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planet-dusk · 8 months

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☆ making bad decisions for you ∘ b.c

chan fucked up, and now he's left to deal with the consequences. how does one find someone to help their sweet pup through her heat on such short notice? the first step: call jisung. the second step: stay on the straight path. he has this under control. at least that's what chan thinks, until you throw him a curve...

─── ☆ pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

─── ☆ length: 2.3k

─── ☆ warnings: puppy hybrid!reader, sub!reader, perv!chan, big dick chan, pillow humping, corruption, bondage, unprotected sex, breeding (like a lot), dirty talk, praise, pet names: baby, pup, puppy

─── ☆ note: 18+ minors dni. the characters don’t represent real idols; this is fiction for entertainment purposes only. fictional smut is not a reflection of real life ! always communicate with your partner and practice consensual and safe sex ‹33

Chan’s in over his head.

He knew this day would come. He should’ve been prepared. But he’s been so busy lately, and he didn’t keep track of your cycle — fuck, if only he could physically beat himself up for being the world’s shittiest owner.

And of course he can’t find the informational flyers anywhere, and he doesn’t trust the internet, the advice varying so wildly he isn’t sure what to believe. He could call the shelter, but he doesn’t want them to find out he messed up. What if they take you away from him?

So he calls the only experienced person he can think of: Jisung.

“I really don’t know what to do, Han, fuck! Please help…”

“Take a deep breath, it’ll be alright. It’s not your fault there’s a suppressant shortage. You sure you don’t want to…?”

“I can’t, it’s… it’s wrong,” Chan feels the panic rising in his chest again. He takes another gulp of air to calm his shaky nerves.

“Fine, okay, it was just a suggestion! No need to yell at me, lemme look into it. I'll find a stud for her and come over as soon as my shift’s done, okay? You try to stay calm in the meantime and do exactly as I've told you to. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry, it’s - I’m a mess, I should’ve seen it coming, but thank you, Ji. Thank you. I owe you one.”

“No worries, bro. Good luck. Call me if you need any help.”

The call disconnects and Chan is left standing alone in the empty bathroom, his heart galloping in his chest. He failed you. But he needs to be there for you now. He's not proud of what he’s about to do, but you’ll understand. He has no other choice. When this is all over you’ll understand. Please, you have to…

“Please forgive me, Y/N,” he whispers and unlocks the door.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom Chan’s thrown off balance by your body slamming into his. “Channie, sir, please,” you whimper, pressing yourself tighter against his side and wrapping your arms around his neck. Chan feels a blush rise to his cheeks and turns his head away, swallowing harshly.

“Let’s go to your bedroom, pup.”

You yelp excitedly and dart off, throwing yourself on the bed. Your tail wags against the sheets and Chan can’t help but smile. When he was a little kid he always thought he’d get a wolfdog hybrid, or a big husky, but then he saw you at the shelter: a little cream coloured mutt with soft ears and a fluffy tail, and he knew he had to bring you home.

You’re watching him rummage through his nightstand, head cocked and ears pointed. “‘t hurts, Channie, please hurry,” you roll on your back and stay there, skirt sliding down your thighs and almost exposing your panties. Chan coughs.

“I know, baby, Channie’s here to make it all better,” he mumbles and fishes a pair of padded handcuffs out of the drawer. “Just give me your hands, okay?”

You give him a puzzled look but comply, letting him attach the cuffs to the headboard. “I'm so sorry, puppy, I'm sorry,” he whispers, avoiding your eyes.

Then he turns around and hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft but resolute thud.

Your frustrated howls are loud enough to reach the living room and he flinches. Every noise you make pierces his soul and adds to the pool of guilt in his gut. He had to do it, Jisung told him so — keep her safe, tie her up somewhere, otherwise she might hurt herself. It’s for her best interest.

Chan knows, but why does it hurt him so much? He checks his phone, looking for a distraction. Two hours left until Jisung’s shift is done. Surely he can find a stud before the end of the day, right? Jisung knows so many people. He said everything would be fine. Chan just has to relax and trust him.

He takes another deep breath and turns on the tv, mindlessly going through the channels. He checks his phone again. 5 minutes have passed. Time’s never felt this slow.

Eventually he settles on a documentary about tiger hybrids. He almost succeeds in focusing on the (terrible but entertaining) storyline when he notices your howls have changed into softer, breathier sounds. They almost sound like… moans? Chan thinks. He feels his cock stir. He shifts on the couch and stares at the tv, but the screen is a blur and he doesn’t hear a word the voiceover says.

The noises continue and Chan grows more restless. How…? He looks at his phone again. 90 minutes left.

With growing curiosity, Chan’s feet lead him to your bedroom almost involuntarily. Your noises have grown softer, little moans and whimpers drifting through the door. With a quiet click he opens it and peeks his head around.

You’re sitting on the bed, awkwardly positioned with your hands still chained to the headboard. Somehow you’ve managed to maneuver one of the pillows between your spread knees. You’re grinding down on it, fluffy tail causing your skirt to ride up. From his position in the doorframe Chan catches a glimpse of your white panties hugging your ass.

The noises you’re making range from whiny to plain frustrated, the friction not enough to satisfy you. When you bend over to try and find a better position, Chan sucks in a breath, cock swelling at the sight of your soaked panties. You’re so wet the gusset has become almost see through, clinging to the outline of your pussy.

Chan shouldn’t be here. He should leave before you notice him, before it’s too late. He should go back to the living room, put on his headphones and wait for Jisung to arrive. Let him sort it out. Get you a handsome dog hybrid to help you through your heat.

“Chan?” your voice is soft, halting his train of thought. “Please…”

He’s not sure if it’s your broken plea or something else that compels him to move, but Chan steps into your room. Your tail starts to wag slowly and you drop to your elbows, presenting yourself to him. From this distance Chan can see the tantalizing curve where your thighs meet your ass, the spot he wants to lick and suck and tease…

“‘s okay, puppy, Channie’s here.” There’s still time to leave. But you’re looking back at him with your pretty eyes — how could he say no to his sweet pup? He wants to protect you. Keep you safe. Jisung and his stud be damned.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you, Y/N. I panicked.”

His hand strokes your thigh and you sigh into his touch. “Don’t leave me again, Channie. Promise.”

Chan shakes his head. “It was a mistake, I promise, I’m here with you now pup. Let me help you.”

You mewl when his fingers graze your clothed slit. “Sir, ‘s hurting, don’t make me wait any longer, need you to breed me now, please,” you trail off, grinding back against his hand.

Normally Chan would take his time to explore your body, tease you until you’ve cum at least twice before he’d give you his cock. But he hears the urgency in your voice, your pained little whimpers as you tug at your restraints.

And it’d be a lie to say he hasn’t fantasized about this before. Late at night in his own bedroom while he tried to muffle his moans, unsure of what your sensitive ears could pick up.

Chan slides your panties down your thighs with shaky hands. Your pretty cunt’s all puffy and glossy with your slick and it drips down his fingers when he pushes two inside.

Your reaction is instantaneous, a pleasant gasp as you arch your back for him. “Need more, need your cock, need it now,” you plead again.

“You sure you can take it, puppy?”

Chan rolls his plush bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t want to hurt you.

“‘Mmm don’t care, make it fit,” you pout and wag your tail for him, “Channie.”

He’ll never tire of hearing his name like this. A broken sound, filled with so much need it goes straight to his head.

He chucks off his pants and his boxers, hard cock springing free and slapping against his abdomen. He slides the tip over your slit to wet it, holding your hips to keep you still. Then he sheathes himself in your dripping heat inch by inch, whispering soft praises into the air between you.

“Just like that, puppy, don’t move. Gonna fill you up so good baby, let me take care of you.”

Chan knows he’s big, watches your pretty hole stretch to accommodate him. He groans at how wet and warm you feel. It’s even better than he imagined. When you shift forward on your knees he growls, “Where do you think you’re going, pup? I'm not even halfway in yet.”

He pushes in deeper, watches you arch your back even more. “Channie, so full,” you pant when he finally bottoms out, stilling for a moment to catch his breath. The sensation of your soft, velvety cunt around him is overwhelming all his senses.

“Yeah? Is my puppy nice and full?”

“Wanted - wanted this for so long,” you say and his heart makes a little leap. He knows it’s just your heat-clouded mind talking, the hormones making you more susceptible to his presence. But there’s a small part of him that dares to hope you’re speaking the truth.

“Yah - wanted my sir, my Channie,” you nod when he starts moving, holding tight onto the handcuff’s chain. He briefly considers removing them, but you don’t seem to mind being tied up like this, pushing back on his cock like the neediest little thing he’s ever seen.

My Channie.

“I want you too, Y/N,” he groans and you hum at the sound of your name. “Can’t stay away from you - my pretty baby… knew it from the day I brought you home.”

You’re moaning every time his hips meet yours, soft uh-uh-uh’s like music to his ears. Your pussy is gushing around his length, and Chan’s not sure how long he’s going to last if you keep clenching down on him like this.

“Fuck, puppy - you’re hugging my cock so tight,” he lands a playful smack on your ass, “want me to breed you that bad, huh? Want me to stuff you full with pups?”

He tilts your hips to reach even deeper, fat cock slamming into you with force. You’re slumping against the mattress and he hovers over your back to nip at your ear, eliciting another moan from you. The soft fur of your tail tickles his abs but Chan is too focused on the erratic pulsing of your walls around him.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby? I can feel you’re close, just let go. I’ve got you. Channie’s got you. My good girl.”

You sob and he feels your release gush around him, fucking you through your high with renewed vigor. You’re a blabbering mess, unable to form words except for “Channie,” “please,” and “fuck.”

“Did my puppy lose her tongue?” He grins. “Getting all dumb on my cock after one orgasm, and I haven’t even bred you yet, baby.”

“Please…need it,” you whisper into the sheets, “need you to cum inside, please, sir.”

Even with his weight pressing you into the bed you’re still angling your hips up more, and Chan buries his face into the crook of your neck. You smell so good, like vanilla and the heady scent of sex. “I always keep my promise, pup, I’m going to breed you so well you’ll feel it dripping out of you for the next three days.”

You turn your head just enough to catch his gaze, your eyes so glossy and fucked-out Chan loses all composure. He ruts into you one, two more times before ropes of thick cum paint your inner walls and tumble you headfirst into another orgasm.

His thighs are shaking, your cunt milking him of every last drop until he’s a panting mess on top of you. For a moment the two of you lay still, breathing heavily, until Chan realizes you’re still chained to the bed. He pulls out and you mumble something when you feel his cum drip out of you, rubbing your thighs together.

Chan unclasps the handcuffs and kisses your wrists, hugs you close and captures your lips with his own. They’re so soft, needy little sounds already escaping you again as you rut against his thigh. “Need more, Channie.”

“Insatiable little thing,” he grins and traces your puffy cunt with his fingers. “Can’t get enough, can you?”

He slips one finger in your sensitive hole just as the doorbell rings. You look up in surprise, eyes wide and ears darting in all directions.

Chan kisses you again. “Ignore the bell, pup. I’m not going anywhere. Made a promise, remember? Need to breed you nice and round. Maybe make you beg a little more for it,” he chuckles, “let me see how needy you can really get.”

You’re grinding down on his thigh now and Chan doesn’t care how long he has to stay here with you, he’ll give you whatever you want. He’ll spend days holed up inside your nest if he has to.

You grab his shirt and pull him closer, and the blaring sound of his ringtone rips him out of his reverie.

He rolls over with a groan and hits the green button, cutting off Jisung’s voice. “It’s already taken care of, Ji. Thank you.”

“Wha —? You sly dog!”

Chan throws his phone into a corner and rolls you onto your back, slotting himself between your thighs with a smile. “Don’t worry, pup. I won’t let anyone else touch you ever again.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #skz hard hours #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #sub!reader #dom!idol #;skz longfic #tw: perversion

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rogueddie · 7 months

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There are a lot of rumors about Eddie Munson. From his sexuality, to his religion, to him being some sort of supernatural creature.

Steve doesn’t put a lot of merit in most of them. They’re usually just bullshit people make up to entertain themselves with whilst beating down on the weird kid. Steve thinks it’s boring… usually.

He’s seen enough weird things happen around Munson to know that something isn’t right. Something about him is unnatural. And Steve is staying clear out of the way of whatever the hell he is, or whatever the hell he’s messing with.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t gotten the message.

“Do it at your own house!” Steve complains, though he makes no move to stop them. He’s sure it’s nothing, that it’ll only lead to an annoying clean-up job, but there’s a nagging sense of dread writhing in his gut. “This shit is bull anyway.”

“If it’s bull then what’s the problem?” Tommy counters.

“Because none of you dickheads are going to help clean this shit up!”

“I promise to help you clean up,” Carol says. “There. Problem solved. Right?”

"It's still stupid," Steve mutters, glaring at the janky make-shift pentagram they've made. "And a bad idea."

It's drawn on nine pieces of paper- they wanted to draw it big on the floor, but Steve had but his foot down. He lets them use some of his moms candles as a compromise.

With the lights off, sitting with the two of them in a circle, it suddenly feels too real. Even Carol looks suddenly nervous.

Tommy is the only one still smirking, though Steve is sure that it's forced. His voice shakes a little as he begins reading off the paper he'd torn out a library book. His Latin is clunky.

At first, nothing happens.

Long enough that Carol says, "did you even say it right?"

"Yes, it even has-" Tommy starts.

The candles all blow out, suddenly. The light Steve had left on in the kitchen flicks off too, plunging them into complete darkness.

After a horrible moment, where they're still and silent, Carol yelps.

"Don't grab me, Tommy, that's not funny!"

"I didn't grab you."

"Wh- Steve?"

"No," is all Steve can get out.

"I'm turning the lights on," Tommy says. "This is ridiculous."

Steve listens to his footsteps and, when he sounds like he's almost at the light switch, he yelps.

"Fuck this," he says.

"What the fuck, Tommy!" Carol yells when they both hear him running past them. She's up on her feet immediately, chasing after him.

He wants to scream after them, plead with them to come back, that they shouldn't be abandoning the circle.

But, the same gut instinct that insists he stay where he is, keeps his mouth shut. Everything in his being is telling him that if he leaves, if he speaks first, horrible things will happen to him.

Something tuts, like a parent admonishing a child.

The living room light flicks on, so bright that Steve has to blink a few times to clear away the white spots.

Eddie Munson sits in the space they left empty.

"Someone didn't read the terms and conditions," he snickers.

"What..." Steve pauses, clearing his throat. "What are the, uh... terms and conditions?"

"Oh, they're simple, really. Look," he holds up the page Tommy had read the incantations from, pointing to the little paragraph at the end. "They even translated it to English! But all you need to know, big boy, is that you are A-OK."

"And... Tommy and Carol?"

"Eh, they're fine. Lucky, really. I'm trying to relax up here. I'm only gonna pay them back with a minor curse or two. Nothing lethal."

"Fuck."

"We haven't even got to you yet!" He spins around so hes laying on his belly, resting his chin on his palm. "You didn't technically summon me so you can just tell me to leave... or."

"Or?"

"Deal with no consequence, baby. One wish, whatever you want, free of charge. Well... I'd want your silence about the whole... summoning thing. Let's consider that payment."

He doesn't need his gut or book to warn him that it's a bad idea. Munson could be lying, easily. There could be fine print. It's a bad, very bad idea.

"There's... definitely no consequences? I won't, like, go to hell for this?" Steve finally asks.

"Do some charity work for a week, you'll be fine," he says, waving his hand around. "What do you want, King Steve?"

"Could- could you make someone love me?"

"Oh, ho ho ho! Who's the unlucky lady who said no to you?"

"No, it... it's not like that. I mean, um... my mom."

Munsons smile drops. The temperature drops with it, making a chill run up Steves spine.

"Your mom," he repeats.

"They're busy like, all the time," Steve automatically defends. "And they're barely here so, uh... of course they wouldn't- I mean, it's normal, right? You can't love a stranger or... whatever. It's fine. It's just... I don't know."

"Steve..." Munson pauses.

He groans, throwing his head into his hands, dramatically. He almost immediately flings his head back up, hair flying everywhere, giving Steve wide and pleading eyes.

"I can't make people fall in love or any shit like that. I can make illusions, that's it. Love is, like... way out of my jurisdiction."

"I- I'm ok with an illusion. Like, just one day or something."

"Steve, baby, you're breaking my heart."

"Please?"

"Jesus- ok!" Grumbling, Munson shifts so he's kneeling. "And in return, you won't say shit about any of this. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Ugh. This next part is... weird."

"What do you mean, weird?"

"It's weird, I don't know. Deals about, like, love are sealed with a kiss."

"You're joking."

"Nope, and that's not even the weird part. Now, come on and pucker up, let's get this over with." He gestures for Steve to shuffle closer, waiting until they're sat close enough that their knees almost bump together. "You can still change your mind. Anything at all, Steve. Anything."

"I thought you wanted to get this over with?"

"On your head..."

Munson leans forward, kissing him. It's just a peck, simple and easy. No big deal, right?

Steve feels possessed. It's like someone lit a match in his stomach, leaving him lightheaded and confused. He's not sure how he ends up in Eddie's lap, clutching onto his shoulders, desperately trying to lick into his mouth. He feels so-

He wakes up in his bed, the morning light blinding him.

"What the fuck..." he mutters to himself, grabbing at his throbbing head.

At first, he thinks he's hungover. That he'd just had a weird dream... but he's wearing the same clothes. And, sat on his stomach, is a guitar pic. It's got 'corroded coffin' written on it too- Eddie's band.

"Steve!" He hears his mom call. "Time to get up!"

He scrambles out of bed, dashing down the stairs.

She smiles when she spots him, so bright and warm. She even raises an arm, laughing when he practically throws himself into her side and hugging her tight.

"Morning, sweetheart. Good dreams?"

"Yeah. Yeah, great. But, uh... I feel sick."

"Oh no," she frowns. She puts her hand to his forehead, cooing when she brushes his hair out his face. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yeah. Just... might be better to stay home today. If that's ok?"

"Of course it is. I'm sure we can find something fun to do together, yeah? How about we get a vhs movie, hm?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Well, if you're feeling up to it, I've made breakfast." She steps away, plating the food she's cooked up. "Oh, did I ever tell you about Paris? It was beautiful, you would have loved it. We should bring you, next time we go."

Steve can't stop smiling. He's sure that his cheeks will be aching by the end of the day.

He'll have to thank Eddie- as soon as he can even think about him without blushing. He'll need to ask if it's normal to still feel... affected, even after the deal is done.

Part of him knows it isn't the deal. Part of him is too curious about how Eddie will react.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #creaturefeature

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iznsfw · 5 months

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Here, Kitty, Kitty!

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 2 - Miyawaki Sakura

LE SSERAFIM's Miyawaki Sakura x Male Reader Smut

6,381 words

Categories | catgirl!Sakura, petplay, KITTY CORNER

Queued this on the wrong time, sorry for the late post

The smell of freshly sautéed food fills your nostrils. The seasoning prickles the air and your stomach rumbles even before you rise. You’d drool over the food if you didn’t open your eyes and find someone else more worthy of your adoration.

Do you need to say more? No, but you’ll go on anyway when it’s about Sakura.

Her back is turned yet your focus remains attached to her. Long brown hair sways with her movements from the restraints of a band. You wonder if she knows how many times you’ve threaded your fingers through her locks as she sleeps, or notice how your hand always goes to her hair whenever she needs comforting. Your attention’s brought to her white skin exposed by the short sleeves of her short shirt. Each lot it takes—her pretty arms, bare neck, or tiny waist—is perfect. There’s beauty even without catching sight of her face.

Of course, there’s also beauty when you see it.

Sakura turns her head. She smiles, her fine cheekbones highlighted. And it’s like falling in love with her all over again. “I knew that would wake you up.”

The food’s just the alarm clock. Sakura’s the sunshine that blinds you.

You lean forward with a playful lilt in your voice. “Are you implying that I’m greedy?”

She draws the big wooden spoon to her mouth and licks a peppered green off it. “I’m implying that I’m a great chef,” she says. She turns the stove off satisfiedly.

Your legs feel shaky from the long commute, in which you spent a painful amount of time rushing and reaping, but they still choose the way to your girlfriend. When you wrap your arms around her, she jerks in surprise. She settles into them anyway; you’re a familiar comfort. You like how small she looks in your embrace, how you’re always entertained by the idea that you could easily pick her up and give her the biggest hug ever.

(And other things.)

You kiss the side of her head. “Thanks for the dinner, pet.”

Sakura looks up at you with those spell-binding large eyes, reminding you again of why you chose that nickname. Pet name is a more accurate term.. She’s the tiniest thing ever that you’re pretty sure you could pick her up with just one hand, like she’s a kitten. Her small whines whenever she’s frustrated during a game or tired from work don’t help diminish the urge to call her your pet.

“It’s nothing,” she giggles. “I want you to eat well.”

“I eat enough already. Watch.”

Seal your lips around her earlobe jokingly. Sakura shrieks. Your laughs vibrate on her skin as the feeling tickles her. Once you release her, she begins to hit you painlessly with the utensil.

“Perv!”

“Whoa, that wasn’t even foreplay or anything.”

Sakura’s smile reaches her ears. “Jerk,” she says. “How do I even deal with a horndog like you?”

Okay, now that’s not fair. You’re not even horny twenty-four seven. You just tend to let the memories of Sakura in a summer top and skimpy shorts linger. So her bold accusations are totally false. Nope. You’re not letting them tarnish your image.

“You’re the one thinking dirty about it, pet,” you say, snatching the spoon from her and lifting it high.

Her attempt to steal it draws laughs from you. She’s too small to achieve the spoon. She extends her arm up yet ends up empty-handed. Sakura huffs and crosses her arms, finally giving up.

“I know.”

Now you’re the one smiling. It surprises you how quickly she said it, almost like she’s trying to lead things somewhere. The tilt of your mouth reaches places when your cute girlfriend blushes.

“Oh?”

“Y-you know what I meant.”

“I actually do not.”

“Well, I won’t tell you anyway. I like it when you do the talking.”

Sakura always prioritizes you, and it often makes you feel guilty. She’s never put herself first. It’s always her taking the last turn, having the smallest half of the cake, giving what she has though it’s only enough for her. Sometimes you want to give back to her, too, and not just in the act of being her boyfriend.

“And I like it when you let me take care of you.” Open your mouth anyway when she raises the spoon to your lips. As always, her cooking is everything.

You’d say thank you verbally, but you think you prefer grabbing her small waist and lifting her on the countertop. You prefer that squeal, too. Sakura has a funny smirk on her face. You sweep back her disheveled hair and kiss that smile you love so much.

“So let me do the listening this time. What’s going on in that pretty little head, pet?”

“Just… you.” Her legs surround your hips. “I can’t think, I can’t work. All I think about is how you’re doing.”

Sakura massages the sides of your head. You swear you can feel her love trickle from her long, thin fingers and into your mind. She’s so learned in the ways of love that you get a free lesson from her everyday. You’re still studying, but you think you’ve got the hang of it.

“I can handle myself, Sakura,” you tell her. “You’re always taking care of me, so now, I gotta be the one doing it with you.”

“There’s one way for you to take care of me…”

Sakura’s hand grasps yours, and soon she’s leading it between her legs. In turn, it leads you to notice how tiny her shorts are. The hem’s literally hugging below the centers of her cheeks, giving attention to its supple shape. It leaves no room for the imagination. Neither does her crop top. Why is she wearing such a tight shirt in the house anyway? It’s just the two of you.

Then you see the lust in her face, and the dots all connect.

“Naughty pet.” Squeeze the cheek of her ass to feel her body tense. “What exactly are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” says Sakura, as she lifts her legs so you could pull her shorts off, “that you ruin me with those fingers.”

Familiar scent and a familiar sight: her drenched cunt. But you never get tired of seeing her naked or running your digits along her pink slit.

Sakura’s voice whittles into a soft breath, the kind you only hear when she sings quietly. That must be why her moans are like music to you.

Her wetness is unbelievable. In little time, your fingers are already soaked, and you haven’t even put them inside her yet. There’s no need to rush anyway. You’ll take your time playing with her.

Miyawaki Sakura is named after cherry blossoms. It only makes sense that her blush is as pink as the seasonal flowers. Her core drips as if it holds excessive dew drops. Something about the color, too. Something about her center having the same blooming beauty her face has. You stroke this southern flower. Sakura grips your forearm tightly.

Immediately, your fingertips are dripping with her juices. Each flick of your hand, like that of a magician, makes her legs shudder. That’s only one more reason to do it. Play with her clit so she responds with an expected gasp.

“Mmh, please.”

“Yeah?”

“M-make me cum…” Sakura’s practically salivating. The drool from her mouth is a parallel to the juices trickling from her cunt. “I need it.”

You kiss her. “I know you do.”

Your touch pierces her core. Sakura’s gasp extends, and her large cat eyes grow rounder. Your fingers move as if to beckon—as if to beckon the strongest climax from her. Of course, you can’t keep doing the same thing if you want that. Recognize this, spread her thigh apart from your forearm and pin it to the counter so you could ram your fingers in her harsher. You make sure to touch her sensitive parts in order to keep those beautiful moans floating to your ears.

You had your suspicions, but it seems now that Sakura was not wearing a bra beneath that tight excuse of a crop top. Her nipples make a print upon the fabric. It’s an invitation, really. Softness fills your palms as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, keeping your girlfriend on the road to her orgasm.

“Feels so good!” she says—(no, screams.) Her feet kick and the entirety of her small body tenses up. “Feels so… oh god, don’t stop!”

Your thumb toys with her nipple as your lips latch on her neck. You wouldn’t think of it. You’re here to give Sakura what she needs and wants. In fact, you’re borderline spoiling her—you don’t actually have to thrust that hard or kiss her this passionately. But when it comes to giving back to her, you admit you go a little overboard.

It’s not like anyone else wouldn’t have done the same thing when Sakura’s so vocal about everything. Her cute voice becomes even cuter as it twists with every plunge and squeeze of your hand. She stutters over her words, a habit that becomes more adorable despite the circumstances, and looks at you with this unhinged wildness you only ever see when you’re taking her. If she’s your pet, she’d be a feral cat in heat, always in need for blissful salvation.

Well, you’ll grant it to her.

In the privacy of your own home, this is what you could do to Sakura: leave hickeys all over her skin, finger her with the strings of wetness connecting and disconnecting from your digits, have her for your own. You grow harsher by the minute, and she loves every second of it.

“Please. More, please, I want—”

“What do you want, Sakura?”

She needs to speak yet your swift strokes prevent her from saying a comprehensible syllable. Sakura’s hold on your arm—on you—truly is fascinating. She can control you while staying on the receiving side with her pouty slim lips and trembling body. She can make you do anything for her without having to convince you. Her hand over the center of your pants just adds to the heat.

She palms your stiff erection while you thrust your fingers inside her little pussy relentlessly. It’s all so much for a tiny girl to give and take, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when she says it—

“Need you to fuck your kitten’s pussy, make me squirt, I want it so bad!”

—but it is.

You’re well aware of why your fingerfucking grows borderline cruel, why Sakura is screaming the way she is. You’re lost in the moment. The heat in your pants is becoming unbearable. Your fingers are ruining her.

And you can feel sharp teeth sinking into your neck. The pain is pleasure, and you’re struggling to think of what her bite reminds you of: fangs? Needles? Pins?

A kitten?

Sakura wets the counter and your sleeves. She whimpers against your skin, but you keep on going. You know it’s what she wants. In the corner of your eye, you can see her ears turn red. The volume of her moans next to your ear reaches heights.

“N-no… ah, stop.”

Stop?

Stop.

“Sakura?” you ask warily, afraid you did something wrong. Were things going too far? Are you hurting her? Maybe you already did.

Relief courses through your chest when she kisses you. “I’m alright,” she says sweetly. “It’s just… hmm—”

She never gets to continue what she’s saying until later on. She finds your concerned face too adorable. You’re pretty sure she saw the vulnerability in it. There’s something raw about someone seeing beauty in you the way you see in her.

Sakura kisses you, hands containing your face. You smile into the heated session. When you drag your fingers slowly out of her cunt, she moans again, rekindling your carnal wants.

She pulls away. “I like how your fingers are totally soaked,” she says lightly, “and it’s all me.”

She opens her mouth meekly, and you already know what to do.

Earlier, her pussy wrapped your fingers. Now, her lips do, stroking your digits of the liquid that pours down them. It’s like she’s having a second dinner with the way she’s devouring her own juices. You aren’t taking a bite of anything, but watching Sakura do what she does best is a whole meal already.

“God, Sakura, you’re so fucking sexy.”

She giggles. “Thank you. I try to be for you.”

The twirl of your wrist guides her tongue in cleaning your hand up. She truly is a kitten. Her tiny tongue licks you up, and her distinct moans almost sound like meows.

So it’s only right that you pet her. Ruffle her hair and lead it back into place. “You’re always hot, pet.”

Think back to the moments she sits in her room gaming, with nothing but your shirt and panties on. Of course she always is. It’s second nature to her.

“I’d tell you to continue,” says Sakura slyly, kissing your fingertips, “but that would ruin the bigger surprise, won’t it?”

“What surprise?”

She hops off the counter and pushes you to the island. Since when did her workouts involve that? But she’s Sakura—your girlfriend whose face shows the mischief of a pet who’s too aware of what she’s doing. That’s why you’re breathless.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Well, fuck.

Sakura hooks her finger underneath the button of your shirt. Just a skim of her touch makes you shake. You’re wondering what’s happening—more importantly, what will be happening. But the answer’s clear. She knows your secrets, and now, she’s about to show you something she’s been hiding herself.

She starts leading you to the bedroom. If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now, on the floor, drool rolling down from the corner of your mouth. And it would be all because of your girlfriend’s sultry expression that’s locked and loaded on you, ready to maim.

Her back rests on your bedroom door. You’re so close to each other that not one breath goes unheld by your skin. She’s truly evil for this. She knows you’re down bad for her, down at rock bottom. And she still chooses to work you up like this: pressing herself against the wooden door, with nothing but that short crop top on and a smile that’s too alluring.

You laugh. Grasp her waist. You can span its width using a single hand. “What’s this, pet?” you say. She’s getting you all hot and bothered.

“Just come inside and close your eyes.”

Sakura winks. That’s how you know it’s as serious as it gets; Miyawaki Sakura doesn’t know how to wink. If it’s worth her practice and time, you’re in for the real thing.

You shut your eyes as she asked, and let her lead you to the bed. Your excitement chains your throat that you can’t even ask her if she’s done. Rely on your sense of hearing to figure out what’s going on.

It feels like hours waiting for her surprise. The bed is soft beneath you, but you’d rather have Sakura’s tight body under you instead. Your pants are tight already. Reminding yourself that she’d be ready in a few does nothing to satiate your restlessness.

“Sakura,” you say with a kidding husk that intimidates her nevertheless, “don’t keep me waiting.”

“I-I’m not!”

The thumps and gasps of struggle become less frequent. Your hands frisk impatiently at your sides. What exactly is she planning?

“Open your eyes now!”

Finally.

Once you see her, you’re met with the thought that confirms you that, like Sakura said, you’ll come inside, just in another way.

Your nickname for Sakura is sweet, but you can’t deny the lewdness it takes now that it represents itself in front of you.

Her white crop top was replaced with a sleeveless brown one. It ought to be impossible for a crop top to be any more revealing, but that’s proved wrong when this one barely hides the underside of her chest, even giving the top of it a wide peek. Worst of all (but you can’t deny that it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen): there’s a cartoon cat-shaped hole in the middle of it that exposes even more skin. It’s more of a bra rather than a shirt at this rate. But you’d argue that actual bras aren’t this provocative. And you’d argue that you don’t mind—not even a little bit, not even at all.

All of her is on display: her midriff, her arms and pits, her legs, everything. Then you have her skirt that’s the definition of short. It’s a pathetic attempt at modesty and a great exercise of lewdness. Its length allows you a view of her inviting pussy.

It isn’t a secret that you love her hair, and now you’re in a position in which your adoration for it grows. You’re blameless, especially when it’s banded into two twintails joined behind a headband of black cat ears.

But the highlight of it all is that black collar rounding her neck. It awaits a connected leash, a driven purpose.

Tonight, Miyawaki Sakura isn’t just your girlfriend. She’s your pet—your gorgeous, little kitten in heat.

You knew it. Sakura’s been scheming and planning this, and now the surprise is all ready. She’s all ready for your using and taking.

“What a naughty girl you are, Sakura,” you murmur, getting up.

She cowers. “Just wanted to give you a reward for working hard.” Her paws float to her cheeks. “And… I really want to be your pet. Your pretty little pet.”

“You knew what I wanted all along, huh?”

Sakura hums helplessly while she peeks from the spaces between her fingers. Her palms do a poor job of hiding her red skin. She’s both excited and shy about this, and she’s not sure where to settle. But she’s sure of the heat that sparks between her legs when you trace your touch from her jawline to her chin, where you gently lift. Your gaze is so intense that she flinches.

“Well,” you say, bringing her eyes back to you, “what should I do about it?”

“Do what you want to me, master.”

From day one, a cat is what she reminds you of. Although she’s the eldest in her friend group with Chaewon and Yunjin, she’s still a kitten inside needing appreciation from her master. Maybe she saw in you too a master that would fit her needs well, who’d see her cute self as someone who’s also tantalizingly beautiful.

Today, you’re letting that come to life.

“Give me the leash. I know you prepared one.”

She blushes. “Of course, master.” She rises from her kneeled position to retrieve it.

Strike her ass that peeks roundly from beneath the hem of her skirt. Her cheeks bounce at the impact. As an effect, her legs shake, too. Her yelp is cute yet it sends a rush of happiness to the wrong place.

“Bad kitten. Kittens like you don’t walk on two legs.”

“Sorry, master.”

Sakura’s now red ass is presented to you as she crawls on all fours to the corner of the room while you step out of your slacks. You could tell she gets off to the humiliation—her slit’s been dripping all over her thighs.

The black device is dark compared to her gold collar. She picks it up with her mouth and crawls back to you. That’s right. Even if her knees burn and her hands turn red, a kitten will always crawl on command for her master.

She looks adorable with her face all sweaty from the effort. Doesn’t matter; she’ll be rewarded for it eventually.

You click the leash on. She meows appreciatively. How is it possible that an odd sound unfit for a woman like her gets you hard? You tap your lap, and she crawls up onto it. She never loses her act as a kitten.

“Fast learner.” With her stomach down, you’re able to touch her ass and cunt freely. Most cats like being petted on their backs, but yours would much rather have your hand on her cunt. Actually, you could touch her anywhere and still be met with a gush of arousal between her slim thighs. “What treat do you want for that?”

Sakura’s legs squirm together. You’d never grow tired of hearing her whimpering, but you strike her ass again. You’re a kind master, not a lenient one.

“I said: what treat do you want?”

“Want my master to eat my slutty catgirl pussy out…” she murmurs.

Why not?

You lift Sakura’s weightless body from your lap and drag her up the bed. In spite of her slight choking, you tug harder. At least this time she has the soft mattress under her knees rather than the cold floor. But good pets need training to become what they are.

Tie the leash in a harsh knot on one of the poles. Sakura’s still whimpering. You know she wants this treat so badly. Consequently: push her down. Spread her legs. There’s no gentleness here. Her skirt isn’t a problem when it’s length is miniscule. You’re free to eat her out as harshly as possible.

“Oh, oh, master!” Sakura’s gasps are loud despite the earliness of it all. She rolls the silky bedclothes in balls, trying to cope with your licking. It’s like you’ve reversed roles and you became the kitten that licked at her for supplement, just without the submissiveness. Either way, her senses immediately live for it and strive to get more.

Stick your tongue inside that addicting little hole. Your lips brush Sakura’s pussy lips, leaving open kisses on it. She’s so sensitive that a long, hard swipe of your tongue along her slit would have her nearly cumming. You were sure about that even before you tested it out.

Your saliva and her juices connect. Hard to tell one from the other when you’re tonguefucking her and dragging all those delicious nectar out. It spills on her thighs, which you don’t see as a problem if you could lick it all up. You’re glad to have it stain your mouth as you kiss away at her inner thighs, then return to eating her out.

You plunge your tongue deep. Its tip flicks at her walls and sets a fire inside her. No amount of natural lubrication could keep it from burning. The magic of your mouth can be cruel and blissful at the same time.

“Fuck! Keep eating me, your tongue, holy shit—”

Sakura gags after her attempt in lifting her head is restricted by the leash. The length you tied it at is too short for her to watch you or even react with a movement. It’s exactly what you want; exactly what she wants, too. The pain is mutually desired but so is the pleasure.

You spit on her cunt. “Did I say you get to order me around?” you ask.

Sakura shakes her head, yet another action the leash prevents her from performing properly.

“That’s what I thought. All I want to hear is your moans. Is that understood, kitten?”

“Yes! Ah, fffuck!”

Dive back in. If you weren’t full from Sakura’s amazing cooking earlier on, then you’re fed well with her pussy. You’re no pretentious dieter—you eat her pussy without shame. Perhaps you lick more than you can swallow with how she’s so sensitive and keeps leaking everywhere. Your tongue pushes and pulls from inside her orifice while your upper lip attends to her clit. Despite not having it in your mouth, you feel it pulsing.

You watch Sakura’s flat tummy rise and rest while you have your way with her. Measure its tempo. You’ve determined she’s close, if her thighs shivering around your head weren’t enough indicators. Jerk them to you and listen (if the hold of her thighs allows you) to the wonderful sounds of her strangled moaning.

“Hahk, oh god, please!”

Much to her disappointment, your fingers are only used to part her pussy lips rather than fuck her. But she’s happier with you licking wild lines on her velvety walls. It seems like your mouth could reach everything. Sakura starts to tremble more. It’s a warning, a not-safe-for-work sticker placed on an explicit track.

“Kitten’s c-cumming, I can’t hold it!” sobs your pet, unable to take any more. Her upper body joins in on the quivering, and you can see the delightful view of her tiny boobs bouncing from behind her top.

What’s next is the suction on her clit. You’ve saved suckling on it for now when she’s at her high. It’s a tested and proven method to amplify her orgasm. Once your lips seal at her clitoris, she lets out screams that almost sound like yowls. Her clawed fingernails start to scratch at your head. You’ll punish her for that later. Currently, you’ll focus on making her cream.

“Master, d-do me harder… master, master!”

The last of her orgasm subsides. That’s your cue to unfasten the leash from the headboard and pull the collar up. Sakura makes a weak, fragile sound that stirs a mixture of heat in your loins.

“No. Kittens don’t make the rules for their owners, do they, pet?”

Her beautiful face shows guilt, but no regrets. You expected that. “Sorry,” she says quietly.

One would think she must have watched and taken notes from a lot of “tutorial” videos for her nuances—folding her hands, looking up at you with flinching eye contact, squirming—to be this pet-like (you know you have). But she’s just a natural catgirl, and she likes being used like this. The glint in her eyes can’t be mistaken for the lighting in the room.

Grip her collar tighter. “Do you expect me to reward bad behavior?”

“No.”

“Then get on all fours on the bed. I’m not letting up on you.”

Sakura is a little too happy to do as you say. However, you’re certain she isn’t prepared for the onslaught of lust about to be taken out on her.

You observe Sakura’s beautiful back. The line running down the center shows the hours she spent in the gym to work hard on it. It looks prettier with the thin crossing straps of the top running over it. Now your fingers are, too. You can trace Sakura’s shudders, right from her collared neck to her skirted ass.

Raise your hand high in the air, then slap her supple butt. While you’d tell her it’s to punish her, you think it’s just to hear her moan. It's a carnal instinct. Maybe you’re the animal here with your acts of nature. Doesn’t sound right; whether you slap or caress or pinch her, she’s the ever-loving pet. You notice it in the buckle of her knees and the hot breath that leaves her mouth.

Sakura is a cat through and through, but you still like to fuck her doggy style.

“Ma-master,” she says upon the first few thrusts. She winces, then cries out a pathetic mewl, then repeats herself. This time, it’s tinier, needier: “Master, please.”

The innocently designed mirror in her room reflects back anything but innocent doings. You watch her face twist and whine in its glass. Sakura’s eyes meet yours and she’s turning red again. You didn’t take her for a red foreign cat. You see her more as a black cat.

She’s not so unlucky when she’s providing you this much tightness.

“Please what?” you chuckle. Your rhythm’s already cruel. “Gonna ask for more? Less? No, pet. You’re getting fucking punished.”

She’d definitely ask for more. Her sex drive is more of that of a rabbit than a kitten. Her wet pussy is so drenched that it makes squelching sounds in response to your hips. And, because you’re weak for her—a sucker for anything she wants—you give it to her harder.

Instead of grabbing her hips to pump, you’re using the leash. Sakura has to keep herself steady to stop her head from throwing back. It’s inevitable when your member pulls her apart and makes her take what she used to think she couldn’t. The collar’s already making fine lines on her neck.

“Punish me, I’ll be a good kitten and obey you, I promise,” she says. Your thrusts get sloppier; her words do as well. “A-ahh, will take your cock any time of the day, on my knees, on the bed, however you like, master.”

God, the thoughts Sakura puts in your head. They’ll seriously put you at risk one day. Picturing her in those positions—on her knees sucking away at your length; on the bed like this with her cat ears frisking to and fro; and however you like, which means everything—impels you to stuff your rock hard dick in her with a might that shocks even you. See, you can do surprises, too.

“Really now?” Yank. In response, she gasps. Her headband almost falls off. Make the uncharacteristic move as a dominant master to slide it back on.

Sakura nods mindlessly. You know she’s wordlessly telling the truth. She deserves a good squeeze on her perfect tits for the dedication.

But you raise the stakes. How far can she go as your pet? How far can you go as her master?

“Even if you don’t get to cum when you want?”

It’s laughable how Sakura immediately whines. Looks like her love for your cock is conditional. To make it harder for her, you start to couple your swift pumps with a finger on her clit. One rub, two rubs, and three—you might as well be counting sheep with how her eyes close.

That sets her off. Your pet begins to shout. She’s never been a girl to talk excessively. Now, it’s the opposite; she babbles and cries and sobs like her life depends on it. For the record, her bliss does, but it’s nowhere as close to her life.

It’s starting to look like it though. Sakura’s frenzied actions consist of pushing her core back to you, filling herself up with your cock even if the leash is there to pull her to you, and repeating your title. She fills the pretty, well-furnished bedroom with the dirtiest sounds unapologetically. If your abandoned clothes on the floor had ears, they’d be deaf by now. Hell, you’re surprised you aren’t.

Her pussy gets messier with each pump. Your tip kissing her deepest parts grants you several gushes of need. They fall onto the mattress, their stains becoming a task for later. Your only wish at this moment is to fuck Sakura to her wits’ end.

“I need to cum, master,” she says. The alarm in her voice could be mistaken as a warning for a fire or an emergency.

Does she really? You’re not quite sure of that. Continue to give out your punishment. Fuck her like she’s a catgirl who’d die if you didn’t. Redden her unblemished skin with bruises and marks of your hand. Her hole’s splashing with wetness, and you’re starting to get really close yourself.

She’s starting to slump. Tears from her eyes blot the white sheets underneath your bodies. “Cum, please, I need to…”

One of the final tugs of her leash for the night. With her back to your chest and your mouth next to her ear, you ask her a question that won’t determine her climax. Knowing you, even if she answers wrong, you’re still letting her cream deliciously all over your girth.

“Are you my good kitten?” you rasp in her ear.

“Yes!” she instantly replies.

Scoff. “No, you aren’t.”

You firmly rub her clit while bottoming out in her. Sakura’s throat is sore from screaming although it’s far from the last time she’ll do it.

“You’re not a good kitten when all you want to do is fuck your master instead of obeying him. You just want me to fuck you in every part of the house, fill you over and over. You’re the bad thing who wanted to be my pet. So what are you, Sakura?”

Sakura’s hole squeezes you as hard as her collar chokes her neck. Sizable tits bouncing, mouth agape, hands curled on her collar, she replies in the form of another scream.

“A, a bad little kitten, master! His property and plaything, the one he makes cum over and over! So please, master, let me!”

Good answer. “Cum.”

“Ohhhh!”

Sakura would have collapsed on the bed if it weren’t for your hold on her. Her body weakens and fails. The bed is flooded with her climax. Hearing her normally quiet voice reach this level of highness and whininess is an otherworldly experience. Eke more out of her; you’re pumping slowly but surely. Let it possess great impact but measured pace.

“You okay, pet?” you ask gently.

Sakura’s delicious, tight body trembles in its lingerie. Her breaths are short and sporadic. Through it all, there’s a satisfied smile on her face as she nods. It relieves you of the thought that you unknowingly might have gone too far.

“Why didn’t you cum inside me?”

“Good pets get bred, Sakura.”

“Since when did you legit care about me being a good pet?” she laughs.

“Ever since I thought you’d like to drink your ‘milk’ instead.”

Sakura bites her lip. It’s deadlier when she’s wearing that sultry cat lingerie. Your cock remains stiff seeing it.

“Oh, master.” She smiles. “I have the perfect place.”

The Kitty Corner. Not Kitty Korner, for alliteration’s sake, but the Kitty Corner. Cats have favorite places: a shoe, a fluffy tower, the sofa. Sakura is no different. This place, which is the corner of this room, is where she likes it best. It’s no different from any other room corner save for the plushies that line up on the wall. She likes it pressed against it, on the floor, whatever. But she loves it when she has her head pressed against the corner while you fuck away at her mouth.

This is the first time it’s been given a name, and the first time you’re fucking her to it as her master. You tried to be slow in taking her there, as if you weren’t all that excited. But your drag on her leash betrayed your real emotions.

Once Sakura is in position, her tongue sticks out. She must have forgotten that she’s a kitten, not a puppy. That won’t stop you from sliding yourself inside her warm mouth.

It begins. You rub your cock on her tongue before welcoming it in the hollow of her mouth. Like her pussy, her inviting mouth is wet and ready. Sakura tastes herself on your dick. She licks away at everything: the remnants of her orgasm from under it, your cockhead, your base. It’s not even her milk yet, but her eyes light up.

“Be good,” you warn. “No biting.”

Her lips lift into a smirk. Then, you feel her teeth graze ever so lightly on you.

At first, you were content to get yourself off in her mouth. You could have chosen to rub your tip on the flat of her tongue or the inside of her cheek. But now, you give out another punishment. You ram your length down her throat. Training doesn’t help her avoid gagging for she does it anyway. Now her eyes light up in surprise, too.

“M-mmm!”

“Warned you, kitten,” you say with a laugh.

With only your hand on the back of her head to protect it, you start to fuck Sakura’s throat. Her gagging only gives more tightness that seals around you. Her airway is shut and it’ll be that way for a long time unless she behaves.

Sakura can’t even cough or say anything. It’s painful pleasure with her thighs squirming to give her a little bliss, and your cock not allowing her even a moment to breathe. You’re not even tugging her anymore—you’re putting all the force in shoving yourself inside her, as if you had little time to spare.

Her tongue wiggles about in an attempt for air, but as if you couldn’t be more cruel with your training, you close her mouth shut. You warned her, and she still decided to disobey.

Her lost breaths warm your cock. Push them back to her throat. This kitten needs to learn her lesson, even if it requires another.

As if she couldn’t get any lewder, Sakura’s last resort is to mount the leg of her favorite puppy plushie, the one you gifted her. You bet that the manufacturers didn’t know that its use was for her own little pleasure, to serve as a place to grind until the blissful torture ends. She grinds forward and you’re welcomed further in her throat. There’s no escape. Does she even want an escape?

You can feel spurts of air from her nostrils. She’s getting close. This punishment isn’t even a punishment if presented with how her nipples stick out that hard from beneath the fabric, how she’s riding the toy’s leg, how she licks still and all. Her only signs of resistance are her palms on your thighs.

“Thirsty, pet?”

Sakura squeezes her eyes shut, grinds harder, and nods. Her sigh is the closest thing to a verbal response.

“Then have your milk.”

It’s only then that you loosen your grip on her head. You release inside of her mouth and give her the milk she deserves. There’s plenty of it to go around, but it’s all for her. Only for her.

But letting go of her causes her to collapse. Her knees trip over nothing and send her falling onto her plush. The cum spills down Sakura’s chest and midriff like an explicit rainfall. She gasps for air, torn between trying to swallow the cum and catching her breath.

At least there’s the puppy plushie to embrace her.

A kitten and a puppy.

How ironic.

You kneel down to her level and raise her chin. You’d say she wasted her milk, but she’s Sakura. Nothing is gone to waste if it’s her, especially if it makes her look so beautiful. Dazed eyes, tired parted lips, and panting painted tummy.

Beautiful.

Yep, she’s beautiful.

“Are you a good kitten?”

“Yes?” she asks hopefully, exhaustedly.

“Of course not.” You pat her head. Still your little pet. “You’re the best.”

913 notes · View notes

theemporium · 11 months

Note

Idk if you take requests like this. But I'd love, if you write that is, Marauders era character' reaction when the reader flashes at them during an argument (there was a tiktok treand going on)

Idk which all marauders you write to, so feel comfortable to write the only ones you write for. Also can you make it a fem!reader prety please? Thankyou so much!

thank you for requesting!🖤i just did this with the three main boys, enjoy!

Sirius:

“He was all over you!”

“He’s a friend!”

“And he wants to shag you!”

“I don’t care, you’re the only one I want to shag!”

The argument had been going on for the better part of the last hour. Sirius had always been a dramatic person and you knew that. A part of you truly adored it because his theatrical flare was entertaining, nine times out of ten.

But right now? It made you want to put your head through a wall.

“Sirius, you need to drop this,” you huffed out, hands on your hips as you watched the boy pace around the room. “I don’t care about him like that, why does it matter if he does—which he doesn’t, by the way.”

“Because!” Sirius exclaimed with no other explanation.

“For fucks sake,” you grumbled, shaking your head as the boy only rolled his eyes.

“You don’t even care that this is upsetting me!” he accused, his tie askew and more buttons of his shirt undone than they had been this morning. “You don’t care that he’s trying to shag you and that it upsets me. Merlin, maybe you even like the attention because he’s a pretty bloke with pretty eyes and pretty hair and—”

Sirius was rambling. And when he rambled, he really fucking rambled and you were not in the mood to deal with it right now—especially with something so stupid.

Without a second thought, your fingers gripped the hem of your shirt and quickly pulled it up to your chin, watching the boy slowly come to a halt as his eyes dropped to your chest.

“Oh,” he murmured helplessly.

“Good. Now that you’ve shut up, you can listen to me,” you said, letting your shirt fall down as you reached for him.

But Sirius whined, tugging the edge of your shirt back up. “Baby, no, don’t cover them up now.”

Remus:

Remus Lupin was a stubborn bastard when it came to giving the silent treatment.

It was irritable at the best of times. Majority of the time, it would be a silly little thing he would do when you got into petty arguments, and it wouldn’t last anything longer than five minutes before he was pulling you towards him and keeping you close. But sometimes—on the off chance you’ve had a really bad argument—it could go on for days.

This time seemed to fall with the latter.

It had been a tense week. Between raging hormones and upcoming full moons, the added stress of exams and assignments and marauder shenanigans hadn’t worked in your favour. You and Remus had been snappier than usual at each other and it led to one big blow out that resulted in neither of you talking to each other for the last three days.

But now, you were tired and done with arguing and you just wanted your boyfriend. However, Remus didn’t seem eager to talk it out.

“Really? We are still doing this?” you questioned as you stood at the foot of his bed, watching as he lazily turned the page of his book as though you hadn’t been in the room for the last fifteen minutes. “You’re being childish, Remus.”

And yet, the boy still didn’t reply.

Your boyfriend was as stubborn as he was gorgeous, and you had never hated it more than you did in that moment.

But everyone had their weaknesses and you just so happened to know your boyfriend’s very well.

“If that’s the way you wanna play it,” you grumbled as you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and chucking the material at Remus without a second thought.

He paused mid-page flip, glancing down at the material before his eyes slowly lifted to look at you, clad in only your skirt and bra now. His eyes darkened, a flurry of emotions passing through that you recognised well enough.

“Shit,” he muttered, halfheartedly throwing his book on his bedside table.

“Now you’re talking to me?” you teased as you watched him crawl to the end of the bed, reaching out for you eagerly.

“We can talk later,” Remus grumbled as his fingers glided up your back towards the clasp of your bra. “Got more important stuff to do right now.”

James:

It wasn’t fair.

You were good at arguing. Merlin, you were one of the best people when it came down to it. You loved a good argument. You loved winning an argument. And there was nothing better in knowing you were one hundred percent, without a single fucking doubt right.

But your boyfriend was making it really difficult to argue when he was prancing around the room half-naked.

You could barely even remember what the argument was about anymore. All you knew was that James had already been pissy after losing a quidditch match and he kept being short with you, and the next thing you knew, you were bickering back and forth in his dorm room. Then he pulled his quidditch jersey over his head, leaving his thick arms and broad shoulders and glistening chest on display, and every single coherent thought left your head.

“Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?”

You blinked, your surroundings returning to you as you stared at the pouting boy a few feet away from you. His hands were resting on his hips, his lips turned down in a somewhat frown and his messy curls covering his furrowed eyebrows. He was still pissed and now you were pissed at him for distracting you.

It wasn’t fair so you decided to even the playing field.

Without a moment of hesitance, you pulled your jumper over your head and let it thump onto the ground. You stood there, showing as much skin as he was, and watched as his eyes widened comically as he stared at your tits in the red bra you were wearing.

“I—” he paused, gulping a little. “What are you doing?”

“Making this argument fair,” you stated simply as though you weren’t resisting the urge to reach out and watch his abs softly clench under your touch. “Now are you gonna tell me why you’re in such a shitty mood or do I have to keep pretending I know why you’re being like this?”

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slutforalastor · 20 days

Note

"Ah, he's got this problem." Your friend Mimzy waved her hand. "You know how animal demons get. I'd take care of him myself but I wouldn't want to spoil our working relationship. We go way back, you know."

Slowly, you nodded. "You'd consider it a personal favour?" That was how things worked in Hell. A consideration for a consideration. And dealing with the Radio Demon in rut was hardly a small favour, even if it did play well to your preferences.

"To me, yeah." Mimzy smiled broadly. "Just take him to a private room in the back and see that he's calmed down before it's time for the show. If he's cranky he's gonna start eating people, ugh." She fluttered her hand again. "Don't worry, though, he's an absolute sweetheart."

Seeing the Radio Demon turn sideways to get through the door, eyes glowing red and his huge rack of antlers festooned with cables, you were starting to doubt Mimzy's definition of sweetheart.

THIS POST CONTAINS MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR MINORS. 18+

Content: Rutting, antlerplay, role reversal, give and take, banter, mutual masturbation, light femdom, biting, marking, a lot of flowery language for smut

You'd heard the stories and rumors, saw the occasional report on VNN, but you'd yet to encounter the Radio Demon for yourself. Even pushed to the edge where something resembling humanity plunges into dark depths of depravity, he's maintaining a grip on decorum, his wavering smile barely forming the syllables when he introduces himself as Alastor, his voice impossibly mimicking the sound of a mono recording from a bygone time. Mimzy is going to owe you big-time.

"I'm doing well, sir. I have to say, you look like you've had an awful day."

"It is... most inconvenient," he stammers, shaking his head like a beached animal trying to throw off water. Just as Mimzy had requested, you'd waited for him in the private room, and you're still laying in the bed, your body draped across the two rows of firm pillows, down to your lingerie for his ease. With wobbling steps, he begins to close the distance, loosening his bowtie.

"I really must insist that this matter... stay between us." The restraint he's displaying seems as though it's taking every bit of faculties he can spare; his breathing, his sight, his ability to stand, all seem to be sustained with the minimum amount of effort possible. Even glazed in electric red, you can tell his eyes are focused intently on you.

"Who would believe me, anyhow?"

"... Too true, no one would dream of calling me a liar," he agrees, pulling his waistcoat off and leaving it in a heap on the bureau. His undershirt is the same deep red, intersecting black stripes making a cross across the center of his chest. He rolls his sleeves up, then sets his cane on top of his waistcoat. "Any... sensitivities I should know about?"

"I like being kissed on the neck," you venture, playing it safe for opening bids.

He laughs wickedly, the glow casting light further than it could reach before, his antlers growing another section in size, branching out that much closer to the ceiling. "Oh, Mimzy didn't tell me you'd be so pure. Surely you have something more entertaining than that?"

"You think I do this sort of thing often enough to have an itemized list?"

He tuts at your attempt at banter, removing his shoes and leaving them in the gap under the bed. "I don't have time for experimentation, my dear. I'm asking if you think you can handle what I have to give."

"I've handled everything so far," you smirk.

"Let's see how you handle the best, then," he mutters. With a wave of his hand, a black tentacle rises to wrap around your midsection, pinning you in place. He's climbing onto the bed, teeth bared like an animal seconds from pouncing. There's hunger in his eyes, desperation in his motion, a frantic bent to the way he's starting to falter, his kayfabe crumbling with every push of his knees. He's got your legs open, mounting you, and you can feel something alive and thrashing, barely contained by the slacks tenting away from his midsection. His eyes are narrowed in ravenous anticipation, his hips pressing him into you, etching his longing lengthwise against the fabric of your underwear. You feel your upper teeth against your lip, knowing that despite all your talk, you can't hide how appreciative you are of his straightforward approach.

With a hoarse exhale, he fumbles with his belt, the restraining tentacle slipping southward to yank your panties down. Your eyes catch a glimpse of how prepared you are for what's coming next, the evidence staining a dark spot in the light fabric. The Radio Demon hikes his slacks down to the midsection of his thighs, the tip of his firmness kissing against your entrance, his erratic movements keeping him from slipping in. You take it in your hands, which makes him rear up in ecstasy, a hissing growl punctuating the reaction, and align it directly where it needs to go. With a thrust motivated by nothing more than primal need, he forces himself deep into you, grunting in satisfaction at your breathy gasps when it settles into your apex. He gives you little time to adjust, burying himself into you with harsh, crushing strokes, the red in his eyes leaving a tracer every time you shut your eyes against the force of it. His hands are against your forearms, pinning the both of them on either side, and when your head goes back, he finds the crook of your neck with his teeth, his tongue, his lips, seasoning you with scratches, leaving welts from kisses and bites. They sting like fire, they excite like aphrodisiac.

"Is that what you mean, my dear? Is that what you're looking for?"

You whimper something that sounds close enough to assent for him to grow bolder, making a map of your body, marking a trail, carving canyons, raising landmarks that stand red and pulsing against the canvas of your skin. All this in the throes of his rutting deep into you. It drives you mad, your legs wrapping around his waist, bidding him to see just how much of his mind he can lose.

"God, your fucking taste. It'd be such a shame to just devour you, though. So many uses for the whole." Or maybe you're using the homophone of that word to make him seem kinder.

A flailing hand finds your throat, freeing your arms by necessity. You catch onto the rack of black antlers nearly driving themselves into the headboard, using them for leverage to arch your back. You can't tell if you've irritated or excited him with your little move, but the result is the same; he's pressing you with enough force that you can feel the force of it in your midsection. You're seeing red, the sound of him making a mess of you ringing in your ears, two organs vying for sensations yet to be experienced, every other part of you a mere pretense, a chorus playing ensemble to the true performance. And he's reaching the climax of it, his bucking hips shaking your entire frame. You can feel every shift of his disposition in the bone of his antlers, and you hold on for dear life as his urge rushes into your lower half, filling you with thick heat. You're moaning unconsciously, letting him keep you impaled for as long as it pulses with diminishing vigor, feeling every twitch in his shaft as it empties itself. Finally spent, he releases you, the tentacle unwinding from around your waist. Your fingers, knuckles sore from strain, release his antlers, and you extricate yourselves from one another. You can feel his seed weep from between your legs, your breathing rapid, your skin slick with sweat. He collapses onto his back, his legs still entangled with yours, the fabric of his slacks a strange texture on your drenched skin. Straining, you lift your head up, seeing that despite his exhaustion, his cock hasn't calmed one bit.

"Still... not satisfied?"

"This damnable rut..."

You pull yourself up, your lower half numb and leaving a trail of translucence as you crawl to the space between his legs. You wrap a hand around him, and he breathes a hissing inhale that tapers into a low, long groan.

"I didn't ask you..."

"You look like you're in misery, you really don't want the help?"

"I am in no position to keep going..."

"So let me handle it."

You can see the conflict playing out in his expression, but his hips gently bucking against your hand tell a different tale. "Not a soul can know about this."

You nod your assent, giving the part that needs it more of your attention. It's as lively as when he was frotting it against you, throbbing with want, coated with spend. It makes a marvelous lubricant, the wet sound of skin against slick skin nearly obscuring his quiet moans.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have sensitivities of your own, sir."

"Surely you can't mean..."

Your free hand dances like a bird across the branches in his horns, his vocalizations and submissive thrusts suggesting that you have stricken quite the nerve. He's already oozing pre into your palm, a searching hand walking a blind path between your legs, caressing you in kind. You've got a wild idea, just crazy enough to sound worth doing. There's a real chance you'll never cross each other's path again, might as well indulge. You spot a path that ends in a blunt point in his rack, and take it into your mouth, flitting your tongue against the rough material, firm and tasteless, but eliciting such a response from him that you'd not dare release it. His fingers are stroking you with all the effort they can muster, his thrusts weak but sincere.

"Cannot believe... you're getting away with this," he whines, his voice so submissive compared to the one you first heard that it threatens to send you over the edge. Why not press your luck? You straddle his waist, inching him into you margin by maddening margin. He's got no more clever quips for you, his curled claws clutching fistfuls of ruined bedsheets. The view from on high is a pleasant one. A few more motions, and you feel that sensation alighting in him once again; you're ready to join him. His whimpers go up an octave, the crackling filter in his voice thickening, distorting. For the second time, he climaxes inside of you, your own orgasm arriving in tandem. The both of you cry out, his subdued and sweet, yours unrestrained and carnal. You fold into him, his initial reaction wanting to pull away, but he grants you this favor, letting you find the crook in his neck in parallel. He speaks unfiltered, more as Alastor than as the Radio Demon.

"You know, it can be so hard to find willing assistants for these difficult times. Perhaps I could call on you again, my dear."

Maybe it should be you that owes Mimzy.

#alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #radio demon x reader #the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel

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serafilms · 5 months

Text

song 7! jelly pop (boys planet) + percy jackson (the lyrics are lowkey so embarrassing i can’t lie,,, fire song though please hear me out) (2023 spotify wrapped event)

baby, i’m your jelly, like sugar, it melts into your heart, wow

As you peppered kisses all over his face, Percy couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

You hummed happily as you pressed another kiss to his cheek, “Nothing. Just love you.”

Percy blushed, and accepted the rest of your kisses as his hands gripped your waist. The both of you were snuggled against each other on the floor of the Poseidon cabin, leaning on the side of his bed. You weren’t actually in the bed, just in case someone were to barge in and makes a big deal out what looked like a compromising position.

You liked being like this: close to him. You could smell the salt and something grainy as you pressed your nose to his neck. Percy Jackson smelled like the sea.

Percy grinned down at you and brought his hands up to your cheeks. He lifted your face out of the crook of his neck and looked into your eyes, feeling something tickle his heart. He laughed at your squished face and decided it was his turn to kiss it, pressing quick ones to both your cheeks before kissing your lips.

You gave out another happy hum as your hands shifted from his shoulders to clasp together at the back of his neck.

Despite the ocean scent that surrounded him constantly, Percy always tasted sweet. You weren't sure yet if it was an amalgamation of all the blue cupcakes, blue cherry cola, and strawberries, or just because he was, in fact, the sweetest guy ever.

Even after you'd pulled away, you couldn't help but lean in for more quick kisses to his lips. The taste was addictive, and you felt it seeping into your body, as if he was pouring melted candy all over your heart.

Percy accepted them happily, and looked a little disappointed when you'd finally had enough and sat back to stare at him for a second.

He blinked at you. "What?"

"Have you eaten any desserts today?"

"No?"

"No fruit or sugary drinks?"

"No," Percy said, looking increasingly confused.

"Then why do you taste so sweet?"

He stared at your face for a second, taking in how dead serious it was, before he started laughing. "What?"

"Don't try and dodge the question here, Perseus," you scolded, pointing your finger at him accusingly. He only laughed harder.

"Sorry, babe," Percy said between giggles, "Just caught me off guard there."

You threw your hands up in exasperation as your boyfriend tried to calm down. "Seriously, though. You always taste like– like.... jelly."

His eyes still twinkled with mirth but he looked at you as if entertaining your idea seriously. "Like what kind of jelly?"

"What do you mean 'what kind of jelly?'"

"Is it blue?"

"Well, how would I know? It's your mouth? I don't see any blue."

Percy's hands drifted onto your waist again. "How about I give you another kiss so you can figure it out, then?"

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the smile that fought its way onto your lips. "Calm down there, soldier."

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then slowly made his way down to your jawline and across to the corner of your mouth. You felt your stomach flutter and your resolved crumble as you whined, "Percy, I'm serious here. I want to know."

"Okay, okay," he said, eyes still locked on your lips, "we'll figure it out tomorrow, alright? I promise. It'll be our next big mystery."

"You mean after the one where you disappeared off the face of the Earth for six months?"

"I didn't disappear off the face of the Earth," he huffed, "I was in New Rome."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You grinned. "Okay, the next big mystery it is."

Percy grinned and kissed you again. Oh well, your questions could wait. Percy Jackson was your jelly tasting weirdo, and he wasn't going anywhere.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #written works !#2023 Spotify wrapped event !

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steddiealltheway · 2 years

Text

Steve and Eddie witness Robin and Nancy kiss each other goodbye for the first time.

The girls both snap their heads to the boys who just shrug it off. When they leave, Steve and Eddie agree that they wish they could be that close with their friends.

Robin and Nancy continue to kiss each other goodbye, but Eddie and Steve notice that they’ve become more touchy in general.

One time, Steve jokes to Eddie that he wishes they could be more cuddly without being looked at sideways.

“Why can’t we?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs and throws an arm around him. Eddie leans into the touch, cuddling into his side immediately.

The next time the four hang out, Steve and Eddie find themselves witnessing Nancy’s and Robin’s goodbye kiss. “Why don’t we do that, too?” Eddie suggests.

Steve shrugs yet again and pulls Eddie into a kiss.

When the two pull away, they find Nancy and Robin gaping at them weirdly enough. But they also just nod it off and say their separate goodbyes to the boys.

A few weeks later, the four find themselves hanging out with the rest of the party at the Wheeler house. Eddie is dungeon mastering alongside Will in what the other kids call “The most horrific and cruel duo in D&D history.”

Nancy finds herself carding her hands through Robin’s hair as she sits on the floor in front of Nancy, thoroughly entertained. Steve finds himself also watching for the spectacle of it all, which turns out to be mainly Eddie.

As it gets late, Steve finds himself yawning while Robin is fully passed out now in Nancy’s lap.

Eddie calls for a bathroom and snack break and makes his way to Steve. “You know you can go home, right? There’s probably a few more hours left in these kids’ system to power through this part of the campaign. Get some rest, sweetheart, okay?”

Steve puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and asks, “Are you sure?”

Eddie nods with a wide, reassuring smile. Steve quickly leans in and kisses him goodbye.

“Did you two just kiss?!” Dustin yells from the other side of the room.

As the other kids join in on the chaos, Robin stirs rapidly awake. She yells, “What is happening?!”

“Eddie and Steve just kissed!” Mike yells back.

“What’s the big deal? Nancy and Robin do it all the time!” Steve shoots back.

Robin turns bright red as Nancy gapes replying, “Because we’re dating!”

“You’re dating?” Is the most common response among everyone in the room, including Steve and Eddie.

“You seriously didn’t know that?” Robin asks the boys.

Steve can feel the blood drain from his face, and Eddie doesn’t look much better either.

“Wait, if you didn’t think we were dating… are you…” Nancy trails off, taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts, “Are you two not dating?”

“No!” Steve and Eddie yell at the same time with Eddie muttering, “Jesus H. Christ,” afterwards.

“Let me get this straight,” Dustin says. “You two have seen Nancy and Robin kiss what sounds like multiple times, and you assumed they were friends who just… kissed each other? And you came to the conclusion that this was a normal thing that you both also wanted to partake in?”

Steve and Eddie look at each other then back at Dustin and nod. “Sounds about right,” Eddie says and Steve agrees.

Dustin sits down and puts his head in his hands. Robin and Nancy begin giggling to themselves, struggling to get out a few “Sorry”s between laughing fits. Will shakes his head, while Mike is still gaping at his sister and Robin.

Steve and Eddie whisper between themselves, “So, they aren’t friends?”

“No, they are not,” Eddie replies.

“They’re dating,” Steve says.

“They sure are.”

Steve looks Eddie in the eye and asks, “If they’re dating, does that mean we’re also dating?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you want us to be.”

Steve shrugs as well and asks, “Do you want us to be?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Eddie replies causally, trying to hide a wide smile behind his hair.

Steve turns towards the group and announces, “Eddie and I are also now dating!”

This leaves the group in absolutely hysterics especially when Lucas clambers down the stairs asking, “What did I miss?”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #fruity four #the fruity four #steddie ficlet #steddie crack

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dominicfikue · 12 days

Text

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊! ... a matthew sturniolo series. 𓏲๋ 𓂃 — introduction.

ׄ ׅ ྀ PAIRING. asshole!matt & poc!popstar!fem!oc

headline. one year later— her career blooming, skin glowing with any and every one kneeling at her feet. yet here she is, craving him. missing him, even if he was the worst boyfriend she ever had. it seems like everything she tried to forget him, isnt working. there’s no other choice but to do what she does best; write a song.

✶ ׅ ࣪ look out for. ANGST ANGST! first half is a flashback (will be in italics). matt being a total asshat.. thats it i think

↳ heavily based on: get him back by olivia rodrigo.

𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎 𝐀𝐌. april 20th, 2024.

♡　＃　𓂃 the atmosphere in the living room was more than stuffy. harmony and matt had been going back and forth for about an hour, taking hurtful jabs at each other. arguments were never her thing but as of now, it was very much needed to get through to him. he got heated over the smallest things and deep down, it started to feel like he got a kick from it— seeing her cry and break down after he made a big deal over nothing. she just couldn’t take it anymore, take him.

“you bug me for everything else har, so why couldn’t you just tell me you were going out? especially with alexis.” he grumbles, blowing out angry air as he walks further into the kitchen. harmony sighs, sliding a hand down her face. she chose to ignore his attempt to shame her best friend, knowing he tried to make a move on her while harmony was out in boston, visiting family.

“for the ten thousandth time, i did tell you. i reminded you every day this week but you didn’t listen. then again, i’m not surprised.” she retorts, the need to be nice to keep his ego intact long, long gone. matt freezes, her words obviously getting to him. “and what’s that supposed to mean?” matt questions, turning around to face her.

“it means.. you only listen to me when it concerns you, matt. you don’t care about me anymore and i realize that now. i-i mean, when i told you i finally got the singing gig i’ve been dreaming of, you didn’t congratulate me. didn’t even say you were proud.” harmony stumbles over her words slightly, tears boiling in her waterline.

a scoff of disbelief leaves the brunettes lips as he rests his elbows on the kitchen island. “i have my own shit to worry about, harmony. so, my apologies if i’m not jumping and screaming over some gig.” he says sarcastically, his eyes focused on the marble.

if someone told her last summer that this is what her relationship would be like, she would have laughed in their face. harmony stares at him, the tears streaming down as she shakes her head. harmony finally realizes that this argument is getting the pair absolutely nowhere. stressing herself out to make him love her wasn’t an option anymore.

“get out.” she sobs, walking towards the front door and opening it wide. matt’s energy quickly changes, his once cold demeanor now apologetic. “wait baby. c’mon, we can talk this out. it was just a petty argument, i didn’t mean it. ” his voice soft and light, as if he was trying to persuade her into letting him stay. not this time. she had put her foot down.

“matthew. please, just leave, okay? don’t make this harder than it already is.” harmony mutters, loud enough for him to hear. the two stare at each other, waiting for someone to say something. when no one does, matt grabs his car keys and walks to the door. before walking out, he stops in his tracks. “is…is it over? are we over?” he questions, his head hung low. harmony looks away, the lights suddenly entertaining.

“yeah.” she says. a defeated sigh leaves matt as he nods, his feet carrying him outside to his car. harmony almost immediately closes the door behind him, her loud cries echoing throughout her apartment. she knew this was the best thing for her but at the same time, he was her everything. she hopes that with this weight lifted from her shoulders, she’ll be able to be the best she’s ever been.

𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

♡　＃　𓂃 and boy, was she right. two months after the break up, she released her first album with the help of her lovely best friends, gabriella & francis and it went crazy. the entire world knew her name, loved her music and she couldn’t help but be happy now. or at least, she felt like she was.

truth be told, she never fully got over him. of course, she had flings and one night stands but they weren’t matt. even though he treated her terribly, the early stages of their relationship was like heaven. she misses it. she misses him. she wanted him back.

“earth to harmony… hello?!” gabriella exclaims, waving her hand in front of her face. harmony snaps out of her daze, blinking at the girl next to her. “hm.. yeah? what’s up?” she asks, confused on when and how her friends got here.

“what’s up? jesus, har. you gotta stop smoking weed! i was asking if you wrote anything yet?” gabi questions, looking at the closed notebook resting in harmony’s lap. her eyes follow gabi’s, a bright lightbulb going off in her head. she knew exactly what she was gonna write a song about.

“not yet, but i might have an idea.” harmony gleams, a grin spreading across her face.

solai speaks. intro to my matt series.. how we feeling????? i’m so excited you have no idea. still debating on making a cast post so u can see the faceclaims soooo :p. plz reblog n comment it would srsly mean the world to me <3.

taglist. @fawnchives @prettyvyll @trickywritters @breeloveschris @gnxosblog @khxna @firexovni @tylerstacobell @ivonchetooo1239 @bernardsgf @dracoflaco @strniolo @paibey @hearts4chriss @sturniololo @rootbeerworshiper @tillies33ssss @katluckybear @realuvrrr @junnniiieee07 @ireadstoriss @summerssover

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sabersandsnipers · 7 months

Text

Drabble: Raphael Gifts You a Library

Requests:

Raphael and/or Gortash doing whatever they consider is a "nice" and "kind" gesture to someone they like or even love. Smut, fluff, something in-between, whatever suits the mood. Love your work!

oh my god i NEED more raphael and/or gortash content i’m obsessed with ur work and i love my precious (evil) little (probably big) walking red flags 🥹🥹🥹

He didn’t know what to do. For his whole existence, he only cared about one person. Himself. It was easy that way. It didn’t leave any room for weakness.

And then you showed up in his life. Your soul was so tempting to him. He was practically drooling when you signed the deal he made for you. It was an impossible deal, one that you were destined to fail. But he wanted to have you.

He wanted to earn your love. Forcing you to accept him was just too easy. He wanted the challenge of making you fall for a devil.

He was quick to notice your love of books. You were always scrounging around his House of Hope for something to read. He admits he doesn’t have much for entertainment around, seeing as he was the only one in his house entitled to them.

But now you were here, and he found himself wanting to give you everything you ever wanted. So he had his debtors build an edition. A library, to be more specific.

Bringing you to the entrance of his new edition, he covers your eyes. You don’t stop him, shivering under his touch.

Entering the gorgeous room, he removes his hands from your face. The gasp that leaves you makes him grin.

The look on your face is one of pure joy and surprise. The library is enormous, with beautiful works of art dotting the walls. You walk over to one of the shelves and run your fingers along the spines of the books.

You look to him, waiting for him to explain.

“This is all for you,” he offers, opening his arms to all that surrounds him.

Your jaw drops slightly, unbelieving that Raphael cares for you enough to do something like this. But no way in hell are you going to deny such a gorgeous gift. You find yourself grinning, while still uncertain of how to feel about all this.

But you now know one thing is for certain; Raphael is more than just a taker of souls.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #raphael #raphael x reader #raphael imagine #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3

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arabellasleopardcoat · 19 days

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You wouldn’t believe the things I have done for her (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

A/N: Do not try this at home. Requested by the lovely @avalyaaa I am sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to give your request the attention it deserved.

Warnings: Smut. Mafia! Daemon. Gun kink. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: GUN KINK. Slight degradation.

You sit quietly in the back of the car. In the front seat sits Harwin, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He is bored. You can tell by the way he keeps fiddling with things. Changing the radio station, messing with the AC.

Harwin probably misses his old work. It’s not like Daemon needs a bodyguard or a driver. You know it’s more for your protection than his. And while Harwin is no stranger to guarding people who don’t need his protection, you bet the fact that Rhaenyra was fucking him made the prospect much more agreeable.

The AC gets turned off again. You would scold him for it, were it not for the fact you are deadly bored yourself. Daemon’s quick meeting has turned into an hour long one, and you have been instructed to not step out of the car. The only entertainment you have is your phone, and you can only scroll through so many TikToks before wanting to claw your own eyes out.

Instead of continuing to refresh your For you page, you turn your attention back to obsessing over your conversation with Daemon. The shame from your stupidity makes your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t trust them.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He often avoided kissing you in the lips whenever you were close to his associates. As if not kissing you could trick them into thinking you were not relevant and convince them not to target you. “They are…. Not the most respectful with women.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean. To handle myself.” And by the Seven, it had even sounded bratty to your ears. You had not meant it like that at all. You had only wanted him to stop using that shitty excuse.

There were women who attended these meetings. You knew it. Hell, you had even met them. And these weren’t sex workers or strippers. These were women who held high positions in the organization. Rhaenyra, who was going to inherit it one day. Mysaria, who ran an informant network. Even Alicent pitched in from time to time. You were tired of being lied to. Sometimes, you craved the more normal boyfriend experience.

“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” Daemon had chuckled at your pout, and given you a pat in the head. “Behave.”

It had felt so dismissive. So humiliating. As if you were a child and not an actual grown woman. You hated arguing with Daemon. There was something about his tone, or his attitude, you were not sure which, that made him sound forever condescending.

You supposed inherited wealth was like that. The Targaryens had been running their schemes for nearly six generations by now. They were royalty by modern standards, even when you didn’t know about their more shady dealings.

It was no use, being upset over it. Daemon was too set in his ways to change. You needed to find a way around your problem, instead of charging right into it. But nothing comes to you at this moment, so you unlock your phone and continue your scrolling.

You save a few recipes you want to try, and like some pet videos. You are thinking of asking Daemon to adopt a puppy. A small breed would suit your apartment better, but you know Daemon. He will probably want the most intimidating dog he can get his hands on. A big, scary doberman could be something you could get behind. You had been feeling unsafe as of late.

A sudden, loud noise makes you jerk on your seat. You start to ask Harwin what’s wrong, but you don’t manage to even form the words. It's happening too fast.

“Get on your knees and do not get up until I say!” Harwin shouts. You do not need further explanations, understanding something is really wrong. You fall into the floor of the car with such haste that your phone is sent flying under the seat.

“…. Whisk the butter and the sugar…” You try to reach for it, but the space is too cramped, and suddenly the car is moving, throwing the phone around. Your knees throb from dropping yourself from the seat too hard, and you try to focus on that and not the way your heart feels like it’s in your throat. A gunshot, you realize. A gunshot. You should be used to them by now, but you still feel afraid.

Harwin drives fast and efficiently. It’s two full blocks before he orders you to get up again. You do so, legs shaking. There is a wet feeling on your knee. Blood. You had scrapped it when you threw yourself on the ground.

“What happened?” You ask him, smoothing your clothes down. Now that your panic isn’t as intense, you feel a pang of guilt. Daemon. Seven Hells, you had left him back there. “Daemon?”

Despite knowing that Harwin’s orders are first and foremost getting you out of danger, you can’t help but feel guilty. You had not even thought to worry about him. He is probably fine, considering the place was filled with Targaryens. He is also more than capable of handling himself. But to be so blinded by your fear that you did not even think of him…

“I got no fucking clue.” He asks, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I’ll call Daemon, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, quietly. You grab the seat’s edge and squeeze, as if you could will Daemon to your side by frustration alone. Harwin dials.

“Yeah, we are fine.” Harwin says, smiling at you through the mirror. You know he wouldn’t be so casual if something bad had happened, and so, you give him a thumbs up. Your guilt eases a bit, being replaced by relief. “She is fine, just a bit shaken up.” And he rolls his eyes because Daemon can be a bit overbearing.

“Just trouble with an errand guy.” Harwin explains, once the call is over. “He should be here soon.”

But despite how casual they made it sound, you couldn’t shake the fear and guilt away. It stayed on your mind, nestled like a worm, curling around your brain and threatening to choke it. When the night comes, and Daemon sleeps peacefully by your side, you still think of it. Of how you could die, and he could too. And there wouldn’t be a thing to be done.

You sit up on your side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around your waist. You hug your knees to your chest. The night is chilly, and the blackout curtains Daemon insists on having to ensure the room is pitch black. It only serves to disquiet you further.

There is a gun on Daemon’s nightstand. Should there be one in yours? His work is dangerous enough to warrant it. Enough to warrant you having a bodyguard, why not a weapon of your own?

You weren’t going to let him die. Nor were you going to leave him behind, like today. This was the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages. You were tired of cowering back and acting the damsel in distress. If someone is going to try to hurt the man you love, you sure will fight back.

Daemon was yours. As much as you were his, and so, it wasn’t fair that only he protected you. You needed to be able to have his back, or at least, not be a distraction in a fight.

Your decision is not just something you can communicate to Daemon, though. He is not going to like it. You know him. Daemon is a bit old-fashioned like that. He likes gender roles a little too much for it. He is your protector and provider, and you are supposed to just be sweet and warm. The thought of you using a gun will probably cause him a heart attack.

And the thing is, Daemon doesn’t just style himself your protector. He does an outstanding job of it. He has managed to keep you away from the nastier side of his business. Never have you seen a dead body, or any of his associates beyond his family. So if you hope to achieve this, you need to be smart about it.

You decide you will tell him first thing in the morning when he is barely awake. He will be more susceptible that way. And happy with your plan, you finally manage to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, you get started making breakfast with only one thing in mind. Convincing Daemon. You are barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts. It’s basic manipulation, and he will probably able to tell, but you hope it will soften him to your cause.

It’s when you are scrambling the eggs that he emerges, lured by the smell of fried bacon and a fresh pot of tea. Daemon wraps himself around you, still warm with sleep.

“Morning, love.” His voice is still a bit hoarse with sleep. He nuzzles your neck and hums, pleased. “Couldn’t I convince you to come back to bed?”

You laugh.

“Not really. The eggs are almost done.” You take the pan off the stove, letting it cool. “I would like to learn how to shoot.”

Daemon stiffens. You can feel him pull back from you. It’s not a physical thing, his arms remain wrapped around your waist, but his voice becomes colder and meaner. He is fully awake now.

“And why, in the Seven Hells, would you need to learn?”

“To feel safer.” You answer, keeping your tone steady.

“Do you not feel safe already? I could hire you another bodyguard.” Daemon hugs you slightly tighter. You lean into the counter a little bit, and sigh. Then, you detangle yourself from him.

“I don’t want a bodyguard. I need to learn how to shoot.” You state again, calmly. You turn to look at him. He looks more annoyed than angry.

“Sweetheart. You know that is not the best idea.” Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“You are sensitive. You cry when animals die in movies.” He complains, stepping a bit closer to you. Daemon pours you a cup of tea and plates the eggs. “Go sit. I’ll wrap this up.”

You give him a sullen look but obey, watching him cut and toast the bread just in the way you like. You sit by the kitchen’s island, watching him work. Daemon is only wearing his underwear. You don’t think he owns something that resembles pajamas. Targaryens always run hot, or so they say.

Disappointing yourself, you let yourself be distracted by the view. You watch the muscles on his back shift and move as he finishes breakfast for you. You are mesmerized by the elegance of his every movement.

He is delicious, you think to yourself. You want to climb him like a tree. Despite the slight age difference, Daemon is more handsome than other men you have met. He is a bit vain, sure, but his efforts are worth it.

It’s only after he sits next to you that you remember what you were doing. You blame it on the lack of sleep.

“So?”

“You are my woman. It’s my duty to protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Daemon rubs your shoulders, comfortingly. His voice sounds apologetic, a denial despite the soft tone he is using. “You know I keep you well away from danger.”

And he does. Not only Harwin and him have talked protocols, but Daemon has also ensured you would be protected even in the event of his death or imprisonment. You have numerous properties to your name, a few fake passports and three hidden bank accounts in different tax havens. None of which would be taken away if the two of you break up, Daemon has clearly stated. He loves you enough to want you to be protected even if you don’t love him anymore.

“I don’t like being powerless.”

“I seem to remember you do.” He squeezes your thigh, playfully. Your breath shifts despite yourself. You cover it by taking a sip of your tea and leveling a faux glare at him.

“I know.” Daemon kisses your nose. “I like that you don’t know how to shoot. That you are clean from this world.”

“It won’t sully me.” You argue because it’s a silly thing to think. It’s not like you are going to start shooting people or running illegal gambling rings. You just want to be able to defend yourself if something happens. And perhaps Daemon. If he doesn't feel too emasculated, this ridiculous man of yours.

“If I wanted a woman who knew how to shoot I would still be with Rhaenyra.” He complains.

“Plenty of women know how. I am not…” You rub at your eyes, tiredly. You want him to understand nothing is going to change between the two of you. “I do not want to go to your stupid meetings or meet your associates for dinner. I just want to know how to defend myself if something happens.”

“And I am saying you don’t need to because nothing is going to happen.” Daemon’s voice turns firmer. Now you can tell he is beginning to get angry, so you reach for his hand and squeeze.

“But if it does? If one night we wake up and there is a gun to our faces? Then what? Do I just let you die for me?” You allow your voice to break in the last part, letting him truly see your anguish. It is a fear of you that has lived on too long. You need this. You need to be able to defend both of you if something happens.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It gets you to the firing range. Daemon takes you there in the middle of the week, hoping to inconvenience the least amount of people with him booking the entire place.

Your first impression of it is that it’s nothing like in the movies. There are neat little booths with circular targets instead of human shaped ones. You had expected only utilitarian decoration, harsh white lighting and white walls. Instead, the place looks well maintained and expensive. You should have expected so, considering this is Daemon you are talking about.

“Your first lesson…” Daemon says, eyeing you distrustfully. You stare right back at him. “Will be on safety.”

He takes two bulletproof vests out of a hanger, as well two pairs of earmuffs.

“These are protection gear, meant to be used each time you are practicing. And hopefully…” Daemon passes the bulletproof vest over your head. You let him do so, lifting your arms when he instructs you. The vest is heavier than you expect, and more solid too. It feels like what you wear when you are getting an x-ray. “You will use the vest too if you ever fire a gun outside here.”

“And not the earmuffs?”

“You should wear them to protect your ears, especially if you are firing many rounds. But you never see people wearing these because they are heavy-duty protection. In a real fight, you wouldn’t be able to hear your surroundings. Gunshots are pretty loud. So are gunfights.”

“Is that why you are losing your hearing?” You sass, with a grin. “I thought it was just your old age.”

“Oh, shut up. Little brat.” Daemon smacks your ass, playful. It doesn’t even hurt, but you jump and squeal in faux outrage. He laughs at your antics, and it does make you feel better about forcing him to teach you this.

“Should we do the whole…?” You gesture vaguely, trying to reference the classical movie or book montage where the female lead and the love interest stand very close, under the excuse to fix her posture. Daemon shakes his head.

“What is even that?” You would call him an old man for missing your reference, but you know he is sensitive about his age. Besides, you are not a great mime either. “No. You are going to stand with your legs and shoulders the same width apart and a proper posture. No slouching!”

“You know, not all of us grew up with a tutor chasing us and screaming for proper posture.” You grumble, but comply with his orders.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t need all those Pilates and Yoga classes you so enjoy.” Daemon argues right back. He circles you and pushes a bit at your hips. You try to loosen them. “Perhaps my cards would not explode then.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you don’t reap the benefits.”

Your good humor disappears when Daemon places a gun on the counter in front of you. You go quiet, suddenly unsure of your choice. He shows you how to charge it and how to put the safety on and off. You pay him all of your attention, feeling a bit numb. Most of the details about it fly over your head, despite your attempts to memorize them.

“Alright. I think you are ready for your first try.” Daemon says, handing you the gun. You grab it with trembling hands. You adjust your stance and ensure the muzzle is pointing down, and that you are not gesturing wildly with it. He puts your earmuffs on, and then his.

The world around you feels muffled. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, with how silent everything is. The gun in your hands is throwing you off. It looks odd. These can’t be your hands. You feel like you are not actually there, but watching the scene unfold from outside, watching someone else about to shoot.

Daemon adjusts your grip with his hands, casual about his proximity to the loaded weapon. You stiffen as soon as you feel him approach you, worried about accidentally shooting him.

“Come on.” He mouths, impatiently. You lift the gun, take the safety off, and aim. You pull the trigger, and it is with an awful noise and jerk, that you fire for the first time. The shot goes wide, hitting the wall next to the target.

Daemon taps your shoulder and gestures for you to go again. He watches your every move. His expression betrays nothing. If you are going at it the wrong way, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You repeat the motion, flinching at the noise. Even with the earmuffs it’s loud. It reminds you of that day in the alley, and makes your stomach clench. Daemon signals for you to put the gun down, and you do so, glad that it’s over. You can’t believe you thought you could actually do this. You feel so stupid. He was right, you are too soft.

Daemon can probably tell you are getting too in your head. He removes your earmuffs and pulls you in for a hug. The vests make it awkward, but you feel comforted by his solidness next to you.

“You did great, sweetheart.” He lies, and kisses your temple. You feel so disappointed you could cry. A laugh bubbles out of you, a bit hysterical.

Daemon tsks. He reaches for the gun and deftly discharges it.

“Come on.” He says, kissing your cheek. “I know what your problem is.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, a bit doubtful. You don’t want to feel any sort of hope, just in case that he is mistaken. Giving up so easily might be childish, yet you had not expected this to be so hard. After all, like half the people that Daemon knew could do it.

“You have to learn to love the gun.” He places it back on your hand and steps up behind you. It seems like you are doing the movie thing after all. He kicks your legs a bit, encouraging you to shift your stance.

“Love the gun?”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.” Daemon laughs, and mouths along your nape. You shiver. It’s an almost Pavlovian reaction by now. When Daemon’s voice gets all low and husky, and he holds you like that, your body knows it’s time for sex. It’s very inappropriate. But conditioned as you are, you can’t stop the throb of arousal between your thighs. “Stop looking like you are horrified by it.”

He fixes your grip around the gun. He steadies your hand.

“Shoot.”

You obey, pulling the trigger. The gun clicks, but nothing happens. It’s unloaded.

“Good.” Daemon says, and lightly bites your shoulder. “Again.”

You repeat the motion. He has you do it over and over again, until you no longer flinch when pulling the trigger. When you are fully desensitized to the sound, Daemon takes the gun from you.

“Great job.” He says, placing the gun right on your face. “Now kiss it.”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Daemon, sure that he must be joking. Kissing the gun? No way. But one look at his face, at the amused curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, tell you that he is serious.

“You heard me.” Daemon chuckles, a bit darkly. You understand then that this is both for his amusement and a punishment. He gets off on humiliating others, that you know. And he had not liked that you had forced him into giving you shooting lessons. He now intends to bring you down a few pegs. “Kiss the barrel.”

You scrunch up your face. You got your pride, too. Despite knowing that submitting to his whims is easy and will probably pacify him for a while, you can’t help but resist. Your whole body rebels at the idea of accepting such an obvious power play.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You owe me.” Daemon tilts your head up, placing a finger under your chin. He makes a show of cooing over your pout, before leaning in to kiss you.

“I don’t!” You move your head away, denying him. It’s a bit cruel, and it makes him frown, which you consider a win.

“You so do. I didn’t want to teach you, you know. At least give me good jerk off material.” He pouts at you, and you can’t help but smile a little. He is ridiculous.

It is part of why you love him. Daemon is young in spirit, if not in body, and he makes you feel younger too. Giddy and willing to do silly things. Silly things like leaning in and kissing the barrel of a gun.

The metal is cold under your lips, hard and unyielding. Daemon makes a pleased noise and pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile against your mouth, before trying to deepen it. Playfully, you nip at him, until it is him who yields and opens up for you.

It is then that he presses the cold barrel against your nape. The feeling of the gun against your skin makes you tense and jerk, giving him once again the upper hand. With the control of the kiss back in his hands, he pulls you closer.

You feel yourself slowly starting to become aroused. One of Daemon’s hands finds your hip, squeezing the flesh there. His gesture is both possessive and greedy. Something swoops in your belly, dark and demanding. You want all his attention on you, you want him all for you.

Making out with Daemon is a full-bodied experience. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that he starts to gently run the muzzle of the gun down your neck. At first, you don’t notice, too caught up on how close both of you are. Your chest is flush against his, and the feeling of his body against yours makes you whimper, before you realize what game is he playing.

“Daemon.” You warn, annoyed. He gives you a shit eating grin.

“I am just getting the two of you better acquainted. My best girls.” Daemon leans in and kisses behind your ear. He takes his time, making out with the shell of it. He is cautious to do all the right things to make you tremble against him. Yet, you can’t seem to forget about the gun, running down your sternum, between your breasts.

The muzzle gets caught against your clothes. Daemon uses it to push one of the sleeves of your top a little aside, to be able to lavish the skin there with kisses. You only feel the metal against your skin for a second, but it makes you think about how it would feel against your naked skin. Would the cold make your hairs stand up on edge, and your nipples pebble? Or would it warm up to your temperature?

The thought makes your breath hitch, and your panties even wetter.

“There is no one here.” You say, quietly. “If you were to take off my shirt…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daemon grins, encouraging you to lean against the counter of the firing range. “You devious little thing.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, carefully taking your clothing off. You watch him move between your legs, helping you widen your stance. Daemon kisses a path from your ankles towards your knees, mouthing along as if having the finest of banquets. His kisses feel scorching against your skin, and you can’t help but jut your hips slightly, trying to command him into touching you.

Daemon smiles at you, cheekily. He then bites your inner thighs, scratching just enough to make you arch in pleasure-pain. When you are just about to hike one of your legs over his shoulder, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, and it’s then that you feel it. The cold barrel of the gun, pressing along your inner thighs.

You moan. Daemon laughs.

“You little whore.” It sounds fond. He eats you out without any finesse, slurping noisily. The thought of anyone else being able to overhear this makes you embarrassed, so you try to keep quiet. Your eyes close, hands squeezing around the edge of the counter.

Daemon is not trying to bring you any pleasure. His movements and touches are too methodical for it. He presses a finger inside your hole, then another. Then it is scissoring them and shushing you with soft licks to your clit when you complain at the slight sting.

Any pleasure you get out of it is incidental. Instead, Daemon is getting you ready for something. And this time, you know it’s not his cock. The thought fills you with dread and arousement in equal parts. How will it feel? Metal doesn’t give the same way flesh does. But the thought of having a gun, Daemon's, inside you, makes your hips jerk.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He pulls away, reappearing from between your legs. “Fuck. I don’t know if I want to see your face or your greedy little hole when I put it inside.”

You look at him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, but his smile is absolutely ferocious.

“My face. Just in case…” You reach for his shoulder and squeeze, gently. Despite how arousing you think the whole thing is, you are still hesitant. Sometimes, things don’t feel as you imagine they would. You don’t want this to be disappointing.

Daemon seems to understand, despite the fact that you don’t verbalize it.

“I’ll talk you through it.” He says, kindly. He then spreads your folds a little and presses the tip of the gun against your hole.

You yelp. Your grip on his shoulder turns punishing. It feels pleasant, as penetration often does, but there is a foreign quality to it as well. The gun is wide, and metal doesn’t give as flesh does. You feel as if you are rooted tp the spot by it, being impaled with each inch Daemon presses inside you.

“You are doing so well. Good girl. My little girl.” He presses a kiss to your stomach. He keeps rubbing at your clit until you relax around the barrel. It’s only then that he attempts to fuck you with it. You clench at his shoulders, overwhelmed, and moan.

It’s confusing. The ridges of it feel good, catching against your hole. The metal slowly starts to warm up, not feeling as strange as before. Daemon keeps steadily sucking your clit.

The pleasure builds. So does your need. You start to move your hips along with his thrusting, trying your best to reach your orgasm. So of course, Daemon pulls away from your clit.

“You are taking it so well.” Daemon praises, voice husky with desire. “Your pussy swallows the gun right up.”

You moan, almost without realizing. You are so close it itches. But moving your hips up and down isn’t enough. You need more.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, near tears. Never before have you been this frustrated.

“Who would have known? You are such a hungry little whore.” Daemon smirks. The crudeness of his words makes you gasp. You feel smaller than you have ever felt, yet somehow, it makes you feel deliciously dirty. He is not wrong. It’s embarrassing, how you are humping the gun he holds, but you can’t stop. “You don’t think, you are so desperate you would fuck anything. Do anything, just to fill your greedy holes.”

“Please. Fuck.” You sob. Daemon licks his thumb and starts rubbing your poor, abused clit. He keeps fucking you with the gun, building you up and up, towards the orgasm you so desperately crave. You come with a scream so loud, you thank he has booked the whole place for only yourselves.

Turns out, you don’t hate guns as much as you thought.

245 notes · View notes

anonymousewrites · 2 months

Text

Nature of the Human Soul (Book 1) Chapter Three

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Chapter Three: Controlling Television

Summary: The Hotel learns about the extermination coming early, and (Y/N) meets someone new.

“Okay, so the extermination is coming in six months instead of a year,” said Charlie, pacing. “No big deal. Just a little setback. Nothing we can’t handle. Just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls?” She laughed nervously, the breakdown beginning. “Am I right? And next time, when they cut the time in half again and again, we’ll just handle it, right?”

Vaggie caught Charlie by the shoulders. “Yes. We will.” She attempted to steady her girlfriend.

“Oh, please, ya had less of a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit,” said Angel. “And now….Ain’t no silver lining this time toots.”

“Sure there is,” said Charlie. “We just have to look a little harder for it.”

“Seems pretty bleak to me,” said (Y/N). “I don’t know much about it, but it feels like the angels get to do whatever they want and fuck us over.”

Angel nodded, and Charlie deflated. “The rest of Hell agrees with them. They’re going nuts.” Angel grimaced as he read through reactions on his phone. “People are freaking out about the news.” He held up his phone. “Look at what’s happening in the Doomsday District.”

The land was on fire, and Charlie frowned as a notification popped up.

“Er, what is a ‘donkey show?’ ” she asked.

“Ah! Heh, nothing!” said Angel, snatching his phone back. “My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone’s losing their shit.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Sinners are desperate,” said Vaggie. “Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the next extermination?” She smiled at Charlie.

“This is the perfect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!” said Charlie excitedly.

“People will do everything except for try to change themselves,” said (Y/N), dubious of that idea. “If exterminations have been going on for…forever, I don’t really know if this will change anything yet. You’d have to be really convincing.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s why I have to go out and gather people myself!” said Charlie. “It’s not people are going to show up on our doorstep.”

Boom!

The wall exploded (again).

“Show yourself, Alastor!” cried a familiarly snakelike and dramatic voice. It was Sir Pentious from the previous incident, back to get his ass beat again (because what else was going to happen to him? Alastor was way more powerful than him). “Come and face—”

“Will you shut up?!” snapped (Y/N), leaning their head out the hole. “We’re trying to handle some problems in here!”

Pentious deflated in disappointment as the teenager glared at him, completed unintimidated. “I’m not here for you! I’m here for Alastor!”

Hearing the commotion and always loving some entertainment, Alastor popped out of the shadows with a mug that said “Hello, Deer.” “Who are you?” he asked.

“Who am I?! Who am I!?” cried Pentious. “I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!”

“Ooh, he’s a bad boy,” said Niffty, grinning.

“Huh, well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you,” said Alastor, grinning.

“I attacked you literally last week,” said Pentious.

Alastor tilted his head, clearly not remembering a thing.

“We’ve done battle like twenty times!” said Pentious.

“Well, you must have been really bad at this,” said Alastor.

“Silence! Now cower!” cried Pentious. “For when I’ve slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!”

(Y/N) looked at Vaggie. “Who are the Vees?”

“Velvette, Valentino, and Vox—three of the worst Overlords. Velvette deals in fashion and social media, Valentino runs Hell’s biggest porn studio, and Vox controls almost all technology,” said Vaggie. She crossed her arms. “Don’t get involved with them. They’re manipulative pieces of shit.”

“Definitely am not planning it,” said (Y/N). They didn’t want to get put under anyone’s thumb after their life.

“They’re nobody important,” said Alastor.

“You know, Angel isn’t the only one spending time at that ratty hotel with the devil’s princessa,” said Valentino.

“Oh, who else is there? Someone who owes you money?” asked Vox.

Valentino chuckled. “Someone who owes us much more than money. The Radio Demon is there.”

Vox’s screen sparked, and his nails dug into the desk. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” said Valentino.

“Alastor came back, and he is with Lucifer’s daughter, and that wasn’t the first fucking thing you told me?!” snapped Vox.

“Hey, killing Alastor is your kink,” said Valentino, waving a hand.

Vox glared at the screens in the room, and one switched onto a recording on the hotel so he could glare at the gathering outside. Alastor, who kept glitching in the recording, was grinning and standing beside Lucifer’s daughter, her girlfriend, Angel, and a young demon with a rose motif.

“Oh, please, stop!” cried Pentious as his ship was once again torn apart by shadows while Alastor cackled in amusement.

“Um, Alastor? I think he’s had enough,” said Charlie.

“I don’t know, he came here asking for it,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

“Oh, yeah, he’s got a few more hits in ‘im,” snickered Angel.

Pentious fell out of his ship and landed on the ground.

“Thanks for another forgettable experience,” said Alastor with a wide grin.

“Thank…you…” groaned Pentious. “For letting your guard down!” His tail shot out, tore off a piece of Alastor’s coat, and retreated. Pentious laughed.

A large shadow loomed over him.

“Oh, shit.”

Green magic exploded from Alastor, and Pentious was sent flying out of the hotel’s airspace.

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor,” said Alastor, turning away from the flying snake without a care. “Best of luck, chums!”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” said Vaggie. “Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job.”

“We need a wall,” said Angel.

“Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already! What would the papers say?” Alastor snapped his fingers, and shadow workers, like from the advertisement, popped up to help rebuild the wall. Satisfied, Alastor turned and walked away.

Angel grinned and approached the shadows. “Hey, sweet cheeks. What you doin’ later?”

“I’m out,” said (Y/N), turning away before they had to see Angel flirt more.

“Can you at least help us?” asked Vaggie, gesturing to the destroyed wall.

“…Do I look like I have experience building walls?” said (Y/N), frowning.

“You can buy us a new painting. Charlie likes having decorations, and one got destroyed by Sir Pentious,” said Vaggie.

(Y/N) considered. “Are you giving me money?”

“Yes,” said Vaggie.

“Ok, sure,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

“Right,” said Vaggie, pulling out cash. “And here, I’ll show you where to go.”

She pulled out her phone to show a map of the Pride ring. The last thing they needed was (Y/N) getting lost and getting into trouble. Actually, Charlie would probably be against sending (Y/N) out for an errand, but Vaggie had seen they were going a bit stir crazy from being at the hotel all the time, so the least she could do was give (Y/N) a short errand to run to one of the more civilized/reputable areas of Pride. And if there was any trouble, Vaggie would go into town and intercede with her spear.

(Y/N) hadn’t expected running an errand in Hell to go so smoothly. After every other person at the hotel complained or ran into some trouble (Angel: old customers, Vaggie and Charlie: haters of the hotel, Husk: people in general), (Y/N) had expected to have to stay on their toes. Instead, they had gone into the shop Vaggie asked them to, purchased a non-inappropriate painting, and headed out with enough change to buy themself something.

(Y/N) had seen a café on the way into town, and now the sweets were calling their name as they headed back. Seeing as they never got to treat themself in life, why not do so in death?

(Ironically, so far their death had been better and more filled with friendship than their life had been.)

(Y/N) walked through the streets, pausing only to make sure they had the right directions. Sure, they’d been fine so far, but they weren’t going to test their luck by going anywhere they weren’t supposed to.

(Y/N) passed by a group of demons staring at television screens in a store window, entranced. Curious, (Y/N) paused to glance at the screens.

They were displaying an advertisement for merchandise from the very store they were standing in. People were in a trance watching, and they all immediately rushed inside to purchase what they’d seen advertised.

(Y/N) frowned. Looking at the screens gave them a headache, so (Y/N) turned to walk away. They had a bad feeling about the store and technology—so missing from the hotel—and they weren’t going to ignore that feeling.

No sooner had (Y/N) decided to ignore the screens that one buzzed to life, and sparks jumped from the screen. (Y/N) froze as the sparks formed the body of a man with a TV for a head in front of them on the sidewalk, effectively blocking their path.

Well, shit, I don’t think I’ve successfully avoided trouble, thought (Y/N). It didn’t take a genius to realize this was Vox, who Vaggie had warned them about.

“No interest in any technology?” said Vox with a wide, electric grin.

“Nope.” (Y/N) kept their answer short and curt, trying to get out of the conversation.

“You’re one of the sinners staying at the princess’s hotel,” said Vox, eyes narrowing calculatingly. His smile widened. “I don’t believe you have a phone. Are you sure you don’t need one?” He held out his hand, and a phone was held in it. “Think of it as a welcome gift to Hell.”

“I’m not interested,” said (Y/N), stepping around Vox to attempt an escape from the encounter.

Vox turned immediately, still smiling widely. Apparently, it wasn’t going to be that easy to avoid him. “I’m just trying to support the hotel. Like the Radio Demon.” His smile glitched slightly.

Oh. So that’s what this was. Vox was just trying to get in Alastor’s hair and annoy him.

“Yeah, well, we’re okay,” said (Y/N), taking a step away.

“Are you sure?” One of Vox’s eyes pulsed with energy, and (Y/N)’s headache grew stronger.

“Yes,” said (Y/N) firmly.

“I think that you may want to reconsider,” said Vox, eye still swirling.

“I think I’m fine,” said (Y/N). “So just leave me alone.” They narrowed their eyes.

Vox’s screen sparked, and his eyes narrowed.

Danger, danger!

Sparks flew at (Y/N).

Bam!

A bramble of vines and thorns erupted from the ground and blocked the sparks. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Vox sparked.

“What the—”

“My, my, are you bothering one of my guests?”

A shadow loomed over Vox and (Y/N). Vox flinched and looked to see Alastor with a wide, threatening smile.

“Really, Vox, what terrible manners,” said Alastor.

“Radio Demon,” snapped Vox.

“Yes, precisely,” said Alastor. “So run along and leave my guests alone. Really, how unbecoming.” His grin sharpened. “Unless, of course, if you’d like to have another little competition.”

Vox glared, and his screen glitched. However, he wasn’t interested in going toe-to-toe with Alastor again after getting his entire network shut down for a few hours, so with a final angry glare, he dissolved into electricity and disappeared into the TVs he came from.

“Well, what a terrible way to end a day out,” tsked Alastor.

“Yeah,” said (Y/N), making a face.

Alastor looked at the briar sticking up from the ground. “And what might this be?”

(Y/N) stared at it. “It just kind of…appeared.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “When Vox threatened you?”

“Uh, yeah,” said (Y/N), touching the vine curiously. It flinched and disappeared back into the ground. “Huh.”

Alastor grinned. “How interesting.”

“What do you mean?” said (Y/N), cocking their head.

“That, my dear, is magic,” said Alastor. His grin had widened in amusement. “It seems you’re going to be an entertaining guest.”

“Oh, yay,” said (Y/N) sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping to be.”

Alastor laughed and waved a hand. “Have no fear, have no fear. Why, the entertainment I’m looking for is you struggling with that magic.”

“Thanks,” said (Y/N), still deadpan. “I’ll make sure to practice in front of you so you can laugh.

Alastor grinned. “Why, thank you, dear! Perhaps I’ll even give you a few tips!”

(Y/N) looked at him, rolled their eyes, and shrugged. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I always do,” chirped Alastor. “Now, come, let’s return to the hotel. No point getting into more trouble, even if you’ve discovered magic.” He looked at them. “And I do intend to give you a few tips.”

“Wait, really?” said (Y/N), blinking in surprise.

“Of course. I can’t have my guests being helpless,” said Alastor, twirling his staff.

(Y/N) perked up. “Thanks, Alastor!”

He glanced at them, surprised at the boisterous honesty. He decided not to respond, and the pair walked back towards Hazbin Hotel in silence.

That was fine with (Y/N). They were contemplating finally having some power of their own for their own life.

“Oh, good, you made it back alright!” said Charlie. She smiled at (Y/N). “Vaggie told me she sent you out, and I was worried!”

“I didn’t mind going out. I’m going stir crazy here,” said (Y/N).

“And they have proven themself capable of keeping themself safe,” said Alastor with a grin.

Vaggie frowned. “Wait, did something happen?”

(Y/N) coughed. “You know how you told me to avoid the Vees?”

“Yeah?” said Vaggie, narrowing her eyes.

“Vox decided to pop out of a TV in front of me,” said (Y/N).

“What?!” cried Vaggie.

“Relax, they were fine,” said Alastor. He twirled his staff. “I interceded before anything could happen to them, and Vox’s sparks couldn’t even hurt them.” His grin widened. “They summoned magic of their own.”

“You did?” said Charlie excitedly.

(Y/N) nodded. “Apparently, yeah.”

“That’s awesome!” said Charlie encouragingly.

“Yes, it’s quite unusual,” said Alastor. “And I intend to teach them.”

Everyone froze and stared at Alastor.

“You what?” repeated Charlie, an awkward smile on her face.

“I will be teaching (Y/N) to use their magic. We can’t have them being helpless, now, can we?” Alastor still wore his signature grin, as mischievous as ever.

Oh shit, thought everyone. If there was one thing they knew, it was Alastor taking a liking to the teenager couldn’t be a good thing. It could only spell trouble and mischief.

And, unfortunately for them, (Y/N) wore an excited grin that promised all that trouble and more.

Taglist:

@kyalov

@pandaquick

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@jaytheaceenby

@paastaboi

@bettybabys

@gxdoesstuff

@grippleback-galaxy

@just-here-reading

@dmitrytherat

@a-small-tyrant

@marxo5

@rory-cakes

@andsoigotabutterfly

@theblueslytherin

@romyoia

@ray-rook

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silkscream · 1 month

Text

CHAPTER 9: GOD IS A CIRCLE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high sex, threesome, oral sex, fingering, graphic depictions of violence and blood, recreational drug usage, biblical imagery, angst

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i was barely conscious when i wrote this. sorry bout it

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

August, 2009

Bliss is never eternal. If it was, you’d think the world would stop turning with everyone busy with their greatest indulgences. It’s not like you were much of a hedonist anyway, not even with Satoru’s influence.

You feel intoxicated with him and Suguru, but it’s not enough to keep you from reality. Yaga-sensei proves this the moment the boys are ordained the task of protecting the star plasma vessel—a fourteen-year-old girl with more spirit than you ever had at that age. You admire her spunk, her unwillingness to take shit from either of the boys. It entertains you endlessly.

“How do you deal with them?” she mutters to you. You learn that her name is Riko Amanai. She loves the ocean and has a sweet tooth like Satoru. Her favorite flavor is anything blue.

“I keep them in check.”

“Are you my bodyguard too?”

“Not really,” you laugh. “But I’ll be around.”

Riko likes you. She clings to you more than you anticipate, considering this isn’t your mission, but you understand. She’s vulnerable despite her confidence in her fate as Tengen’s vessel. Talks a big game with blue eyes shining bright, similar to Satoru.

She pouts at your absence. You think nothing of it, knowing that she’s in good hands between the boys and that caretaker of hers. The bounty on the girl’s head is daunting, but the boys are the strongest, and you watch them evade the enemies easily.

It’s when they end up in Okinawa that something in your chest feels a bit empty. A bad omen, anxiety pooling in your gut.

Satoru texts you pictures from the beach—sea creatures from the ocean and the aquarium, selfies with Suguru that are often blurry. He texts you how much he misses you, how much he craves the parts of you that you think may be too intimate to even talk about out loud, let alone through text. Suguru sends you pictures of Riko and Satoru on the beach with the creatures they pick up from the ocean, of sunsets he knows you would enjoy.

You ache for their return.

satoru: gonna stay for another day jsyk

you: having fun?

satoru: yeaaaa

satoru: tired as fuck though

satoru: but riko likes the beach. thought we could give her one more day

you: you’re sweet

satoru: not as sweet as uuuuuuuuu

satoru: she says hi btw

satoru: shes mad ur not here

you: she likes me more than you

satoru: >:(

you: i’ll see you soon. get some sleep please

satoru: anything for u baby

Something has gone terribly wrong.

You have no reason to be worried—Satoru is more than capable of handling that assassin, no matter how swift his movements may be. It was whiplash to see a sword go through him, and it was whiplash to see Satoru react like it was a paper cut.

Now, in the Tombs of the Star, you feel a chill run up your spine as you escort Kuroi out. She’s still emotional, wiping tears after her goodbye to Amanai. Trepidation strikes you the same way it did in that forest all those months ago. The air has grown cold, but you can’t sense any other cursed energy but your own.

“Kuroi,” you breathe.

“Yes?” She sniffles, wiping her tears quickly.

“Go on without me,” you say cautiously. “I think I better guard the Tomb just in case. For Geto.”

“Alright. Thank you for being there for them.” Kuroi smiles at you with a warmth you aren’t sure that you deserve.

“I wasn’t the one protecting her.”

“I know, but she admired you a lot. We missed you in Okinawa.”

You pull her into a hug, one that you wish you’d given Riko moments prior. It’s a parting gift.

When she departs, you’re left alone in a dark hallway. You expect a spirit to jump out — something monstrous, an amalgamation of your nightmares. But this is a sacred place, you suppose. One meant for sacrifices and blessings. You’ve never really believed in blessings. The world is built on too many curses for that.

Something in the air made you want to choke, swallow back bile. Nothing like your old anxiety spells. It’s something else, you’re sure of it. And yet, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The rustle of fabric.

He couldn’t go undetected, not completely. Not when your intuition was on overdrive, making you sick with it. Your senses acute.

“Haven’t seen you before.”

His voice is raspy, the sound of skinned palms on pavement. Deep the way Japanese whiskey burns down and sits in your stomach a little too heavy. There’s a split on the corner of his mouth as if he’d been nicked by a thorn. He smiles at you with lazy, bovine eyes and a snake-like smirk.

This man is not a figment of your imagination — he’s real as can be as he towers over yet, and there’s not a lick of cursed energy you can feel, even when you’re this close to him. A human.

You think about Satoru and the sword that went through his chest. You look at the sword that the stranger in front of you wields. Within a second, you rush to touch him, but your technique doesn’t activate as soon as you want it, too. He slashes you across the stomach, crimson permeating the torn fabric of your uniform.

“Weak little girl,” he chides. “You’re too pretty to kill, though.”

You gag, nearly vomiting on the ground.

“You their girlfriend or what? Would’ve thought they were fucking each other, to be honest.”

You shake your head weakly, your vision blurring already. You hear a bark of a laugh. Not even your bared teeth can be taken seriously, not when you’re bleeding out on the ground. He tuts as if he’s scolding you.

“He’ll kill you,” you hiss. The man laughs again. You must be referring to one of your boys. He grins wider when he realizes.

“Which one? The one with the bangs?” he scoffs. “Because I already killed the Gojo brat, sweetheart.”

You feel your heart drop, sinking like an anchor as the feeling drags your body down with it. You look at him with wide eyes, and the sadistic stare you get back tells you he wants to humiliate you. It would hurt less if he just killed you.

Satoru would never die by the hand of a non-sorcerer. Not a fucking chance. But the notion doesn’t stop the itch behind your nose, your eyes threatening tears. The man crouches, his face looking down at you in mock sympathy, and places a rough palm to your face, swipes your quivering bottom lip. You taste blood.

You clutch his wrist immediately and he raises his hand.

Something metal whips the side of your face, something heavy. Your sight of vision narrows into black.

When you wake, you aren’t sure if you’ve arrived in a nightmare or had just left one.

For one, Satoru is saturated in blood. The scratches on his face are brutal. He looks half feral, half shell-shocked. It’s nothing you’ve seen before.

Despondency paints Suguru’s face into a shadow of himself. There’s something off about their cursed energy.

You don’t want to ask them how the rest of the mission went — you can already tell what the answer might be. If everything went according to plan, there wouldn’t be a blank stare in each of their eyes. If everything was fine, they would return to you like themselves — animated and flirty and teasing. If everything was the way it was meant to be, maybe you wouldn’t have the slight scar of a side wound aching at the side of your gut.

Instead, they’re all business. It’s like they look through you when they speak to you.

“Is Riko…” you trail off.

“She’s dead,” they say.

They deliver the news to you, expressionless. Mirroring each other.

There’s a blankness in Satoru’s eyes. Cold. No one exactly knows how to deal with being killed only to bring yourself back again. The thought of his mangled body surrounded by flyheads makes your stomach churn.

He had always been god-like, prodigal. After being reborn, he really was a God. Untouchable. You’d think him to be cockier or more cruel, but on the surface, he’s devoid of anything, really. He’s stony-eyed, instead, a little empty behind the face. There’s a spark of something when he sees the large bruise on your cheekbone and the ghost of a slash on your rib.

He won’t say much about the man who killed him. Only that he had no cursed energy and a son. You remember a scar bending with the curve of a mouth and sharp green eyes.

It’s quiet at Jujutsu Tech afterward. Yaga continues classes like he always does, and all of you do your best. There are fewer missions that are being demanded of you. You think it’s because of the failed mission. Despite this, Satoru takes on whatever he can, even volunteering for the tougher ones just so he can let off some steam. Suguru often tags along with him, leaving you alone to sulk.

You don’t think you have any reason to sulk. It’s not like you were killed, anyway.

You feel them both pulling away. You don’t bother to pry — they at least seem to be occupied with each other. They were best friends before you ever got close to either of them. You knew your place. You’d give them space, knowing the gravity of the trauma they’d experienced on the mission, and yet your heart ached all the same. It was a familiar hurt, the same you’d felt in high school about Satoru. It was only peculiar now because those feelings applied to both of them.

But then there are times when Satoru sneaks into your room like he always does. He likes to nip at your shoulder with teeth that feel sharper, meaner. Hand around your throat, the calluses squeezing flesh. He likes to pin you down to the mattress, likes to hear the squeak of the bedframe as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Suguru takes you, too, but not so desperately, not so obviously. He lures you in, instead. You realize that he’s different than Satoru in the way that he has the patience for games. It explains the teasing, the touching. He’ll have you wrapped around his finger just from talking to you, and within the hour, he’ll be fucking into your soaked cunt in the locker rooms after sparring.

You suppose this is the way they both let out their frustrations, how they cope with the trauma of losing Riko. They were tightlipped about her.

Both of them had changed in ways that were beyond your comprehension.

Satoru gets colder. Similar to the way he was in high school, when he barely acknowledged you. He doesn’t like to look at you for very long, as if the mere fact of his gaze on you would hurt him, hurt you. It was stupid. He didn’t care about your fragility before, so what point was there to care about it now?

Suguru is mostly the same, just quieter. Hell, he’d always been quiet, other than the times he’d fuck you or when you’d be alone with him. His sarcastic streak was weaker. He touched you less.

You can’t stand any of it.

Satoru isn’t meant to be someone so vulnerable. It’s out of character for him.

You soothe his nightmares when he wakes you up in the middle of the night clutching your waist with nails digging into the skin underneath your shirt. He’s always shaking, always mumbling something nonsensical.

Selfishly, you find that it feels nice to be needed. To be his only form of salvation during these times.

In his waking moments, Satoru is himself again. Belligerently so, with his recklessness. It’s up to you and Suguru to tame him, often. Satoru is almost a different version of himself – familiar and still annoying — but he is much more adamant about his power, nowadays. A God complex in the making.

Satoru gets greedier. He likes to wake you up with his nose nudging your clit, tongue already making a mess of your hole. No amount of pushing his head away with your hand would make him stop, though you blame yourself for indulging.

He likes to tease you for the semblance of control. You suspect that beyond playing with you, he finds solace in Suguru, instead. They aren’t particularly shy about it—sometimes you walk into Satoru’s dorm and find them entangled with one another, clothes off and warm to the touch. They always welcome you into their arms, forcing you in between them.

You feel like you’re at an arm’s length from them at all times despite this.

November, 2009

You settle on a routine. It’s less than pleasant, but you’re used to it. Convincing yourself that it’s normal, at least.

Yaga puts you on more solo missions — you’ve improved your technique. The precision of it is tough, always a wildcard given the unpredictability of destruction beneath your fingertips. Regardless, it’s gotten better. It doesn’t traumatize you so much to be a vehicle of decay anymore. You’re numb to it.

It’s odd — you’re carrying the burden of something you didn’t experience. Satoru finds that you are a mirror for Suguru, the same temperament and all. Always leaving the party to smoke cigarettes together. It doesn’t make him pissy necessarily, but it makes him pout. Clingy to the both of you.

“Stop being antisocial,” he whines.

You and Suguru look up at him in question. He had followed you out of the party when you saw Satoru’s hand on the waist of a girl you didn’t recognize. It was nothing, probably, but it wasn’t something you had ever had to deal with. It wasn’t like he could pry anything out of you, anyway.

“We’re not,” you defend, waving a cigarette around. “It’s too hot in there.”

It was true, to be fair. You were too warm in there and the outside air was nice. That, and you figured that Suguru would follow you, and he always wanted to steal you away for kisses.

Satoru had technically intruded on that, interrupting the moment Suguru had pulled away from your mouth. He eyes you wearing Suguru’s jacket and softens.

“You wanna go home, don’t you?” he asks.

“I can stay if you want,” you shrug.

He sighs. “Can you guys at least hang out with me?”

“Needy,” Suguru teases, stomping the butt of his cigarette on the ground and ushering you in between the sliding glass doors, hand on the small of your back. He nips at Satoru’s neck on the way in.

As if in apology, you don’t leave Satoru’s lap for the rest of the night. You don’t really get to. He even follows you to the bathroom and considers taking you over the counter for the hell of it.

It’s been difficult to touch you, lately.

In late August, the Zen’in outcast had killed him. Satoru had never thought of death as an option that was even possible. It’s why his mind was frenzied in his last moments, panicked as the two of them were surrounded by fly heads. He had not anticipated death, hadn’t anticipated the impact of it, how Suguru would have to return his corpse to Jujutsu Tech. How you would be shedding overflowing tears.

He’d like to think that your face or Suguru’s was in his mind when he took his last breath, but truthfully, he doesn’t remember. His mind was blank.

And when he had risen from the dead and shot a lethal hole through Toji Fushiguro, his mind was blank then, as well. The euphoria had faded. He had fulfilled the ordained role of a boygod, his hands were bloody, and he killed a man who would leave behind a son. He thought of his supposed immortality, his transcendence beyond something human, and then he thought of you.

You were the most human thing about him.

Your warmth, the flush in your cheeks. The way he had taken you back when you were in school, none the wiser about the world of curses. Sometimes he thinks you are one.

It wasn’t meant to go this far, but he had taken the leap and continued to wade in the pool of it all. He does not think of love when he thinks of his family, but he thinks of love when he sees you and Suguru. Something beating, something alive.

It was why he was constantly tipping the line between overflowing completely and being numb — Satoru was no stranger to his indulgences. You, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Fragile underneath his hands. Sometimes, he didn’t even think it was worth it to keep you in the bear trap he had set for you.

And then Suguru would kiss away your tears when Satoru was too rough, too cold, and he would succumb to his desires again. Instead of being something akin to a god, he often dreamt about being ordinary.

Maybe if his birth didn’t throw the planet off its kilter, he could truly be good to you instead of wanting to cut you open and live inside of you. Satoru would always be safe in your skin, but he had started to doubt that you would ever be safe in his.

You were the first to know him, he thinks. You had met him as a child and didn’t assume his divinity, rather, you were oblivious to it. Even as a little servant, you refused to kiss his feet. It relieved him. Satoru knew you always meant more to him than a toy, but in his emerging adulthood, he had taken you as a form of escapism and couldn’t cut you off. You had fastened yourself to him like an extra limb unknowingly.

“I don’t get how you can be so overbearing to her yet so distant at the same time,” Suguru remarks.

Satoru makes a face, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to,” Satoru says blankly.

“The teasing goes too far. And you get insensitive because you’re a prick, and then you barely text her back when you’re on missions.”

Satoru scoffs, fiddling with the pencil he twirls in his hands. Suguru was right, he supposed. He noticed you were a little hollow, all blank stares. Sleeping in while Satoru did not sleep at all.

“They’ve gotten harder lately. And it’s not like I’m–”

“Not what?” Suguru snorts. “Her boyfriend?”

Satoru says nothing to this. Instead, he tackles Suguru onto his bed, slides his palms underneath his shirt and up the smooth planes of his abdomen. He sighs, setting his head on Suguru’s chest.

“It’s not like she cares.”

“She does. She loves you.”

Satoru’s face reddens as if what Suguru says isn’t fact. On Satoru’s end, however – his feelings for you were an understatement. Calling it love seemed fruitless. He’d like to be fused with you, never letting you go. Stuck in the bliss of your skin kissing his in the early mornings forever.

“Think something got knocked loose when I died,” Satoru mumbles, his eyes blank.

Suguru looks at him in question, not following.

“I’ll make it up to her.”

January, 2010

“What are you getting Suguru for his birthday?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru shrugs, a blue raspberry lollipop filling up the hollow of his cheek. Tongue matching the blinding saturation of his eyes. “A blowjob?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic! You like watching.”

“I’m serious,” you roll your eyes.

“We’ll take him out,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Always stupidly attractive, his beauty borderline mythological.

You knew he was lying, knew that he would be away on that Wednesday, that his calendar was always filled a month prior with what the higher-ups needed from him. You thought it was unfair, given that he was still only a second year, though you still knew better. The glaring truth of his strength ever since the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission was conspicuous, a reminder that started to become egregious to you.

Satoru takes some of your takoyaki in unspoken amusement with you rolling your eyes, passing the tray towards him. He pouts despite the gesture, reaching over to poke you in the cheek.

“That can’t taste good with all the sugar in your mouth.”

“You’d be surprised.”

You fixate on the television. Satoru had gotten lucky recently, convincing Yaga to convert one of the common rooms with the connected bathroom into a dorm for himself. He had the Gojo money to “donate”, and he’d been on his best behavior in the past few months, which was rare. It wasn’t like Yaga really gave a fuck about their boarding situation as long as the missions went smoothly.

The room was big enough to fulfill that dream of pushing two beds together. A TV set and dingy couch to match. He needed the TV to fall asleep at night, especially if you weren’t there to stroke his hair. It was the only light source beyond a Hello Kitty lava lamp that Suguru had gotten him as a joke gift.

Satoru had recently started an obsession with Godzilla for some reason, forcing you to watch one every few days before bedtime. You were going in order since Christmas – tonight was the one versus Hedorah.

“You never look at me anymore,” he whines.

“What are you talking about?”

You’d rather say something biting, like how it was the other way around. How he’s been shoving your face into the mattress. How you’d come back to your dorm and see Satoru in between Suguru’s legs without much acknowledgment to you until he’d finish.

“You look at me like I’m a mosquito bite or something. What’s wrong? You don’t think I’m pretty anymore?” he grins, settling his cheek into his palm.

“Not at all. You’re hideous,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. The remark earns you a light kick to your shin under the table.

“Wow. Rude. Personally, I think you’re God-sent.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this movie,” you mutter, trying not to let him know how much his comment affected you. You always flushed when he said things like that still, and it would always be out of the blue.

“You know I like talking during movies.”

“Right. It’s one of your worst qualities,” you sigh.

The pillows around you are discarded when he suddenly pins you down to the carpet, your face right next to an old ash stain from one of Shoko’s cigarettes. He grins as he parts your mouth with the pad of his thumb, and you’re as obedient as you always are. There’s a ribbon of saliva from his mouth stretching as he takes the lollipop from his tongue to yours.

It wasn’t difficult to get his dick hard, really. He’d known that ever since he’d seen you sprawled on the grass next to the track field when you were fourteen, the way your chest was heaving and your underwear was just slightly visible underneath your gym shorts when you parted your legs.

Satoru thinks you’d laugh in his face if he’d told you about all the times he thought about you when you were teenagers despite the fact that he didn’t speak to you at all. He knows that he would deserve it.

It’s funny. He used to resent you then. He knew he could have you if he’d simply tried a bit harder, if he didn’t so abruptly toss you aside in middle school. Even so, you were everywhere for him—in his dreams, in his house against your will like a chained ghost. Back then, he hated that he loved you, hated that you were weak, hated that, at least besides Suguru, nobody knew him except you.

He wonders briefly if he was high on the taste of you or if the candy is laced with something— he wouldn’t be surprised, since Shoko and Suguru were enablers for the two of you even when you tried to be responsible. It didn’t matter anyway. Your body always made him this frenetic.

It’s when his fingers graze the heat of your cunt that Suguru barges in. He blinks at the two of you entangled on the floor and merely laughs.

“You guys just started?”

“Mmmf,” Satoru grunts. His hand’s wrapped around your neck, now, and your eyes are closed.

Suguru’s musk fills the room. White pine and sugary maple — he’d used Satoru’s deodorant before the mission. There’s still a blood splatter under his cheekbone the color of ripe plums. This was the usual weekend routine. Mindless fucking with a movie in the background. At least one of you would be too exhausted to muster up the energy to go into the city. It was easier to indulge inside, especially when the temperature kept dipping.

Your eyes flutter as Satoru bites your neck down to your collarbone. When you look toward the couch, you see Suguru with a plastic baggie of something you don’t recognize.

“What’s that?”

“Shrooms.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Satoru quips, his hand digging into your hip.

“There are some freaks in Akihabara,” Suguru shrugs. He eats the mushrooms like they’re crumbs at the bottom of a chip bag. “Got this shit after my mission in a fucking vending machine outside a love hotel. Can you believe it?”

“What, did you get a room there or something?” Satoru snorts. “Whore.”

“Why would I, when I can home to this?” Suguru’s eyes are viper-like, serpentine as he smiles lazily. You’d eat from his palm if he asked you to. In sickness and health—it was stupid. You crawl to him and you do.

Satoru doesn’t take any. He knows full well that psychedelics fuck with his Infinity, that it would only make his insomnia worse. The last time he’d tried acid, he had nightmares for days, seeing green eyes of a hunter. Blood slashed from a blade to his neck. Flyheads swarming.

The drugs make you giddy. Another hour and the room spins in an orderly fashion, the ceiling dancing around in a kaleidoscopic pulse. Suguru had limited your dose, knew you’d freak the fuck out if your self started to disconnect. He’d been there enough times to despise it. Ego death was torture for the introspective kind.

He sucks a hickey into your neck while you’re mindless. It’s amusing how invested you are in this episode of Sailor Moon. Satoru lays his head on your thigh, playing with you lazily. You’re happy enough to take it, grinding against his hand as Suguru distracts you with a kiss. It’s tender and slow, not unusual for him, but with the two of them together, everything is usually frenzied.

He gets you in his lap, the sacrificial lamb you are. Always eager to walk into the predator’s gaping maw on your own accord because of his beautiful eyes. Suguru is no beast, but there’s something twisted about the way he plays with you sometimes.

He likes you to beg for it, but it’s not the taunting way that Satoru does. Suguru will inch his face close enough to yours to smell the artificial sweetness of your breath, then pull your hair when you lean in to kiss him. He’ll touch your thigh under the table, not unlike Satoru, but his fingers will dance around your core in a way that leaves you unable to speak to your fellow peers.

You wonder if they’ve learned their cruelty from each other. But this time, he’s sweet.

It’s the hallucinogen fogging his brain. It makes him like a teenager in love. Open-mouthed, pawing love handles. You’re wearing Satoru’s t-shirt, something monochromatic and stupidly expensive, and Suguru tears it off of you as his mouth waters.

Coughing, Satoru tilts his head, supports it with elbows on the carpet. His temperament is neutral, teasing even, but for some reason, looking at him makes you sober up to some degree of lucidity that’s sensitive to him. The part of you that wants to please him at all times.

You crawl to him and say his name. It’s child-like. The shrooms make your eyes wide, colors innocence onto your face from the bliss. It reminds him of when you were younger—bruised knees and twigs in your hair from tumbling in the forest with him. Something tugs at his chest.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?” Satoru jeers, tongue licking his teeth. His palm on your face is hot.

You smile and nod. His gaze lowers and he snaps the waistband of your sweats against your hip. Hand on your thigh again, taunting your synapses. You think he’ll take you with his usual ferocity, but he steals your breath with a kiss instead.

The kiss never ends. Maybe they switch in between, but you don’t notice. Your eyes are shut, tight enough to see phosphenes like a galaxy. Blue and purple bleeding into your irises. You feel them pulling you apart, cock filling you up, hands everywhere.

“Fuck,” someone gasps. Something like groveling, desperate hair pulling.

“Inside,” you beg. “Please.”

Satoru watches, mesmerized. The heat of your body, sweat pooling into the divot above your clavicle—it all makes his mouth water, but he stays still on the couch as Suguru pins you to the floor. It’s the most the Six Eyes has felt in months, for some reason, and he hadn’t even taken anything. He half-wishes he could get his hands on something other than you to inject into his veins—maybe then he could learn to be calm or fall asleep at regular times. Anything to stop the odd ache in his chest whenever he looked at you.

He’s never been a man of God. He was God himself. And then he sees you moan out, bliss-wrecked and flooded with light, burning like seraphim. He’d come back to life a thousand times just to see your face. It made him sick.

Satoru kisses you before you knock out on his bed, eyes half-open and dazed. You’re refusing to go to bed, citing euphoria for your desire to run a few laps. Meanwhile, Suguru is asleep on the couch, fucked out and satisfied.

You’re coaxed into sleep. It’s not hard once you start rambling, shut up only by the feeling of Satoru’s fingers running across your scalp. He lays awake like he often does, talking to the moon. He sighs as you nuzzle into him, your whole body curling towards him to ward off goosebumps. You’re nearly bare considering you didn’t bother to put on clothes after you and Suguru had finished.

Satoru pulls the blanket over you, sighing. He’d had the leftover beers in the mini-fridge just to feel a buzz, even the taste of German ales made his nose wrinkle. It still wasn’t enough to put his mind at ease. He stares at the stained carpet, then Suguru’s sleeping shadow, then your face. He shuts his eyes.

It’s been months, yet the memories still cage you. It’s like something wraps its hand around your throat in your subconscious. In each dream, you are aching for their return, and they come to you like newly-bloomed flowers.

It feels like you’ve been waiting for them for centuries, your body stuck in the grass with a bruise over your left eye that doesn’t stop aching. You don’t even know how much you’re bleeding until they return to you again, caressing your sides and pulling away at the sight of a wound.

Your angels are not dead. It’s enough relief for you to keep going, but they still look at you with furrowed brows. Blood spills from your mouth.

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

Despite the pain, the vision is familiar. You’re too distracted by their beauty, how their mere presence is arcadian in itself. You don’t need anything else. You could die here.

Here, between them and their celestial bodies, in the green, green grass. Spider lilies bloom around you like kisses in blessing as the golden evening swallows you up. There’s a sinking feeling—a literal one, of you descending into the ground in a way that feels like a loose feather falling.

Your angels reach for you until they grasp the whole of you and turn you inside out. They pull apart the mess of you, reshaping you, undoing tangles and knots and bending the stem of your being so you can be reborn in their image. They love you enough to do so.

And when you look back at them with love in your eyes, you flinch. They’re eclipsed by something terrible, too far away for you to reach. It’s bloody. It has a voice like skin scraping pavement, full-bodied whiskey.

You stretch your hand out only meet a sweaty palm. When you open your eyes, a pair of blue ones stare back at you.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you

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scatteredskittless · 2 months

Note

Good day !! Not sure if you write for Adam but could I request like general friendship hcs for him? Thank you !! :D

Platonic Adam x Reader headcanons

A/n: Adam !! I had a feeling I’d get a request for him sooner or later lolz

Warnings: Adam just kinda… being himself? Some degrading terms used.

Fluff✔️ Comfort❌ Angst❌ Smut❌

🪽♔ I’m kinda going off of his friendship with Lute and just how he interacts with people in general… but Adam’s a douchebag and lowkey toxic 💀💀 please be aware of that before getting yourself involved in a friendship with him (he’s really just your average white dude guys I’m sorry)

🪽♔ BUT…. if you know this and CAN handle him, he’d be pretty entertaining to be friends with.

🪽♔ Bros a professional hater, would talk shit with you about the people in heaven you and him don’t like.

🪽♔ Side eyes you when those people do or say something (could literally be ANYTHING) and you both have to try really hard not to laugh your asses off

🪽♔ Makes very out of pocket jokes or comments in public that make you shush him, which results in him calling you a bitch and telling you not to shush him.

🪽♔ Basically Eric Cartman if he somehow landed himself into heaven if you squint…

🪽♔ Rip Adam, you would’ve loved South Park 😞

🪽♔ Does he call you by nicknames? Of course…! Affectionate ones? Well! Not really!

🪽♔ Calls you stuff like “Bitch”, “Slut”, “Whore”, “Cunt” but he probably doesn’t mean any of them. He can get pretty fucking creative with it too sometimes so it leaves you guessing.

🪽♔ Dealing with him takes patience and earning his respect, friendship and trust takes way more. You gotta work for that shit and be able to keep up with him.

🪽♔ Movie nights are a must, he’d love those. Pop some popcorn (add extra butter, that’s how he likes it), Dim the lights, Sit on the couch with him and put on a movie and he’s content.

🪽♔ He is a movie talker though so good luck getting him to shut up, he’d just throw popcorn at you if you tried.

🪽♔ On the subject of talking, Adam is literally the original yapper. He’ll yap on and on about anything and everything when you two hang out but he does actually make an effort to listen to you too

🪽♔ Isn’t big on physical touch.. you two only hugged like once and he just kinda awkwardly patted your back. Bro is NOT a hugger 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

🪽♔ But… he does really care for you. You’ve stuck around long enough to show him you’re not leaving and he values your friendship a lot

🪽♔ Would he ever tell you that? HAH NO.

Please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my fanfictions/headcanons/writing without permission ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ Scatteredskittles

#asks open #adam x reader #adam headcanons #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel headcanon

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daisykihannie · 2 months

Text

A new kind of addiction (S.CB)

pairing: Dealer!Changbin x F!reader

warning: NSFW, coke, alcohol, drugs, addiction, degrading, sir kink, daddy kink, choking, spanking, etc. FITCHY NASTY DIRTY TOXIC BORDERLINE HATE FUCKING ROUGH MEAN PRIMAL AGGRESSIVE

The lights throughout your house were all red or purple, smoke filling the air making it seem that much darker and hazy than before. Sweaty bodies tangled together all around you as you took your place on your large L-shaped couch made of black leather. Your eyes raked over the area just watching everyone, nursing your own glass of whiskey, as the others got drunk, horny, and high. The fact that you were just sitting there bored, surrounded by so many strangers, made you quite antsy. You needed more entertainment and what's more fun than Cocaine?

You were about to click on your dealer, Vernon's contact but remembered he'd been gone for the past couple weeks and we're doing deals through his cousin Changbin, so instead you clicked on his contact and waited for him to answer. Yes, your house was loud but you've been making deals for long enough to know that you always speak in code and NEVER text to make a deal. That's basically instantly reserving your dealer a spot in prison.

These calls always felt similar to that of ordering take out. Not much small talk, getting to the point and getting off the phone, then waiting for the "delivery". Not that you minded, you're not the biggest fan of small talk anyways. You actually hate it a lot if you have to be entirely honest.

"Be there shortly." the male spoke his last goodbye, you swore you could hear the smirk plastered to his face. Just like usual, he immediately hanging up once the words left his mouth, not bothering to give you a chance to respond. You rolled your eyes at his usual cocky demeanour, putting your phone back into your pocket, waiting for him.

Normally when him or Vernon did deals with you while you were hosting a party, they'd stay for a few hours. Letting lose, having fun, and building up a clientele. They'd bring samples to give out and normally it'd turn out well for them and you A Win-win scenario for all of us.

It only took about 15 minutes of waiting before the front door swung open.Thus wasn't your first time meeting him but every single time you'd get lost checking him out. He had mostly black hair with chunky streaks in his bangs. The red and purple lights made it impossible to tell exactly what color they were but from being a regular customer these past couple of weeks, you knew they were neon green.

He wore a black compression shirt that hugged his pecks and biceps beautifully. You could see every edge of every muscle that adorned his torso, helping paint pictures of his body in your slightly perverted brain. He paired the shirt with light grey sweats, which you could see the slightest dick print in, even with the low lighting that cast a red blanket over the bodies that painted pictures of their list filled dances in your vision.

There was so much going on from the clouds of smoke, the red lights, and the tangled heap of bodies pressed against one another filling your vision but he stood out. He was all you could see and your body reacted before your alcohol filled brain could realize.

You were climbing off your couch for probably the first time all night, you stumbled your way through the crowd. Your eyes never left him, the usual tension between you two making you feel hypnotized by not only his stunning visuals but his energy as well. He radiated TOXIC BAD BOY as if it has sirens, alarms, and big bold lettering that wrapped his body in caution tape and that's what would always draw you to any and all men you've allowed to have even an ounce of your time and energy.

You were somehow still standing in your drunken haze and you were right in front of him now. "Hey Bin, I don't know if I missed you or the drugs more." your eyes continued to trace the outline of his entire form, from his intoxicating gaze down to his insanely muscular thighs that were hugged by the light grey fabric, then back up to his supple looking lips.

You both flirted with each other regularly, even ended up making out a good handful of times but the tension between the two of you continued to build and had been feeling pretty suffocating now. You felt like you were addicted to Changbin, he was a drug kept just at arms length from an addict in withdrawal. It was forbidden but it didn't make you want him any less.

"Well I know I certainly missed you." his lips forming that cocky smirk you knew oh so well, pulling you in. He was checking you out just as intensely, his eyes slowly tracing your figure in your tight fitting top, taking a bit longer when they got to your loose fitting joggers that sat low on your hips, your hip bones visible above the waistband.

You were tipsy for sure and could feel your morals slip, the lines you weren't supposed to cross with him becoming blurred, the desire and tension swirling in the pit of your stomach. His hands finding their home on your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh like they always did. He knows exactly what made you weak in the knees and he was quick to use them to his advantage.

The danger and the cockiness was always something that would have you on your knees and he was definitely someone you'd get on your knees for. Everytime things between you two would get heated one of you would pull away, knowing that you shouldn't cross that line. He's your dealer and you're his customer, an addict, his business partner. You don't fuck business partners.

"Why don't we take this somewhere a bit more... private?" you couldn't help but purr the words into his ear, nibbling softly at the shell of his ear. This wasn't the first time this has happened but you still waited till you felt his grip tighten on your hip, pulling back to look at his face again and seeing a devilish smirk painted on his lips.

That was all you needed to grab his wrist, dragging him up the stairs to one of the 4 bedrooms there. Yours of course staying locked so no one could be fucking in your bed when they could use any of the other three. You had a finger print scanner as the lock on the door so there was no way anyone could steal the key and you couldn't lose it no matter how much you drank or how many drugs you took.

As soon as you led him into the room, you were pinned against the door, his grip on your hips tight enough to leave bruises as he pushed them into the door, hard. His lips were on yours in seconds as your lips fell into sync with his own. The kiss was lust filled and heavy, desperate even. It was making you dizzy but in the best possible way. This was how it always started.

The roughness was more than you'd ever hoped for, it was the perfect amount of roughness you always craved and it had you a whimpering and panting mess. Your back arching against the hard door, grabbing his neck to pull him as close as humanly possibly without being inside his skin. Your hips fought against his grip trying to grind against him, desperate for more of his touch.

He noticed and when you thought he was removing his hands to help you, he grabbed the back of your thighs, making you jump and wrap your legs around his muscular waist. Your lips not separating for even a second, no matter how breathless you felt, you couldn't get enough of his lips. How they tasted like cherries, how they were so soft against yours, how they danced together like they were made for one another. It was definitely addicting.

He spun you away from the door, leading you to your bed across the room, your back landing against the mattress with his body above yours. He held himself up with his thighs in order to grab your hands, connecting them above your head and locking them together in only one of his own. His other hand finding it's way to wrap around your throat, you knew what was coming next and it made you let out a moan against his lips.

You felt his lips turn into a smirk when you let out that moan and his grip tightened around your throat. He didn't cut off your air but he squeezed the sides making you dizzy. Your head rush made your eyes roll back and for the first time, he separated your lips. Your moans escaping freely and filling the room, your back arching hard off the mattress.

"P-Please... fuck-" you gasped as his grip stayed firm on your throat. You needed him, just like always, needed him in ways you could never have him. You've gotten used to the teasing and foreplay, the tension building, before he'd pull away way too soon for your liking. The words like a broken record as he told you that it was a mistake and you two shouldn't go further.

"Please what slut? huh? has that drug addict brain of yours stopped working? Has all the coke finally fried every last braincell or is it because of Sir pinning you to the bed like the cum dump you are?" his words were toxic, with venom laced through them but it just made you need him that much more. Yeah, maybe you needed therapy but this was so much more fulfilling than that could ever be. Toxic, borderline hate-fucking was so so much better.

"Please sir... please let me suck your cock~" you purred while maintaining eye contact with your drug dealer. You knew this is usual the moment when he leaves you a needy mess for him but you continued to do this to yourself. Anticipating the withdrawal but unable to keep from getting hooked again. The tiniest sliver of hope that maybe this time would be different made it that much harder to stay away.

He was once again detaching his body from yours, you couldn't help but whine in frustration as you knew what the next words out of his mouth would be. Almost like he'd been rehearsing his lines for years. The familiar feeling of his body heat leaving you and his burning touch gone, you felt like crying when the cold air replaced his touch on your skin.

"Beg for it like a good slut and maybe I'll let you." the words that you were hopeful to hear but never thought you would rang in your ears, eyes wide from shock. "W-what?" you had to be dreaming, no way he actually said that.

You watched carefully as he climbed off of you and sit on the bed next to your panting from. "Don't make me repeat myself babygirl. You heard me and don't act like you haven't been desperate to have me for weeks now." you both knew how badly you wanted each other and you weren't gonna give him the time to change his mind.

You knew how to beg and you knew exactly how to get anything you wanted with it. You have a history of always getting your way, except with Changbin apparently, so you'd of course work your own magic. Collecting your breath and got off the bed, you placed both of your hands on either of his thighs before sinking onto your knees between his man spread. Eyes level with the obvious bulge in his pants, the loose fabric of his sweats doing absolutely nothing to hide it.

You could tell he was big and he knew it by the way you licked your lips as your eyes resembled that of a starved animal staring at a fresh chunk of meat after being starved for weeks. Your eyes slowly grazed up his body, the lights in your room brighter than the red ones from the living room. You could see every curve, edge, ripple, and indent of his muscles now.

Finally eyes eyes met his expectant and impatient ones, his were thin and siren like so you gave him big, round, doe like eyes in return. The primal energy of a hunter watching his prey at his mercy filled the room, suffocating as if you two had hot boxed the room with lust and need.

"Sir~" you purred, dragging your palms higher to his inner thighs, his cock twitching in his pants in anticipation for your words. It only urged you on further to beg like you'd never begged before.

"Please please let me suck your cock? please let me taste your sweet cum while you cum down my throat? Fill me sir~ please?" And you did exactly that, begged like you were made for it, like you were begging for your life. Begging for him to ruin you and fuck your mouth dumb before doing the same to your drenched pussy.

The growl that erupted from his throat sounded animalistic and hungry. He clearly needed you just as badly as you needed him. He didn't responded and pulled the baggie of white powder out of his pocket before taking his sweats and boxers off together. The fabric pooling around his ankles right in front of your knees.

You sat watching his hands open the baggie with your kryptonite in it, curious but unmoving. You simply waited for his instructions as you watching his face light up like he just had the most brilliant idea.

"Open your mouth." he demanded and you obliged like the obedient toy you were for this man already. Your mouth open as far as possible knowing that your jaw was going to be so incredibly sore from the sheer size of his cock. It was not just huge in length but it was girthy too. It was sure to ruin you if you were dripping as much as you were right now. Your tongue rolled out of your mouth, the drool that was forming inside your mouth cascading down the length of your tongue and dripping off the end in long, messy, stings.

He placed his cock on your tongue and slipping the tip against the wet flesh a few times, before holding it in place. The weight of his cock heavy and twitching against your tongue waiting for his next instructions, keeping eye contact with him as the lewd sight plagued his vision. "Close your lips around the head but don't you dare move slut. Got it?" You nodded at his words and wrapped your wet and swollen lips around it, pressing your tongue flat against the slit leaking salty precum into your mouth.

He then took the baggie and tapped out a line of your favorite powder along the length of his cock. "Now, be a good girl and snort the entire line. Take my cock all the way into your throat and get your fix." he demanded and it truly was the hottest thing you'd ever heard anyone ever say, a whimper escaping your throat and sending vibrations straight to his head.

You proved yourself to be a good girl doing exactly what he said, covering one nostril and using one of your many rolled up dollar bills to snort the entire line in one go, letting the bill drop as your nose hit his pubes, swallowing around the head of his cock now buried down your throat. Another low groan fell from his lips as he watched you and you snorted hard to finish the line. Immediately seeing the stars you loved so much as the coke hit your brain, euphoria coursing through your body, all your nerves lighting on fire the way you love so much.

A groan left your through traveling through his cock as you looked up to him, hoping he'd let you finally suck the soul out of him now. "Go ahead pup. Make Daddy feel good." he finally allowed you to do what you love best, leaning back on his hands as you both kept eye contact. You hollowed out your cheeks and got to work, the moans, groans, and growls that filled the room just egged you on harder.

Soon enough, curses were leaving his lips as his cock twitched relentlessly inside your mouth, your own moans started mixing with his, desperate to have him filling your throat. He tangled his handing into your hair and started fucking your mouth with no mercy, your own hand going into the waistband of your joggers, fingers playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves, your gave never leaving his no matter how much your eyes watered as he abused your throat.

His thrust got sloppy and he groaned your name and stopped his movements, burying his cock down your throat as the warm white liquid shot down it. Your throat constricting around him as your swallowed ever last drop, successfully sucking his soul out of him. He took as second before pulling out of your mouth to catch his breath before giving you his next demand. "On your stomach. Now." his tone just as harsh as before and you obeyed, climbing on the bad and laying on your stomach, looking back at him.

You were watching and anticipating his next move, still fully dressed and needy and his cock was still rock hard and his tip angry. He climbed on the bed, roughly stripping off your joggers, smacking your now exposed ass hard. You whimpered at the mix of pain, need, and pleasure and he grabbed the baggy again, pouring out a line on the now red flesh of your ass, snorting his own line. As if you couldn't get any wetter, that definitely had you leaking more. It was way hotter than it should've been.

After he did his own line, we pulled off his shirt hastily before removing yours just as intensely. Ripping it slightly as he pulled it off, the ripping of the seams being heard through the room. Your hips wiggled teasingly, the flesh of your ass rippling and jiggling with your movements. He straddled your thighs, lifting your hips up slightly so your cheeks were pressing around his cock. He pushed his hips forward, then back again to tease you, kneeding the flesh a bit before spreading it apart to get a perfect view of your holes.

You were so wet that your thighs and your ass were soaked. The glistening caught Changbin's eyes before running his cock between your thighs, soaking his length in your arousal. He groaned at the euphoric feeling "Fuck- such a filthy whore. So wet just from sucking Daddy's cock?" He countiued passing his length through you wet folds, groaning deeply as your own desperate and needy moans and whispers fell from your lips.

"God, I'm gonna fucking ruin you till your addicted to my cock instead of the fucking coke." he growled and adjusted his hips to push into in one swift thrust. Bottoming out immediately as a scream ripped through your throat. The stretch burned but you felt so full that you were seeing stars and began clenching around him to adjust as quickly as possible.

Luckily he stayed still for you to catch up, the scream was pushing him to ruin you more but he wasn't evil, he knew he was huge and knew if he didn't let you adjust before wrecking your hole, you would be in too much pain to enjoy it. With as much tension and build up, he wanted it to be worth the wait. When he felt you trying to push back against him, he smirked knowing you needed more. "Awe~ does my pretty cum dump need more?" he asked but already knew the answer.

You slurred out helpless whines and pleases, begging for him again. He leaned forward putting his body flush against yours but not putting his full weight on you so that you could keep your hips were the were at the perfect angle to hit your weak spot. He took his left arm, wrapping it around your throat and putting you in a head lock, using his elbow to hold himself up and his left elbow pushing into the mattress next to your head to help hold him up as well.

After he got into the perfect position he started thrusting relentlessly into you. His hips slamming against your ass as the sounds of flesh against flesh filled the room. A symphony of your desperate moans filling Changbin's ears and the room, his grunts mixing in with yours as you started feeling dizzy as he used you while giving you a head rush from the headlock.

The pace he used was brutal, borderline hate sex, and it was so unbelievably hot. You weren't sure if it was the cocaine, the tension, the head rush, or the intense amount of pleasure coursing through you body but your skin was on fire. Every single nerve ending was ignited and that familiar knot started forming in your stomach. Your clit was throbbing from the stimulation of your thighs pushed together creating the most heavenly friction while your g-spot was abused continuously.

"Fuck- ohmygod- I'm cl- close FUCKFUCKFUCK" you were screaming at this point, convinced that everyone down stairs could hear you over the music and pounding bass that were vibrating the walls of your home.

"Shit- me too baby. Fuck! Be my good little cock slut and cum on Daddy's dick. Just like that- fuuuuuuck" He was grunting into your ear, his cock twitching inside you relentlessly and his thrust becoming sloppy as he got closer to his release.

You were clenching around him about to tumble over the edge into your own orgasm when you heard him grunt into your ear and his hips still. You could feel the white, hot ropes filling you to the brim, spilling out of you from around his cock. That was all it took to have you chasing your own high, cumming the hardest you ever have. Your pussy clenching around him as your body trembled. Squirting onto your sheets underneath you two.

Loud moans filling the room as he helped the both of your ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. It felt like your body was vibrating and you both played there for a moment, sweaty and panting trying to calm down after everything. He let you out of the headlock to pull out of you, seeing his cum pouring out of your pussy clenching around nothing.

He fell onto the bed next to you and saw the wet puddle beneath you. "Did- did you squirt?" he asked with his usual cock smirk causing you to groan and roll your eyes. "Shut up." the embarrassment causing your face to heat up. It's funny how after all of that, this was what made you shy and embarrassed.

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