and of course perfume for your collection. He loved how you smiled when he bought you things, and you adored that he bought you things. The make shift relationship you found yourself was perfect. At the end of the week the night of the game you found yourself holding hands with him walking down the hallway. He kissed you deeply and he told you to text him as he grabbed your ass before walking away.

You liked that Eren was sweet and although affectionate, he wasn't feening for sex...but you were. You'd drool as he'd send you pictures of himself fresh out of the shower after practice. Or when he wore those tight black t-shirts with a gold chain that hugged his arms and pectoral muscles just right. The way his jaw clenched when he focused as he pulled his hair back into a bun made your pussy clench with ease. You were done playing nice.

"Aw princess, did you think I forgot about you?"

"Shut up, no one gives a fuck about you or your ego."

You admit that your personality also changed when you got with him, you were the center attention because you were together, you had the best clothes and style because of him. Girl and guys alike all looked at you like the queen he made you out to be, and if you were his queen, Ymir so help you that your wouldn't take what's yours when you wanted it.

"Watch it Y/N, you know I like when you talk dirty but talking shit is different."

"What you're gonna let little old me bruise your fucking god complex? If I can do it than any other little fucker in this school can and you're just as much of a failure as your older brother and crazy ass father."

You also admit that you took that comment too far in trying to rile him up and unfortunately you paid the fucking price. Family is a sensitive topic for Eren and there is only so much teasing he can take before he snaps. And that's exactly what he did, at the drop of a hat he turned you around and grabbed you by the neck slamming you against the wall of the athletics building where you were both walking to practice.

"Listen up bitch, I don't care what you have to say about me but my family is off fucking limits, not that you would ever know or care about yours seeing as you're so fucking detached from them. "

You looked at him fighting to breathe eyes low and slightly seductive but tearing up as you were being held up by your neck to his height. You grasped at his hand for some leverage but his grip on your neck provided no such thing.

"You're fucking job is to walk around on my arm, look like the hottest bitch in heat that I picked up and suck my cock when I ask you to, questioning me, my athourity, or my family is not part of it and I never wanna hear shit from uppity slut like you… Got it”

He released his hold and you came crashing down.

Fighting to inhale oxygen into your lungs and coughing when the burn of the oxygen passes finally.

He stood there looking down at you unamused.

With a tear in your eye, you look up at him neck already beginning to bruise with a yellowish hue.

“Why don’t you love me?” you said being the most genuine you’ve every been in months.

He scoffed, picked you up and kissed you. Not like usual, not an apology for his abuse but proof that he does care for you in his own twisted way. And that was enough you felt. Enough for you.

He’s always loved doggy style, loved watching your plump ass clap back at him and wave in all it’s glory. So you weren’t surprised when he pushed you away from the kiss and turned you around. Bending you against the wall and hiking your cheer skirt up, pulling the shorts and panties down.

Next thing you knew you felt his dick pressed up against your rubbing against your ass “dumb questions get dumb answers”.

He rammed himself into you, filling you all the way up and sucking his teeth at your tightness. You couldn’t control your moans, he just fucked you so deeply and with so much intent that it was hard not to voice your every sensation.

“Ahh- Erennn”

“mhm say my name.”

“fuck eren, just like that”

You were getting whiplash because right when you said that he pulled out and turned you around again. Lifting you up so that your ankles locked around his hips. Nestling your drippy pussy on his tip.

He gripped both your ass cheeks and pressed you down, fully in-bedding himself in you.

“Fuckkkkkk, ahh it’s so deep”

“just how i like it.”

He continued his pace from earlier as you threw your head back in complete euphoria. He kept it going as if you weighed even less than a feather.

“You’re such a needy bitch, why didn’t you tell me you needed some dick earlier. All of this could’ve been avoided”

It fell on deaf ears obviously because the pain from your neck and the pleasure from your pussy we’re mixing soooo well.

“Ah- More, please more”

He did exactly that pushing himself deeper into you with every thrust, your wetness dripping on the pants of his uniform. He used that wetness to slip a finger in your ass and if you were full before you’re way over the limit now.

“Ngahhhh too muchhhh “

“what, you just asked for more. Take what i give you”

3 more thrusts in and you were cumming all over him, you held onto him for dear life clawing at his back knowing he’d pay for your new mani when you complain about it next week. You didn’t expect him to keep thrusting into you after you came.

“AHHH NOOO”

“Shut the fuck up”

He thrusted deeper, harder, but so much slower because he knew now that you were done he was next. He relished every second of your cries, how you were still fluttering around him but tightening as he pushed into you deeper.

You started shaking as your second orgasm finally took over and he came right along with you, groaning into you ear.

“Shiiiiiiitttttt, ahhh”

You were non-verbal, eyes rolled back as a stream of clear liquid made itself present between the both of you.

He kissed you again. Hotter, more passionate. Gripping the nape of your neck to push both of you deeper into it.

You wrapped your hands in his hair become slightly more conscious.

By the time you both were done practice had ended.

You both texted your coaches about not feeling well including a picture of your soaked uniform lying about “throwing up”.

You went the locker rooms, changed and walked to Eren’s car hand in hand.

You spent the night at his house, exhausted enough to not care about his 30 minute shower. But when he came back, god he smelled amazing. He wrapped you in the blanket before getting into bed himself.

You cuddled into his chest as he stared at the ceiling waiting for sleep to take him.

“what makes you think i don’t love you?”

you don’t respond, pretending to be asleep but with your head and heart wide awake. You know now, those word will never have to be said again

You fell asleep feeling happy, but nothing could prepare you for the week to come when the bruises took their final form…

[jammysworks]

could u pls do more with jere !!!

smut after the cut

18+ MDNI

warnings: oral (fem receiving), language, slight manhandling, spit, hair grabbing, fingering, porn without plot, overstimulation

word count: 0.5k

jeremiah has always loved receiving head, but he can’t seem to get over how much he loves the look on your face when you cum on his tongue. your eyes rolling into the back of your skull, while you make grabby hands at his hair attempting to stabilize yourself. for him, he was shocked that such a simple act as licking your clit could do this to you, but for yourself it was out worldly how experienced he was.

the way he would drag his tongue down your slit, dipping the muscle into your hole and spreading the wetness in circles around your clit drove you straight into an orgasm every time. before, he would eat you out to prep you for his cock, but as time went on he became more and more obsessed with it. spending hours between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man, fingers pushing in and out of your cunt and holding you still to prevent you from squirming away from his touch.

…

you were now approaching your fourth orgasm of the night, your hands interlocking with jeremiah’s hair, pulling at the blonde curls. your moans turning into whimpers and hiccups as you sobbed about it being “too much”. his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking at the bud while his fingers pumped into your hole. your release bursting as his tongue flicked in fast motions against your spread pussy lips. “jere i can’t no mo—oh my godd—no more it feels too good!” you squealed, hands reaching and pushing at his shoulders attempting to get him off of you but it was no use.

his ministry only began to intensify as you cried and squirmed. the only abstinence of relief you got being the few seconds he spent retracting himself from your pussy and spitting onto your clit, beginning to trace the area of your cunt with his tongue before diving back in.

tears formed in your eyes and leaked down your cheeks as you gripped onto his biceps pushing against them but you were so deep into the sex high faze that you didn’t have enough strength to shove him off. his arms wrapped themselves around your thighs to keep you steady while he sat up on his knees and pulled your hips along with, continuing his assault on your overused pussy. your head falling back against his sheets, moans growing quieter as your body gets used to the overwhelming pleasure. sadly, your relief was short lived as your orgasm began to arrive even harder than before. your whines having zero effect on jeremiah while he licked at your cunt, fingers digging even deeper than before. “i know, baby, i know. i got you.” the words taking effect as you came in his mouth. his tongue slurping up everything you gave him until he finally decided you had had enough and pulled away from your swollen clit.

[fanfics4all]

Overstimulation

Request: Yes / No Kinktober Day 10!

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Sub!Ambrose Spellman x Dom!Fem!Reader 

Word count: 614

Warnings: SMUT

Summary: You're a Mistress and your favorite client continues to return. He's your toy for the night and you're taking full advantage of that.

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I had one client that always seemed to come back no matter what. His name was Ambrose and he seemed to love being my little slave more than others. I watched as his arms wiggled in the bounds above his head, he was holding back a grin. 

I dropped my panties to the ground and straddled him. My smooth thighs were pushed against his hairy legs. I could tell I was driving him crazy. 

“You want inside?” I asked sweetly. He didn’t respond, simply humping his hips. I chuckled at his desperation. 

“Hey!” I smacked his outer thigh, hard. A yelp left his throat and I smirked. 

“You stupid boy, can you only think with your dick? I asked you a question. Do. You. Want. In.” I asked again, each pause was followed by a smack, leaving marks. 

“Yes!” He shouted. 

“Yes, what?” I asked, my voice teasing. I smacked him again. 

“Say yes Mistress.” I said in a mocking tone. 

“Say I want inside, Mistress.” I added. He stuttered until I reached down and twisted his nipple. 

“I want inside, Mistress!” He practically sobbed. I gripped the back of his hair and lowered myself so I was inches from his face, my eyes burning into his. 

“Say, I want inside your cunt.” I growled, grinding down on his shaft. 

“I want inside your cunt!” He said, finally breaking. I lined myself up with him and sunk onto his cock. His head hit the headboard once I gently started thrusting. It didn’t matter if it was enough to make him cum, he was here to be used for my pleasure. He is my toy. 

“That’s it, my good little toy.” I said, looking down at his lust-filled face. I reached down and gently grazed his lip with my thumb. He instantly took it into his mouth and moaned as I sped up just a bit.

Both our sounds filled the room as I rode him. My breasts bounced as my wetness coated his cock. I came, screaming in pleasure. His body started to shake as he exploded inside me. 

“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing his head back. I didn’t stop as he came down from his high. 

“Okay, I came, stop!” He said as if I didn’t know. I shook my head and smirked, pulling out a little remote that I had hidden under the covers. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as I turned on the vibrating cock ring. He whimpered incoherently, twisting and writhing under the vibration that was stimulating both of us. 

“Aww, what’s wrong baby? I thought.. Mmmm… I thought you alwa- uh… always wanted this?” I cooed between moans. I laughed as I fucked him into the bed, using him like my personal little sex toy. 

He attempted to wiggle his wrists, but there was no escape as I rode him. I could tell the overstimulation was becoming too much. He was shaking and stuttering, begging me to stop. He knew he’d just have to use his safe-word and everything would stop, so I kept going. I could tell he was trying to hold back and I rode him a little harder. 

“Oh no, you’re not holding back on me.” I moaned, my hands planted firmly on his chest. 

“You’re gonna take all of it.” I growled. He threw his head back again as his cum flooded my pussy. Even if he wanted to escape the cuffs, I could tell he was weak from the orgasms wracking his body. 

I fucked him hard, pounding both of us to bliss again and again. He was my toy and I would use him until I decided I’d had enough.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @dippedintarot

[ephemerasnape]

Fastidio Fanart & "After Dark" Video Preview 😈🔞

Above: Fastidio by @okeydokeylackey for After Dark. What a menace! I love him!

JUST noticing the filigree details on his jacket... Very nice! *goes to edit the fic her blind ass wrote for the millionth time today.*

Fastidio commanding his army of Mannequins. 👀

Teaser video for "After Dark" beneath the cut. ⇊

After Dark 🔞

Fastidio x F!MC (Reader)

Explicit, ~4,000 words. RAPE/NONCON. Very kinky..

Female Reader / Canon Continuation / Rape / Noncon / Forced Orgasms / Mild Violence / Age Difference / Older Poltergeist, Younger Woman / Gang-Rape-ish / Overstimulation / First Time / Loss of Virginity / Horror Elements / Nonconsensual Bondage / Naked Female, Clothed Male / Dead Dove? - Maybe / No use of Y/N or MC but you are MC

↳ Read on ao3.

[saintodo]

nirei is so cute, but i think he would look even cuter if you had a hand around his cock and we’re jerking him off, stopping just short of making him come over and over again until his eyes are all watery and his lips are wobbly. he blushes scarlet when you coo and call him my poor baby before resuming your movements once more. he almost sobs from the relief of you finally allowing him to come, but he quickly gets overwhelmed by the feeling of you steadily moving your hand up and down his shaft. he doesn’t know whether to try and wiggle away from you or to lean into the euphoric sensation. he chokes on a sob when you make him come again, so soon after his first orgasm. nirei knows there’s going to be no reprieve in sight when you giggle lightly and kiss the side of his head, your hand continuing to stroke his cock despite his cries of overwhelming pleasure.