#except the snake leather that was a doll | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blueberryarchive · 8 months

Text

₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆.

Rain was pouring down outside your window when Jimin arrived at your door drenched, with an indecipherable shine in his pupils. His leather jacket glistened as it fell to the ground, and he reached for you, his wet, rough hand gripping your chin with uncontrolled force, kissing you so hard your teeth ached.

"Ji, what are you supposed to do here? My dad is going to be here any minute."

Jimin snorted, turning to you with a sly fluidity. In his movements, there was so much confidence that he scared you. His body only relaxed at times when he had hit the target. Jackpot.

He didn't care that your furniture got wet with his clothes or that his muddy boots left marks on the freshly washed floor. Tonight he didn't mind being a gentleman, bringing you a flower that he stole in a random market, or asking about your mom's health.

You were in your pajamas, waiting for your father to go get something for your mother. The little set did not escape Jimin's eyes, even when adrenaline coursed through his veins in such a way that his fingers trembled, and a smile did not vanish. It gnawed at him not being able to tell you the fistful of money he had right in the jacket that he had just thrown on the ground.

He moved the coppery strands from his face, revealing a bruise so you would stop talking about your father. Somehow he appreciated the punch, he hated that you spoke of your father as a deity, an invisible being that would prevent Jimin from going through your window at night to steal a kiss from you, and then two, two becoming complete studies of your anatomy with his lips. The pleasure of listening to every sound you make.

"Oh God," your voice shuddered, seeing the bruise.

When you got near to see it better, he examined your features; every detail. He loved you so fervently it scared him. He could leave anything behind except your beautiful face and your innocence. And to think that Namjoon left you for his shitty girlfriend.

The night he came to bring you your things from Nam's apartment, he consoled you with a simple kiss and a promise to get you away from that damned city and take you to a place where there was a beach where you two could rest from the pain of existing and just be able to enjoy eating ice cream in the afternoons.

Maybe you have forgotten, but not Jimin. Never Jimin.

Now whenever he could, he came to your window after climbing a couple of branches until he reached the glass window where two knocks away was his piece of heaven. A heaven with the smell of clean clothes and your strawberry shampoo.

"Do you have a suitcase?" he asked, biting his index finger eagerly. His rings decorated his hand, and sunglasses were on the tip of his nose.

"Suitcase? Jimin, my dad told me he's coming in five minutes. I need you to go. I told you it's too dangerous to be here." You reached out and took his face in your hands. There was a gesture of absolute security that didn't change after hitting him on the cheek. "Namjoon knows you've been coming."

"I don't care." he laughed childishly, reaches the inside of his pocket and gives you a withered daisy that's been there since this morning. You took it and sighed, putting it between his hair and his ear. The laugh, the flower, his colorful hair. How dare he be so enchanting in a moment of dread?

"How come you don't care. Are you stupid?" You mumbled, squeezing his temples. You turned to the window and covered your face in pure frustration. Your nerves were eating you alive.

Silence. The rain dimmed, and the candlelight seemed to increase its fire as Jimin's body stopped behind yours. His hands snaked up to your waist and neck, squeezing hard in both places.

"It's not your dad that's coming, is it?" you inhaled as much as his tether allowed you. "Don't lie to me, doll. You know I don't like it." His clenched teeth moved closer to your ear, pressing his nose into your profile. Both breathed sharply, one due to lack of air and the other due to excess of you.

"Namjoon said that I should stop seeing you." Just by mentioning that name, his body shook, letting his head fall on your shoulder with that devilishly contagious laughter.

"Ah, too bad Namjoon won't be able to come stop me."

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and your hands trembled trying to remove Jimin's hand from your neck.

"Look at your face, God, you're so cute when you're scared. I'm not an animal, I won't kill him. I just stole his car." he brought your body closer without moving his hands from his position until he took you to the window, the car was downstairs. "And the money in the metal box behind the sink."

Fuck. Jimin was going to die that night. Namjoon wouldn't forgive him for that.

"Run away with me, hm?" His fingers began to trace your chin and the beating vein in your neck. "I promise you that you will not have to work another day of your life, and I will give you everything you need: money, love, food, sex." A flirtatious smile from both of you, his thumb reached your lips, and you started playing with it.

His soaked body clung to the thin fabric of your pajamas, and you felt like you could sense every curve of his body, every muscle. You closed your eyes and gasped at the feel of his fingers rubbing against your clit.

"Say yes, say you'll go with me away from here. You'll regret it if you don't, you know because you're smart. Much more than all of them, than me, than fucking Namjoon." His fingers brushed against the spongy walls of your pussy and you turned into a nervous wreck on his arm that held your body.

"My parents-"

"Fuck your dad. I'm the one who knows what's best for you. I'm going to protect you, baby, I promise. God, you're so wet." His hand bulged between the little silk shorts you were wearing.

"Fuck me," you murmured, looking for a place to hold yourself, your hand leaning on the window.

"Say yes first."

You nodded vehemently, his arms turned you around and lifted you up. With his hand, he pushed aside the cloth that covered your pussy, and his cold hands slammed you against the glass, with nimble fingers he unzipped his jeans and wasted no time sinking you slowly but firmly in his cock.

"Fuck," he growled into your ear, licking your earlobe, the hairs on your arms standing up with the warm wetness.

The sudden rumbling of the door startled you. Jimin didn't even flinch without breaking the poisonous rhythm of going in and out of your cunt. His free hand covered your mouth as Namjoon's deep voice called your name, anger welling up from his throat behind the door.

Fuck. Jimin was going to die today.

"Doll, my eyes. Nothing else."

You sighed, Jimin's hand getting wet with your tears of pleasure. Jimin was the first man who made you orgasm, and his voice was one of the main reasons.

"You're mine. Fuck Namjoon." He removed his hand from your mouth and indicated silence with his finger. You nodded and put your arms around his broad shoulders. "I'm going faster, okay?" he whispered as Kim continued to make the door shake under his fist.

You closed your eyes tightly and opened your mouth looking for air.

Fuck. You will die tonight, and it will be Jimin's fault.

Jimin's sweet lips leaned in for a chaste kiss. "Say with me, baby." Jimin's gaze was so dark and lustful that you felt you were fucking a demon.

"Okay,-" you whispered, biting your lip when the tip touched that spot that made you see stars.

"You're mine..."

"...I'm yours"

"And you're going away with me."

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, JIMIN. OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO BREAK IT, MOTHERFUCKER. I WILL KILL THAT BITCH TOO."

"And I'm going away with you, Ji." you whimpered, kissing him like a schoolgirl in love.

"You are mine" was Jimin's mantra until he came inside you.

"Mine." It was yours when Jimin's body fell on the couch and you rode him until you had to grab his hair to keep from passing out. The milky and thick cum staining your pretty shorts.

Silence again. That was not a good sign.

"Put on my jacket, doll. We have to go now before he comes back with the others." Jimin kissed your forehead and opened the window, raising his hand for you to take.

A devilishly beautiful smile that you couldn't deny. Not now, not that night you met him.

#bts #jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin drabble

154 notes · View notes

bonanzabox · 1 year

Text

Sacraligious

DemonNat! X reader

Warnings: corruption, dubious content, it’s demon sex outside a church

(Happy birthday @caroldantops >:3)

Growing up, you were never one to go out of line, even dip one toe out into where you weren’t supposed to be. Living in a religious small town instilled the literal fear of God into you; you were a good girl, always doing what she was told. Graduated with honours, got accepted into the accelerated program of a nursing major, succeeded in every step you took in life. And yet, when you went off to college, nothing really changed, except the morbid curiosity you had as a child only grew. What would it be like to disobey, just for a minute, and revel in it…

You were visiting home for the month, almost done with your degree. The sleepy town you grew up in was still hazy in early summer, the crickets still chirped in the evenings and fireflies danced in the small hours of night. You had chosen to go to church early, walking the trails of the back garden with its flood of white lilies.

That’s where you saw her for the first time.

She almost slipped from your vision, she was so deeply intertwined with the shade. Her red hair blended with the leaves of the maple trees, the dark leather of her jacket mixing with the shadows that hid her. The thing that caught you were her eyes: dark green and piercing with…you couldn’t place what exactly, but they were intoxicating.

She was next to you in a superhuman second. “Hello there. Haven’t seen you around here before.” Her voice was gravelly and deep, but sweet enough to set your heart on fire.

“I’m-I’m home for the summer. Don’t get to come to church here that often anymore.” Your voice quivered with…fear? Anticipation? Though you weren’t sure why, she seemed passable enough (though not many people wore leather to church anymore).

“How interesting.” A hand snaked its way over to your shoulder and started petting it. Her nails were long, almost clawlike to your eyes, and her touch made you swoon slightly. “My name’s Natasha. What’s yours?”

Your name comes out in a stammer, and she smiles wide when she hears it. She tests it out a few times, and hearing your name come off her lips makes your heart skip a beat or three.

“Absolutely delectable. You don’t seem like the general…population that comes soaring through these doors. What makes you so different…”

Your whole body feels like it was set aflame, and you back up slightly, only for Natasha to pin you to the back wall of the church. A warm feeling settles in the pit of your stomach and starts travelling lower.

Natasha notices your blush and bares a wide smile. “Did I say you could leave yet, precious? No no, I have much more to say to you, and by the looks of things, much more you can do for me.”

“But service will be starting soon-”

“All the better, I think.” Her lips are suddenly crashing into yours, biting your lip and sucking on your tongue. Then it occurs to you, her tongue is forked. It hits you all over…she isn’t all human. Natasha sees the realisation on your face and smirks. “That’s right doll, I’m not your average churchgoer. Now you can walk in there and forget all about me. But I don’t think you want to do that, I think you want to stay out here with me and have a real good time.”

Your brain is screaming “leave, go be with your family” but your body won’t move. That morbid curiosity is tying you here, wondering just what she could do to you on God’s holy ground. You give a careful nod, whispering, “Okay…I’ll stay.” There was a brief moment where time seemed to pause, as if the universe was taking your name on the dotted line.

“Good girl.” Natasha’s lips were on your neck now, fangs slightly nipping into your skin. “Goddamn, angel, you taste so fucking good. And this is just your neck, I wonder what the rest of you tastes like.”

A guttural whimper escapes your mouth and your hips meet Natasha’s thigh, grinding slightly at the contact. She only tsk’s slightly, taking the time to tease your want by slipping her thigh further between your legs. “Naughty little thing you are, trying to rush me before I’m ready. I shouldn’t indulge in your neediness…but you’re just so tempting.” Your hips buck wantonly on her thigh, the ache between your own legs only growing stronger each second. You’d never felt this strongly before about anything, but you needed; you didn’t know what it was you needed exactly but you knew that only she could give it to you.

Natasha wasted no time in popping the buttons off your blouse and exposing your chest to the quiet summer sun. Her nails tiptoed their way up the middle of your chest to your collarbone, and one finger slides down and runs its way around your hardened nipple. The little gasps your uttering only make her smirk more. “So pretty, little one. I can tell no one has made you feel this good before, so sweet and innocent. All mine right now.”

A little cry erupts from your mouth as she leans down and latches her mouth around your nipple, forked tongue flicking over the sensitive skin and fangs just slightly piercing; not enough to break skin but enough to make you feel even more intense.

Suddenly you feel the wall of the church at your back as you’re being pinned there, arms above your head with one hand and Natasha, still latched on your chest, is putting one hand up your skirt, pushing aside your underwear and one delicate finger pushes into your wet heat. You’re practically dripping down your legs and her finger enters you just as an audible moan escapes from your lips. “Pplease-“

“Oh now, little one, careful what comes out of that pretty mouth. The window is open and someone could hear your sinfully beautiful moans,” Natasha purrs in your ear, finger still buried deep in your cunt, almost teasing you to see how needy you could get. You don’t dare move, the pressure between your legs is so intense you could scream but the woman before you was far too imposing to try being a brat about this whole situation.

Suddenly you’re left empty, as Natasha takes her finger and licks it, keeping her smile wide and her eyes on you as she does. “Fuck angel…I knew you were going to taste good but, damn, I never thought-I was going to fuck you but I need more of that sweet cunt first.” And then she’s pulling your skirt and white cotton panties down and your legs instinctively fall open. If anyone saw you now…but you couldn’t think about that, your head was too fuzzy with arousal. She positions herself between your legs and the first lap of her tongue on your cunt makes your legs go weak. Her nose bumps that nose sensitive spot between your legs as her tongue licks and sucks everywhere it can. When it enters you, deeper than it seems it should, you cry out, muffled by the singing of the hymnals in the building. “Please, I need…more…so good Natasha, it’s so good-““I know, precious.” Her voice echoes in your ear, though her mouth is busy between your legs. “I can feel you want to come, sweet thing. Go on, indulge me; come for me.”

It washes over you like a heatwave; the sensation is new and exciting and your legs start to crumble from the sheer pleasure of it all. Natasha holds your legs up, licking every drop of liquid that gushes from your cunt. You can hear the choir reach a high point as you tumble over the edge again; Natasha hasn’t stopped the onslaught of her tongue as she pulls a second orgasm from you. You could swear her rhythm matches the sway of the music bellowing from the windows, but then again, there was a demon buried in between your thighs; anything was possible.

Time slows down as the redhead pulls herself away from your leaking cunt and licks her lips c a wicked grin forming on her face. “You precious thing, moaning along to the choir as if you were there yourself. I’ll have to play with you some more sometime.”

“You-you’re leaving? After that?” You’re bolder than you were however many minutes ago, considering what just happened. You didn’t think you’d challenge a demon that just gave you a taste of corruption and let you live to tell the tale.

Natasha is suddenly pinning you against the wall again, but more intimately; her hands croon the sides of your face and her tail sweeps along your skirt hem, almost in a preening manner. “Don’t you worry angel, you haven’t seen the last of me. After all…fucking a demon outside a church isn’t getting you anywhere but in between *my* thighs next time.” A whimper slips out of your mouth but before you can say anything more, she’s gone. Almost on cue, a familiar voice calls out behind you, asking where you’ve been since the service started! You don’t give an answer, only a simple “dunno” as you walk in the building, trying not to let the flames inside you burn even higher.

#c: natasha #demon!nat x reader #tw dubcon #natasha romanoff x reader #tw dark fic #natasha romanoff smut

320 notes · View notes

my2phetaliaheadcanons · 2 years

Note

🌟I love your blog fam! 🌟

So how wound yandere 2p America, England and Russia go about wooing or kidnapping a sweet professor darling that’s smart enough to know something is wrong with them. And doesn’t get close to them?

Thank you!

(Y/N)’s black wedges sounded like a tired draft horse’s hooves as crossed the cold, white, tile floor to her office. Her black shoulder bag dug uncomfortably into her shoulder as she opened the heavy, wooden door to her office.

The room was cool and dark. It felt wonderful on (Y/N)’s hot skin as the light switch was left ignored. The psychology professor instead allowed herself to flop into her leather wheelie chair. Her heavy bag thudding against the floor as it fell. There was nothing more that (Y/N) wanted at that moment than to melt into darkness.

Except a small voice told her something was off. There was something there that shouldn’t be.

Wearily she cracked her (E/C) eyes and slowly glanced around. No dark shapes in the corners and no little red dots of poorly hidden cameras. What did catch her eye was the clear, crystal vase of flowers.

They were strange, each stem appeared to hold two different pistils. The one at the top of each stem looked like a red rose that had been dipped in a vibrant green paint, while the lower pistils reminded one of a red carination. Though instead of the green dip appearance, it had a purple hue at its tips.

Her (S/C) hand reached up to brush against the petals. They were soft and velvety, and their supernatural beauty tempted her to partake in their scent. Hand around the stem, she was ready to lean forward and do.

When a card slipped onto her desk from between the sea of green. Its white, heavy cardstock was bright against the darkroom.

The flowers, now momentarily forgotten, (Y/N) slide the card into her hand. Its elegant cursive read Pulchra Durmiens.

Brow raised; she googled the ethereal plants on her smartphone. The bright light of the screen made (Y/N)’s eyes squint.

As the screen loaded, (Y/N)’s curiosity turned to anger.

These flowers were known as the Sleeping Beauty. Their ability to make one succumb to a dreamless sleep was well documented but not known. The slumber was known to be deep and unawakenable for three days.

With tense muscles (Y/N) realized there was only one soul who would do this. That snake was willing to tempt her like Eve.

In her rage, (Y/N) stood, strangling the flowers in her dominant hand. Their stems crunched; thorns painted small rivers of blood on her hand. Her free hand reached for the trash can and helped stuff the ethereal beauties inside. Tying them off to never allow them the chance to tempt again.

Now out of sight, her shoulders dropped. She reached for her office phone and dialed the number for security.

(Y/N) refused to fall. This snake would lose his head.

America: Allen’s pride would be in ruins at a Doll that could outsmart him. He would try everything he could to ensnare you. Flirting, invitations to outings, full-on attempted kidnapping. As each one of these fails it leads to Allen becoming more aggressive in his actions and plans.

Your security measures don’t help him either. The alarm systems, bodyguards, and even personal weapons just leave him angry and cold at the end of the day. This cycle of cat and mouse lasts for weeks until one day, he can take no more.

On that day, be prepared. For he plans on using a hostage situation. It will be during one of your lectures, the university will be on lockdown, and as people wait in terrified silence his voice comes across the intercom.

His demands are simple. You, or the university.

England: The intelligence to avoid Oliver was one of the things that attracted him at first. It was cute seeing you realize the danger and attempt to escape your fate. Until it wasn’t.

You began to take steps to distance yourself from him. Both in the physical sense and the mental sense. Oliver doesn’t allow it and with each step toward control being undone by your own intelligence Oliver begins to lose his temper.

He no longer chooses to directly interact but instead looks for subtle ways to lull you into a sense of safety. Little ‘gifts’ often being left around your office and home. Some are actually safe while most are designed to aid in the capture of you.

Eventually, his patience wanes to its end and a deal is made with the beasts of the night.

Unluckily for you, Oliver allows his beast to play before capturing his prey.

Russia: Similar to Oliver, Viktor enjoys your intelligence. It makes the game of love more alluring for the large Russian. Viktor allows this chase to go longer than most. This comes from his belief that not only will this teach you of your place, but he also enjoys a good battle of wits.

He often watches you, enjoying seeing your mind at work until you decide to change the game. Now he can no longer watch you, speak with you, or even engage. With the control taken from his hands and his own loss on the horizon, he becomes annoyed. Viktor begins to slowly up add pressure by leaving notes, and gifts, and cutting off your resources. As these fail, Viktor learns something new. This new knowledge becomes a weapon against you.

After six months of this game, Viktor finishes it. He appears like a grim reaper, cold and silent. Ready to make you disappear, with the weapons you unknowingly gave to him.

#2p england #2p hetalia #2p headcanons #2p america #2p russia #yandere #yandere hetalia #2p yandere

88 notes · View notes

aleksyandthemachines · 1 month

Text

Even though he didn’t like to show it, and was not likely to show it, Nikolai was very fond of listening to Soso ramble on about God-knows-what, going from subject to subject in a curious matter of seconds. He was not listening very carefully, he did not have the energy to do that after a long day of socializing, but he still tried his best to at least comprehend, which sometimes turned out to be a bit more difficult than other times. But now, he was quite ready indeed, to listen to Soso speak of everything and nothing, and he'd do so with a little glint in his eye.

"But it's not like I hate museums I just don't like them, you know? It's like people just stand around and read about the psychological, emotional, symbolic, whatever the fuck unfamiliar words make posh people feel good, meanwhile I'm in and out of there like a fuckin' sparrow, you know? I don't have the time to understand the meaning, nice colours and good paintings are fun! And I like looking at them, and that's the end of it, I don't care about the symbolic meaning, I mean, who does? You know what else I hate? That I really, really hate? English Historical Romance. It's all the same! All the exact same, no changes whatsoever. Just this disgusting attempt to humanize the rich when they do not deserve to be humanized. The oppressed don't humanize their oppressors, and to do so is in nothing but bad faith and greediness. Also, why do we have to keep retelling the same Cinderella story all over again. America did it once and now everyone's scrambling to do it. The American Dream only exists for rich high class whites while the rest of us starve. People are hopping the border and getting nothing of what they expected except the chance to live, which they should already have in their own country, but don't because America is on a journey to ruin every single country in its wake— colonialism is the real evil, when we think about it. Nations that could have been so strong brought to dust by powers far stupider than they are. Empires and wars are just the upper class's version of dick-swinging except this time it's noble and true. In some cases, it can be necessary, to fight back against an unjust force like a few years ago, but sometimes it just happens because higher powers just want to show off their strength. I think it's wonderful that India got its independence from England, but the state England left it in is absolutely deplorable— they still keep those jewels in the Queen's crown, they didn't even bother to give them back. We exploit people and then we are disgusted at the fact that they are poor, we are just dolls for the rich we're not people— war is like a playground and we're their toy soldiers, no one cares if we die or not."

He opened the car door in annoyance and slumped it, slamming the door shut behind him, slightly calmed by summer breeze on his face, with the cooling quality only it could have. He sighed, and turned to Nikolai, sitting in the driver's seat, looking right back at him.

"Think you could let me drive?"

"No way in hell." Nikolai counteracted.

"But the older one always drives!"

"Yeah. Older by two weeks."

"Well, when I'm 23, you're still going to be 22." Soso shot, although he knew full well the stupidity of the conversation he was currently having.

"Not for long, though."

Soso, not wanting to admit he had been beaten yet, made an effort to hoist himself onto Nikolai's lap, and slapped his hands away from the steering wheel, replacing them with his own. Coarse dark leather felt like snake-skin under his clammy hands, as he shifted on his now flesh-and-blood seat to feel more comfortable.

"Out. Get out."

"No way in hell, Cholera."

Nikolai bit back a rather unsavoury insult, meaning to keep his anger bubbling inside in the hopes it would keep him awake for longer. He just sighed, let his chin rest on Soso's shoulder, as his feet retreated from the pedals. "Fine. But if we crash, I'm blaming you."

― Inhumane and Insane, Chapter 4.

You can read the rest here. You can also request some oneshots here if you want!

0 notes

urbanflorals · 4 months

Note

Okay fine I’ll say it because I don’t want you confused - Max is Adrien

Amaryllis

From that day onwards, I’m at the atelier and the set almost every day. We’re doing fittings first, so I’m still mostly at the studio for the first week.

As are most spring collections, the entire campaign features flowers. Florals for spring? Groundbreaking, I know. But the theme, flora and fauna, or la faune et la flore as I’ve heard Marcel refer to it, is a well executed idea without making the florals look tacky.

On barely the second day, quick slaps of expensive leather on the floor alert me of Maximilien’s presence before I can see him. I’m being fitted in a sheer gown, a snake of blossoms covering whatever has to be.

He glances at the time on his expensive watch, nose twitching as he looks up at me and the scene around him. “My father can’t make it till later today. He told me to oversee the fittings until then.” His gaze lingers on me—not me, the dress, probably—and a crease forms between his brows. On my first day of meeting him, he made it quite clear that he had a different idea for this collection as compared to the one his father did. I don’t know if he said it to be difficult or if he just wanted his vision to be heard and executed.

“That piece is ill-fitting,” he remarks, walking over to where I am. The tailors’ hands are off me before he stops in front of me, grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me around. A surprised little

noise escapes my throat as his fingers deftly undo the pins and readjusts them better.

These aren’t the final pieces from the collection, so they’re using it on me to see what has to be custom-made for me and what already fits.

His fingers are too close to my neck as he pins something behind my shoulders, tightening the material around my chest. I hope he can’t see the scatter of goosebumps that rise on my skin. Then his fingers splay out on my lower back as he gets a look, and I’m trying not to think about how his hand is warm on my back through the thin mesh material.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, stepping back. “I want all of the garments we’re using for the shoot remade to fit her like that if you haven't gotten started on that already. All except the structural ones and the finale.”

Then the dress is taken off me, and I feel too bare. I don’t remember the last time I felt shy in nothing but nipple covers and a nude thong, I’ve done it so many times before.

Oh, quit worrying, you know you’re hot.

Instead of turning away to give me a modicum of respect, I can feel Maximilien’s shameless gaze on my back until I’m in the next look. It’s a bouncy layered and pleated dress with flared sleeves, appliqué roses all around the drop shoulder neckline.

After they make the readjustments, a single command comes from Maximilien. “Walk.”

“Now?” I ask. “I’ve got no shoes.”

“Surely you can walk without shoes, Miss Anderson. Now walk, and do a half spin at the end. I want to see the movement of the dress.”

No, he wants to see my walk. With a little eye roll, I raise up on my tippy toes like I’ve seen Bella Hadid do during rehearsals, and walk down the center of the atelier. As instructed, I do a half spin at the end, and the way the skirt flares out has the little girl in me letting out a squeal. When I walk past Maximilien to get to my original spot, I give him a cloying, challenging little smile. His nose wrinkles and his blink is a beat too long.

“Good,” he comments, checking the time on his watch again like he has somewhere else to be.

About halfway through the fittings, Maximilien announces that Marcel won’t be able to make it today, so we can wrap up earlier.

I feel like a Barbie doll playing dress up in all these shiny, exclusive clothes. I try on every single piece from the confirmed collection, and then some side pieces they’re unsure if they should use.

Sometime during the afternoon, Maximilien dismisses the designers and tailors for the day. I stand there, confused and almost bare, before sliding back into the tank top and jeans I arrived in this morning.

“Not you,” Maximilien orders, hazel eyes narrowing in on me.

“But-”

“Just an hour or two more. I can pay you for your time, if that's what you want.”

He waits for everyone to clear out before addressing me, sitting on a stool and using my phone. I put my phone away and raise my eyes to his. Even though the room is emptied now, it feels smaller with just the two of us.

“Yes?” I ask, my eyes flicking over him in annoyance.

He wrinkles his nose. “There’s more pieces I need you to try on.”

“And…why couldn’t we have done that while everyone else was here?” I challenge.

“They’re not meant to be in this collection. And they’re kept in a separate studio.”

“Why?”

“I have the entire car ride to explain that.” He walks towards the lift and I snatch my purse off a working table and follow him without question.

I seriously hope I’m not annoying you with these 😭

OMG OMG AHHHHHHH I'M LOVING ITTT!!!

You are def not annoying me with these

also thanks for clearing up the max and adrien thing :)

#ems asks #💋

1 note · View note

crazywritertomboy1224 · 3 years

Text

Dabi x Fem! Reader

word count: about 1.9k

genre: smut, fluff

18+ CHARACTERS

Warnings: cussing, belt whip, bondage, name calling, sub reader, praise kink, edging

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK. But enjoy!

“Hey, doll.” You hear a voice from behind you. You spin around to see Dabi standing there, pretending to examine his fingertips.

I- What- what are you doing here?” you stutter.

“I figured you’d be thrilled to see me, Y/N.” He spoke softly, inching closer to you.

“I- I am, I am. It just… took me by surprise, that’s all.” you respond, moving back until your back is pressed against the wall of your apartment hallway.

“Perfect. Then why don’t you go ahead and invite me in?” He asked, taking one final step forward.

You scooched sideways, trying to escape him to unlock your apartment door. He shifted his weight back to allow you to move. He remained still as you located the key in your purse and unlocked the door. You opened it and he moved so he was now in between the door and the molding to get inside.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He whispered, reaching a hand up and letting his fingers drag around your jawline as he entered your apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, going to change, make a snack and put your stuff away. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d been here. He plopped down on the couch and flung his charred legs up on the coffee table. You rolled your eyes but bit back a retort.

“Hey, why don’t we go to your room?” He said as you were getting an apple out of the fridge.

You sighed, knowing what was about to happen. “Okay, just let me finish this first.” you said as you held up the apple.

“Mmmhhh… no.” He said, shifting as you started walking over, chewing a bite of the apple. You choked. “What?”

No. I want to now. Let’s go.” In one swift move, he stood up, picked you up bridal style, and led you into your room.

“God fucking dammit, Dabi.”

“What is it, whore?” he snapped, slamming your back onto the bed.

“I was hungry.” you sat up, took a final bite of the apple, and set it on your nightstand, just as you’d done so many nights before this.

“You should be used to it by now, babe. Now strip.”

You sighed and crossed your arms down your front and pulled off your shirt, revealing your very skimpy bra and your overflowing tits. He looked down and licked his lips. You finished chewing the bite of apple and swallowed.

“You’re looking real fucking sexy tonight, slut.” he said as he took off his own shirt. You stared in awe at his scarred, burnt torso. You could see more abs starting to show since last time.

“I see you’ve been working out.” you choked out, sounding hoarse.

He chuckled. “You sound surprised.” He undid his belt and set it aside for later. You mentally sighed, knowing it was going to be a long night. He stripped down his pants, leaving him standing in boxers and socks.“

“Your turn, mommy.”

You cursed under your breath, feeling your stomach tense at his words. You pulled your own pants down, leaving you both nearly naked. His eyes scanned you up and down while yours remained fixed on one location.

“Like what you see?” He growled, walking up and tracing a line from your neck, over your bra, down your stomach and tucked his index finger under the elastic on your panties.

He tugged on it gently and let it snap back down. He growled at the sound and pulled them all the way off in one fluid motion.

He flung them across the room and pulled your legs above his shoulders as he settled between them.

Your legs shuddered as he dragged his tongue through your folds, which were already dripping for him. He slid his hands down your thighs and gripped them from underneath to prevent you from moving too much.

His ocean blue eyes looked up at you with menace as he licked you slower and slower, watching you come to meet your climax. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves and a smirk arose on his lips as you squirmed beneath him.

“Oh, fuck Dabi, I’m gonna cum!” you squealed as the flame villain vibrated his tongue against your cunt, feeling your pussy throb and your walls start to close as you neared your release.

Right before, he pulled away, licking his lips.

“Oh,” he looked at you and your pained expression as the burning sensation of your high slowly left. “Oh, poor thing. You didn’t really think I’d let you take all the pleasure for yourself, now did you?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you glared at him, staring down at his eyes as they peeked above your clit. “You bitch.” you snarled.

He chuckled. “You know it.” He winked, standing up and sticking his fingers in your mouth. “Suck.” He commanded. You rolled your eyes but closed your lips around his fingers and started to circle your tongue around them, eventually gaining a rhythm. You opened your mouth and gave one final lick as he pulled them out of your mouth.

He took his fingers, with a strand of your drool coming off in a thread, and slammed them into your pussy. You writhed as he grabbed your hips with his free hand. He started to move his fingers around, sliding them past each other, bending them at different knuckles, just to see exactly how far he could push you before you gave in.

“Fuck you, Dabi.” you whined, feeling your pussy throb around his fingers.

“Mm-mm. Fuck you… who?” He taunted, beginning to move his fingers in and out slowly, while still wiggling them.

“Goddammit… fuck you… daddy.” you moaned loud on that last word, trying not to but it was simply too much for you. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” you yelled, your hips moving on their own as they tried to grind against his fingers harder. Instead, he pulled out again, leaving you with the same result as last time.

You glared at him. “Again, bitch? Really? Let me fucking cum!”

He laughed, looking down at you in what seemed to be pity, although he didn’t seem to be showing you any. “Alright, slut. You wanna cum? I’ll let you cum. But only if I get something in return.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

“I want you to be a good little girl, okay? I want you to obey every single thing I tell you. Am I clear? Every. Single. Thing.” He asked, dragging his fingers through your slick folds again.

You moaned, grinding against him again. “Yes… daddy.”

“Good girl.” he leaned down and captured your lips in his own, his tongue snaking through to meet yours. You groaned, feeling empty as he pulled away to finish undressing. You tilted your head down to look at him as he stepped out of his boxers.

His dick flopped forward, seeming to harden even more at the sight of you, laying there, completely naked except for your bra, dripping. Everything he sees is for him and him only, and he knows it. He’s going to take his sweet time making sure everyone knows you’re reserved for him.

He reached behind his back stealthily and grabbed the belt, almost without you noticing. But you did. At the sight of him unrolling it, you felt your whole body tense.

He stepped closer to the bed and you moved back, making room for him at the foot of your bed. He placed the belt next to your legs, making sure it was readily accessible and pressed his hands into your inner thighs, spreading them even farther. He slapped his dick against your sopping cunt, just to get it a bit wet.

He hesitated. “You sure you want this?” He asked, teasing you even more.

“Fuck, Touya.” You moaned, just to make him angry se he’d shut up and fuck you already.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he snarled, reaching around behind you to unclip your bra and slide it off. He threw your bra across the room and slammed into you. Hard. Harder than he ever had. At least to you. You flung your hands up behind your head to stop yourself from being slammed into the headboard.

“You’re such a good girl. You gonna take daddy’s cock like a champ? Yeah? Yeah?” He praised through gritted teeth as he pounded you. You gritted your teeth together, determined not to show him any signs of pleasure.

He grabbed the belt, folded it at the middle, and smacked the outside of your hip while his other hand gripped your inner thigh harshly.

One of his hands pressed the belt around your throat and began to slowly choke you, harder and harder until you could barely breathe. You reached up and seized his charred wrist. With his free hand, he gently squeezed his fingers against the side of your hip, using that as an anchor. You moaned as he pounded into you, making you slowly inch farther up towards the headboard.

“Fuck, Dabi.” you moaned hoarsely, now barely able to breathe.

“You like it, slutty whore?”

You tugged at his wrist until he loosened the belt on your throat, leaving it to rest there as he slowly dragged his fingertips down your chest, continuing to fuck you. He slapped the side of your hip, then placed his hand on it. You whimpered from the sting of the slap. You felt his palms heat up as he lightly scorched your skin. You writhed under his grip, but that did nothing but make him go faster.

“I’m gonna cum! “I’m gonna cum!” You yelled, writhing faster and faster as you felt your climax attack you again. This time, however, Dabi leaned down, licked your earlobe, and whispered “Then cum for me, doll. Cum all over this fucking cock.”

You let out an ear splitting moan as you came, all over his cock, just as he’d asked you to do. Your whole body shook as your release overtook you. Your mind went blank in a whole white-hot veil of ecstasy. You felt the friction of leather as the belt slowly slipped down off your throat.

“Goddammit, whore.” You heard Dabi curse faintly. Immediately after that, you felt a flaming stream of cum shoot inside you, and you relished in the feeling before it slipped away.

You opened your eyes to see his head tilted down, clearly trying to calm down after that. He pulled out, his dick already starting to soften.

He backed up until he was off the bed, then stood up and walked back over to you. He kissed you on the forehead and said “Good girl.” before heading to the bathroom to clean himself up.

About five minutes later, you’re in a kind of light drowsy sleep and Dabi comes back. He finds you almost asleep, but still naked and still covered. He walks over to you and starts to gently shake your shoulder.

Your eyes snap open. “Yeah?” You ask groggily. He sits you up, nice and slow, then wraps an arm around you waist and helps you walk to the bathroom, despite your protests. You get to the bathroom, he sits you down on the bathtub edge and wets a washcloth with some warm water.

As he’s gently rubbing it over your skin, he’s kissing you. On the cheek, the other cheek, the neck, the collarbone. The forehead. Everywhere but the lips. You tiredly reach up and cup his face in both hands. You lean forward and press a small, sweet kiss to his lips.

He blushes faintly. “Y/N, was that really necessary?” he mutters as he ducks his head and pretends to be overly intrigued by the washcloth over your skin.

About ten minutes later, after he’s finished cleaning you up, he helps you back to the bed. Once you’ve laid down, he walks around the bed, crawls in behind you, lays down and pulls you onto his chest. You fall asleep after a few minutes of him whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You let out a final sigh of contentment as he kisses the top of your head and you fall into oblivion.

TAG LIST: @crow-with-a-knife @crow-with-a-keyboard

#Dabi #touya todoroki #smut #touya x y/n #dabi x reader #fluff

117 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Bourbon and Candy

Summary: After a frustrating day at work, August just wants to sit down and enjoy his princess, in any way possible.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: Smutty Smut, Daddy Kink (alert!), stripping, oral sex on a man, possessiveness, sex, depiction of bodily fluids.

A/N: I saw this photo and was inspired to write about August watching his girl perform for him. Many thanks @agniavateira for being my editor and my muse 💕 Hope you’ll enjoy.

Title: Bourbon and Candy

The harsh CIA agent sits on the sofa wearing a strained look on his face. It has been a long, frustrating day at work and he hasn’t even had the chance to take off his suit. He stirs the bourbon in its lowball, watching the little vortex that forms in the agitated golden-brown liquid

And there she is, his little kitten. She sneaks into the great living room with the obvious intent to welcome him back. Wearing makeup like an actress from an old French movie, she dons a sheer pink babydoll dress over a luxurious lace lingerie set and golden high heeled shoes.

Diamonds sparkle on her skin as the sunlight kisses them through the open window. She never owned diamonds before, she’s not a materialistic girl, but August loves seeing her adorned with expensive necklaces and bracelets as if she is a doll to play with.

And his to covet.

With a sweet smile of her face, she begins to dance for him in slow, snake-like movements. Her hands caress her soft skin, twirling her long dark hair before she throws it back and lets it fall against her rounded ass.

August sips the bourbon and grits his teeth as the spiced liqueur hits the back of his throat. His eyes fix on the treasure, the way those slender hands run through her own body sinfully, approaching the mysteries that belong to him, where his big rough hands should be. He muses to himself; the only person allowed to touch her except for himself is her, and only when he permits it.

The first article of clothing, if you could call it that, falls from her body like a feather floating down the air. She kicks it away with her high heel and pushes her shoulders closer to squeeze her breasts against one another as they’re still locked inside that lacy Victoria Secret’s bra.

Also a present from her dear love. Cotton-candy pink, of course. He loves her sweet, the way she is.

The bulge in his trousers becomes overwhelmingly evident. She eyes it while letting the strap fall off from her shoulder, sucking her lips and putting a finger inside her mouth to let him know how badly she wants to taste his cock. August places the empty glass on the end table next to the sofa, the sound sharp against the surface. He places his knuckles against his mouth and ogles her with pure fascination while his other hand rubs at his erection to slightly ease the need.

She exposes her delicious breasts, hugging a hand over them while her bra slips between her fingers. A large smile slowly spreads on his face. He loves it when his kitten acts so innocent, it makes his cock twitch with double the excitement.

There is an ocean of admiration in his eyes for his little pet, his little piece of gold in a pile of coal that is this horrible world. In her, he sees all that’s pure and delicate in this world, the sweet among the bitter. He likes to pretend she was a virgin when he met her, even though she told him she wasn’t, never wanting to lie to a man like August. Yet he’d like to think he’s the only man who picked her ripe fruits and every time he fucks her, his dirty soul defiles her body and steals some of the purity in her soul.

At last, she reaches for her underwear. Her dance moves are stilled as she looks deeply into those beautiful malicious blues and allows the flimsy piece of lace fall from her thighs, exposing her silky smooth mound.

Just the way he likes it.

“Leave those on.” He commands, seeing as she means to take off her jewelry.

Ever so obedient, she nods and then sensually crouches on the floor, crawling naked on the carpet, hair thrown back and resting on her back.She moves to where he is seated with his legs spread conveniently to accept her while massaging the bulge in his groin.

He swallows the lump in his throat, watching his kitten give him that sweet naive look. She gazes at him with big eyes, adoring her master, greatly devoted to him. She presses her cheek against his thigh, humming gently as he entangles his fingers in her soft hair.

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, tilting his head while looking at her dreamingly. Her creme-painted nails scratch at the hard bulge, tracing the metal of his belt buckle against her tips.

“May I, daddy?” She asks for permission and is granted a pleasant smile as his hand waves away from her head, allowing her space to work on freeing his painful cock from the captivity of his trousers. Her nimble fingers do quick work on his belt. The sound of leather slipping through the metal clasp makes her shiver and the rich juices that drip from between her legs are becoming a burden, but she is not allowed to touch herself yet.

It’s forbidden.

August growls as her hand sneaks into his trousers, her small digits taking him in her palm, appreciating how vast and beautiful he is. She shifts her thumb across the pulsating veins, trailing across the ridged surface until reaching the head of his cock where sheer precum drops greet her sight.

His groans are melody to her ears, music that makes her heart flutter and her core throb. She wants him to unload himself in her in any way he chooses.

Nothing in her body is scared anymore anyway, he made sure of it.

She lowers herself, breasts brushing against the soft material of his trousers as her tongue slips between her lips to taste him. Her velvet tongue swirls around the tip, eliciting the most pleasant groans from his beautiful lips. Carefully, he is taken into the warmth of her mouth while her gaze is fixed on his and his cock disappears between her succulent lips.

August throws his head back, relaxing as his kitten works her mouth up and down his big shaft. Her back arching, her ass sticking in the air behind her. An erotic view for him to feast upon with his ocean blues.

But it’s not enough. He needs more, he needs to be buried deep inside her lush walls, to have his anger surge through her body and cleanse his soul.

His fingers cup her chin, gently pausing her ministrations. There’s a slight worry in her eyes, afraid she might have wronged him in any way but the enamoured look in his eyes relaxes the surge of anxiety that runs through her heart.

He takes her hand and guides her to sit on top of him. Legs spread with knees to each side of his hips, she sinks herself onto his meaty erection, gasping as he spreads her walls inch by inch until he is sunken in her depth. Her ankles lift in the air, the heels of her shoes point upward as her head falls back.

“You’re so big!” She yelps, nearly powerless, feeling full with his cock reshaping her taut canal. The tightness of her cunt makes it impossible to move so she remains still, keeping him inside her abundant warmth.

He grips her ass, squeezing the flesh and guiding her, bouncing her on his cock while taking her breasts into his mouth. His teeth nip at the tender flesh and then licks at the hollows that his teeth created.

The thrill of the pain and the comfort that comes after makes her body comply with his invasion.,He leaves her no choice anyway, he will keep going even if it hurts, but he’d rather have her enjoy herself as well.

“Good,” he groans, watching her as she begins to ride him, swaying her hip and dancing on his cock, letting her clit grind against him with every shift she makes. He thrusts up to meet her pace, biting his teeth as he enjoys the desperate look on her beautiful face. She looks as if it hurts to have him in there yet the pain brings her so much pleasure. Her body wants to resist and take him at once whilst she is driven into madness by desire.

Fire begins to tingle in her core, increasing her pace. Something inside her breaks, and his little angel turns into a succubus in front of his very eyes. Her body is thrown back hanging in the air with only their sex keeping them together. Her hand grabs at his tie for support while she squirms onto his girth in an urgent rhythm.

He grunts, nearly choking as the noose tightens around his neck. It does nothing but make him harden even more inside her already too tight heat. Letting one hand glide at the small of her back, he holds her from falling and puts his right hand to his mouth, coating his fingers with his saliva before pressing them against her clit.

“Who does this pussy belong to, angel?” He asks, another guttural grunt escaping his lips as his kitten tightens around him while he manipulates her clit into submission.

“Yours, August!” She wails, feeling the warmth increasing, fury burning between her thighs.

“No,” he rasps, pressing harder against her clit. His cock swells inside her, his sack squeezing beneath her ass.

“Da...daddy!” she cries out, pulling back with all her might as the fire consumes her, making her melt with ecstasy with him hitting her cervix. He lets himself go right after her, coating her walls with his liquid and continuing to push into her until it drips between them, warm and smooth.

“I’m sorry, daddy…” she bites her knuckle, letting go of his tie and looking at the mess she made.

He gives her a smile, with his hand still on her back he pulls closer against him, laying soft butterfly kisses all over her face and then nuzzling her temple.

“Don’t worry, angel. Daddy’s not mad, not this time.”

___________________________________________________________

#August Walker #Smut: Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill #August Walker Smut #Fanfiction: August Walker #Smut: August Walker #August Walker Fanfiction #augustwalker #Smut #augustwalkersmut #henrycavill #henrycavillsmut #Mi6 #mission impossible fallout

1K notes · View notes

distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

Text

Together 7: First lash.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

CW: explicit language and content, multiple whumpees, torture, captivity, restraints, vomit, beating, blood, welts, hunger/starvation, conditioning, dehumanization, multiple whumpers, masked whumper (clown mask), letmeknowifimissedany

They’re taking her out when I wake up. She goes quietly. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. My empty stomach is nauseatingly sour. I pace the small room. The basement floor is damp like it’s absorbing moisture from below. I think about last night. Who knows how long she was silently crying. If she’s not going to talk, I should wait until I can see her face to make sure I don’t upset her again. I don’t know who these people are or why I’m here. I hate to think what it means if someone like her, so innocent and fragile, is here and acts like that.

I follow her example and cooperate when they collect me in their ski masks even though they put a pillowcase over my head and for all I know she’s never coming back. They take me into a room down the hallway and the floor is the same concrete the whole way. I keep having to swallow. My saliva feels thick and I can’t seem to get it out of my mouth no matter how much I gulp it down.

Heavy hands force me to my knees and pull my hands over my head. They bind my wrists in restraints, tightening them until I can feel the places the cotton padding has been worn down and the leather bites into my skin. I can’t help but picture her delicate wrists as the ones that broke them in. They do the same to my ankles, trapping me in an L-shape before pulling off the pillowcase and leaving me in the dark. It smells like metal. I think I’m chained to the floor and ceiling but there’s not a single link of slack.

I vomit thick spit and bile onto the floor. My stomach continues heaving even when all that’s left is saliva dragging its way down my lower lip. It sticks to my chin when I whip my head up at the sound of the door opening. I see a silhouette before they close us into darkness. A few seconds later, a light comes on. He’s dressed exactly like the others except, instead of a ski mask, he’s wearing a clown mask. We used to put on the scary versions with bloody, unnatural mouths and wrinkles in the rubber at the team house for the Halloween party every year, snaking the hose up the neck opening to do keg stands.

His mask is just smooth white with downturned eyes and a cartoonish smile—definitely worse than Twisty. It must be lined with black mesh because I can’t see anything underneath. He stands there, jeering at me. My tongue feels like a rock and my throat is still thick. I don’t know if I should say there’s been a misunderstanding or beg or just stay silent. I go with the latter, hoping that maybe that her silence is strategic. I try not to think about her spending any time here. He takes slow, measured steps forward to pick something up, let’s it unroll so I can see. All the moisture feels gone. I can’t even swallow.

I count the first handful of swings, still managing to stay quiet except for my breath. They’re burning and sharp.

When I lose count, I start begging, “Please stop, please I’ll do anything, please!!”

The welts begin to layer themselves into a blazing, throbbing ache.

“What do you wan—nnghh—”

I can’t breathe, my face is covered with spit, snot, and drool as I scream. The air doesn’t seem to reach my lungs but I know it’s there because it’s against my legs and the belt slices through it audibly with each swing.

I’m openly sobbing now. “I don’t even know why I’m h—agghhh—”

I dissolve into pleading incoherently. There’s a moment, between each blow, as the belt drags across the back of my calves, that a wild part of my mind panics that they’re gone completely because it doesn’t feel right, the whisper sensation, even pulling through the rawness, after the sharp pain. Eventually, it changes when the leather starts to drag through blood.

—

Something touches my face and I lash out. She’s already keeping her distance so, thankfully, I don’t hit her before I realize where I am.

“M’sorry,” I croak, trying to focus on her face. I can’t let myself focus on anything else.

She’s sitting on her heels, pressed into the corner between her bed and the cabinet, her fingers twisted together. When I meet her gaze, she leans forward, resting her elbows on the floor, lowering herself into my line of sight. Her wide eyes are puffy and rimmed with red.

I hate to think of her crying again.

She tilts her head to the side, gaze slipping from my face to my legs. When she looks at me again, she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth.

I don’t know if I can push myself up to really look. My head still feels heavy and clouded, either from the pain or from however long it has been since I last ate. I look over my shoulder as best I can, head aching when my eyes reach the limit of their range of motion. My calves are wrapped in clean white gauze and so are my feet. The borders of the pain had been so blurred, I had no idea it included my feet.

“S’not so bad,” I mumble.

I look back at her, too fast, and my head swims.

“Mnnnm,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.

When I open them after a few breaths, she’s holding a cup of water. Tilts it gently against my lips so I don’t have to move. She gets me a second cup when I finish.

“Thank you, Doll,” I say, smiling what I hope is a non-threatening smile.

She dips her head once in a nod and looks me over again, bites her lip.

“What is it?” I ask, even though I’m guessing she won’t answer.

Her eyes look up to the bed.

There’s only one reason I’m not screaming in pain and that’s because I am not moving. I can pretend that the pain is a separate entity, far away. If I move, it will migrate, overbearing and all-consuming.

“I think I’ll just spend the night here,” I say casually like I’m just going to stay at my parents’ because I don’t feel like driving back to campus. I wonder if they even care that I’m missing.

She purses her lips and looks down at the floor.

It’s wet. I know this. I can feel that my clothes are damp but it’s just as likely sweat. It doesn’t feel particularly dirty even though I’m sure it’s also not clean.

“Sweetie, I don’t think I can move,” I whisper.

That doesn’t go over well. She seems so distraught by the idea. Her eyes flick all over the room like she’s hoping to suddenly find some other way to help me as she presses her trembling lips together. I find myself willing to undergo a little suffering if there’s any chance it will comfort her.

“Okay, hey—I’ll give it a try,” I offer, unconvincing in my attempt to sound light. I start pushing myself onto my hands and knees.

She rushes to help me even though she flinches away from me and I’m pretty sure I could overlap my fingers, maybe even twice, around her upper arm. I get my body onto the bed and then she proves herself stronger than she looks when she lifts my legs, one at a time, so I don’t have to.

I’m still winded and dizzy by the time I get up there. I’ve never felt so exhausted.

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I manage to huff.

That earns me a twitch of her lip. The closest thing I’ve seen to a smile since we met.

She brings me another cup of water. Helps me drink and then gently sweeps my hair off my forehead so she can dab a cool cloth there. She refolds the towel and leaves it draped over the back of my neck before moving to sit on her bed. She tucks her feet underneath her legs and starts playing with her hair. She finds a braid, undoes it, and seperates it into two even smaller braids, quickly, over and over. I fall asleep watching her long, nimble fingers.

—

She wakes me up later, or maybe it’s the next day, with another wet cloth but the first thing I notice is that I can smell food. Her gaze directs me to the two soups sitting on the metal cabinet but she looks back at me, furrowing her brow.

“I think I can sit up,” I say, guessing her concern.

She holds onto my shoulders as I do it, even though if I went down she’d go with me. I sit with my knees up and gingerly place my feet on the mattress in front of me. It seems they only caught stray lashes, so they aren’t feeling nearly as awful as my calves. I lean my head against the wall to catch my breath. I’m sweating and dizzy from the movement, I need to eat.

She comes to sit next to me with the soup, clearly intending to feed it to me with the plastic spoon.

I smile at her. “You’re such an angel—you don’t have to do that.”

She shakes her head, looking down, like she doesn’t mind, but passes me the soup anyway.

About halfway through scarfing it down, she reaches over to rest her fingertip on the handle of my spoon before I can use it to shovel more into my mouth.

“Oh, I should probably eat slower…”

She dips her head once in a nod, then looks down at her hands.

“You should eat, too, while it’s still hot,” I tell her.

Her dark eyes trace my posture and search my face.

I insist, “I’m feeling much better, I promise. Please eat.”

She turns and I notice the whole side of her face is bruising. It wasn’t there before, they must have taken her while I was asleep. Even the corner of her eye looks bloodshot.

“Hey, your face—” I say, reaching out without thinking.

She flinches out of reach so fast that she falls onto the ground, eyes locked on my hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly, trying to keep my voice soft. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Honey. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

She swallows, still cowering on the floor, her lower lip trembling. She’s so afraid and skittish, with those impossibly wide eyes that do something to me.

I wait for a few more breaths but she still hasn’t recovered. “Are you okay?” I whisper.

My question seems to make it worse. She closes her eyes, her face growing lined, and her breathing starts to silently hitch. She’s crying.

“Hey, hey,” I murmur. I have no idea how to comfort her when I have no idea what she’s been through and I’m the idiot making it worse. “Please, it’s okay. It’s just you and me. We’re alright, Love.” I don’t even know her name so I keep calling her nicknames, feeling even more insensitive because maybe it’s coming off wrong. I don’t know what else to do. This is so messed up.

She blinks at me, finally meeting my eyes again, fresh tears still falling from hers.

My throat aches. “Look, really, I’m sorry. Please, come eat with me. I promise I won’t hurt you—I won’t touch you. Will you sit next to me again?” I sound desperate.

After a few more breaths, she does, coming to perch on the edge of my bed within arms reach but just barely, like a bird about to fly away.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Taglist: @deluxewhump

20 notes · View notes

blueflamemakebraingobrr · 3 years

Text

Met Him Last Night

100% inspired by the song “Met Him Last Night” by Demi Lovato/Ariana Grande (specifically the Dave Aude remix). I hope you enjoy this story:

Late at night I'm sippin' as you pass me by Red or white? You pour another, say, "It's fine"

You didn’t really want to come here. It just wasn’t your scene. A little too clean. Too many people gossiping. Talking about things that didn’t interest you. But what the hell. Your friend was celebrating a promotion and you didn’t want to make an excuse not to hang out again so for just this one night, you pulled on your big (boy/girl) undies and sucked it up. You faked a smile and let your friend know you were going to get a refill. Taking your nearly empty glass, you slipped away from the high top table that your friends had conquered and made your way to the bar across the room.

You looked up and down the bar for an open spot to slip in to signal the bartender. There was a spot at the end. Squeezing in, you noticed the female bartender taking a few orders at the other end. You were a little surprised that there was only one person working a Friday night but you sighed and resigned yourself to wait. Looking down at your phone, you flipped through a few messages before a velvety voice asked.

“What are you drinking, doll?”

I don't believe in you (I, I don't believe that) 'Cause I know just how you do (I, I seen it right through)

The female bartender apparently was not alone tonight. But the man in front of you sent shivers down your spine. You noticed that the slight crowd that had been at the bar had shifted away from this person working on the other side of the counter. The man (if that’s what he was) had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. There was something... ethereal about him. You couldn’t tell if the piercings in his flesh (they looked more like staples) and the scars on his skin were real or not... His smirk sent another shiver through your body. Shaking it off, you downed the remainder of what was in your glass and found your voice to respond to his earlier question.

“Whatever you’ve got that’s cheap.”

The grin that he flashed back at you left you slightly dazed.

“Comin’ up.”

A guy like that definitely did not fit in at this place. Maybe that was something you two had in common. You watched as he pulled a bottle from one of the shelves and poured the amber liquid into your glass. It looked effortless as he swept the bottle back into it’s place and brought the glass back. You slapped down a few bills and took the glass, not expecting him to linger.

“Best cheap whiskey we’ve got. You look like you could use it. First time here?” The way his eyes traveled up and down, taking in your appearance, brought a slight blush to your cheeks.

When your friends had said “bar” you’d expected to dress for a hole in the wall... not this place. But the man didn’t seem put off by what you were wearing.

I've seen the devil, yeah, I met him last night Had conversation, yeah, I think he's alright Seemed kinda funny, yeah, he kinda my type (kinda my type) Yeah, yeah, yeah I've seen the devil, yeah, I met him last night One conversation, now he's spendin' the night I think I love him, though I know it ain't right

“Yeah, I came with some friends who like it here.” You answered.

You thought that’d be the end of the conversation. He had other people here to take care of right? He said the drink he’d made you was cheap... did you still not put down enough money on the bar? Was he waiting for more? But the dark haired man wasn’t looking at the cash there. Instead, he leaned on his elbow, leaning forward and looking intently at you for a moment.

“And do you like it here?” He asked.

Something about the way his eyes burned into yours made you spit out the truth, “Not really.”

His head threw back in laughter, “Ouch, can’t say I blame you though.”

Your cheeks burned and you wished you could blame it on the alcohol--deciding you needed an excuse to look away from the magnetic person in front of you, you tipped the glass back and took in a small mouthful of the liquid. The burn was there, but it was pleasant. Your eyes again met the blue ones just across from you.

“If you decide you want to see something a little more interesting than this place, meet me out front in 15 minutes.”

And he was gone.

You got me fucked up I won't let this happen again (Mm, yeah) This the last time You won't take advantage of my innocence (mm, yeah)I don't believe in you (I, I don't believe that) Disguised but I see right through (I, I seen it right through)

You blinked a few times. Watching as he took orders from other patrons, no smiles, no looks back at you, no drawn out conversations with anyone else...

What the hell?

You took the glass back over to the table with your friends. Someone asked if the bar was busy and if that’s why it took you so long. You made up some excuse about not feeling very well and downed your drink. Slightly dazed, you made it to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, you went through every possible scenario in your head. Did you really want to go meet some random stranger out front of this bar or did you go back and celebrate with your friends...

After a moment, maybe it was the whiskey kicking in, you decided to go out front. You texted your friend as you stood out in the cool night air, letting them know you were getting a ride home. A few minutes passed before the voice from before came from beside you.

“Ready for something a little more fun?”

You looked over to your stranger. Over his black tee shirt he wore a rough looking leather jacket and was holding onto a helmet. A pit formed in your stomach. You didn’t usually do something so reckless, but the liquid courage was pushing you onward.

“Hell yeah.”

He walked away from you towards a motorcycle that had been parked on the street. You followed him along and watched as he swung a leg over the end of the bike. He held out the helmet to you.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours. As you can see, mines a little past saving.”

A snort escaped your lips but you thought about how untrue that statement was. The scars... burns(?), they must have been real. But they didn’t detract from his looks at all. If anything, it made you more allured by him. You shook your head, but accepted the helmet, pulling it on, inhaling the unfamiliar smell. Cigarettes, leather, and something else...

Throwing caution to the wind, you swung your leg over the back of the bike and pulled yourself close to the stranger.

“Hold on tight, doll.”

The city around you turned into a blur as the engine beneath you roared to life and sprung forward. You gripped into the leather jacket taking in more new smells, thanking whatever deity that you’d dressed for the weather that day. The wind that had been slightly cool before had a bite to it as it whipped past your arms and legs. Weaving through the cars, your stranger had perfect control over the bike. There was no fear, but the spike of adrenaline had your heart pounding. That, and the feeling of holding this very attractive stranger close to you. A heat pooled in your gut just to think about the night’s activities that could unfurl but you pushed it from your mind. Eventually the sights and sounds of the city waned and your stranger pulled into a lot near the beach. You recognized the area, it wasn’t too far from home.

“No one comes here late.” He said, “We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

You hopped off the bike and removed the helmet. The helmet had managed to keep your head pretty warm and without it, the chill of the night air seeped into your scalp, causing goosebumps to run up your arms. Your stranger noticed and pulled his jacket off.

“Here, I’m pretty tolerant of the cold.” He explained.

“Thanks,” you responded, pulling the warm jacket over you.

The smirk on his lips made your heart flutter.

I don't believe in you (I, I don't believe that) Disguised but I see right through (I, I seen it right through)

He had begun walking towards the dark sand that led to the beach but you hesitated.

“What’s your name?” You asked, not yet moving to follow him.

“... It’s Dabi.”

You didn’t miss the pause, but ignored it. Following him, you began to hear the sounds of the waves but couldn’t yet see anything except for the darkness of the ocean before you. The sound was soothing, and soon your eyes adjusted. The glittering water and the countless stars above you made you sigh in contentment. This was a lot more interesting than the bar. Remembering however that you were reckless enough to allow a complete stranger to bring you out here sent another shiver through your body.

“Still cold?” An arm snaked around your shoulder and you found yourself allowing it.

Looking over, even in the darkness the electric blue eyes blazed bright.

“I’m alright now,” you responded.

Your mind reeled, wanting to ask if he usually brought people out here. Wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to murder you either. Instead of a clear question however, your brain muddled your thoughts:

“So I just gotta ask, you’re not going to dump my body out here right?”

Dabi’s head tilted backwards again in unrestrained laughter. You found yourself chuckling along. Somehow, though he definitely looked like he knew how to hide a body, you didn’t find yourself scared of him.

“Nah, too public.” The tease came back.

Your eyes met and you gulped. The proximity of your faces now left no room for you to deny how attracted you were to him.

“And do you usually bring people out to this super public location?” You shot back, looking around to emphasize the fact that you were both completely alone out here.

“No.” Came the answer.

And you believed him. A hand reached up to brush along your cheekbone and down your jaw line. And again you shivered. The buzz of the alcohol still filled your head and you wondered what it would be like, just once, to allow yourself to give in to this undeniable attraction.

There was only one way to find out.

#i've seen the devil yeah i met him last night #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #mha #bnha #fanfiction #drabble #toya todoroki #touya todoroki #dabi is touya #rated T #swearing #alcohol use #soft #written by me #my work #song fic

14 notes · View notes

chibimyumi · 4 years

Note

Dear Chibimyumi, I’ve had a few debates with friends on the fashion of the series in regards to the Circus Arc. We’re at a bit of a standstill in regards to it—some of us think it’s inappropriate at best and ahistorical at worst, while others of us think that’s the point; a circus needed to draw attention and be somewhat scandalous to be successful in the era. From your redesigns we can tell you know more on the topic than any of us, so do you have any thoughts on the matter?

Dear Anon,

First of all, thank you for your high regard! That makes me very happy. Well then, without further ado, let’s dive into 1880s circus historical accuracy.

The short answer to your question is that both you and your friends are correct in your assessments for different reasons. In order to understand why, we must first look into how circuses entertained their spectators in the 19th century.

Background history - Ethics and Sensation

In the 1880s people had some “different opinions” on ethics than we do now. At the time it was entirely normal to display people as commodities in the same way they displayed animals and objects. In a time before television and wide-spread literacy, the growing lower-middle class sought their entertainment from spectacles. Circuses were relatively affordable (as opposed to theatre and opera), and yet came with quite some spectacular displays of talent.

There was quite some supply of shows, so a circus had to make sure they’d make a lasting impression. The obvious way was to have very, very memorable and gaudy costumes, just like you said. Another way to make a lasting impression was to appeal to gut emotions: disgust and sensation. “What your brain might forget, your guts won’t”. ‘Freak shows’ for example, were a good way to invite disgust and sensation. The “different” ethics at the time allowed circuses to have freak shows as a standard without them ever getting into legal or moral trouble. I will not post any images of such people here, but just to give you an idea: “The Elephant Man”.

Snake

In this light, Snake is entirely befitting of that time period as he used to function as a ‘freak show star’. Even after joining Noah’s Ark he was still a bit of a ‘freak show star’. His clothes draw attention to the scaly skin, and his appeal is made to centre around his inborn snake quality. The main difference from a standard freak show is that his peers did actually treat him with love.

So here’s the answer about Snake: yes, Snake’s design is ‘inappropriate’ but also accurate of that time.

Doll and Wendy

When people talk about the ‘inappropriateness’ of the circus members’ clothings there is fair chance they are mostly talking about the girls.

The “different” ethics also meant that humans could also be displayed in a “sensational” or “disgusting” way. For much of history, performers were considered a very low caste of people, and therefore not considered actual members of society. If they were not ‘actual members of society’ anyway, then there is also no need to hold them to ‘social standards’.

In the case of women that was exposed leeeeegs. A practical bonus was of course that exposed legs makes performing (or actually moving) easier. You can’t do acrobatics or stunts with what was deemed proper for women to wear. People did know at the time of course, but the restricting skirts were a way to ‘control proper women’. Hence exposed legs were pretty much tolerable for this low class of women.

Many spectators probably also enjoyed this ‘scandalous sight’ because it was sexy. Humanity just loves taboo. “Proper (straight) men” (and anyone else who liked women) could enjoy the exposed legs while hiding behind: “Me, a perv???? No! I’m here for the performance! The artistry!”

In these pictures I found from late 19th century circuses we can see how their attires resemble Doll and Wendy’s quite much. In addition I also found a 1885 painting of a tightrope walker by Jean Louis Forain. In this painting the tightrope walker also dressed a bit like a ballerina, like Doll is.

In conclusion, we can conclude that Doll and Wendy are fairly period accurate and also ‘inappropriate’ for the time.

Beast

Beast’s level of exposure wouldn’t be too ridiculous for a circus, so the level of ‘appropriateness’ is historically accurate. What is not too accurate however is the type of bodice she wears. Many of her shiny black bodices appear to be patent leather, but at the time patent leather could not really be made flexible enough to be worn on the torso. Patent leather was almost exclusively reserved for shoes and accessories. Beast’s design is a very modern take on dominatrices, and would therefore probably not have evoked the opinion of ‘sexy’ among her contemporaries. Her contemporaries would probably have looked at her and have seen what we now see on the picture on the right. “W-what... is going on? Too much????”

Jumbo

As discussed above, ‘performing men’ too were not really considered actual members of proper society; hence some ‘inappropriate’ display of such men was nothing out of the ordinary either.

Jumbo is probably the most period accurate member of the circus in how there’s basically nothing about him that was not already standard for circuses. In this old photo from the late 1880s we see a body builder from a circus, dressed in a very similar fashion as Jumbo’s.

Joker, Dagger and Peter

These three are not really that inappropriate for the time. Peter was an adult man, but had the appearance of a young child. As explained in this post, short trousers were a visual indicator of a boy’s youth, and therefore Peter’s exposed legs were nothing out of the ordinary to begin with. His visual designs were gaudy, but a very impressive and gaudy appearance was the aim of spectacle selling circuses.

Below we can see a few clowns and performers from Noah’s Ark’s Circus’ time. As you can see, these designs were incredibly gaudy too. I don’t think putting Joker and Dagger among them would have invited any raised eyebrows in 1889.

In short, the attires of the men in Noah’s Ark Circus were also historically accurate.

Conclusion:

The point of circuses was indeed to make a lasting impression, and the best way to do so was to invoke sensation and disgust. As performers were hardly considered ‘proper members of society’, they did not need to be held to standard social norms.

The Noah’s Ark Circus members dressed inappropriately for their time, but the inappropriateness was entirely historically accurate. All members of the circus would score a passing grade if you were to ask me, except for Beast for technical and conceptual reasons.

I hope this helps~!(*´▽｀*)ノ🎪

Redesign: Ciel’s notorious Robin Dress™

Redesign: O!Ciel and Sebastian in different eras

O!Ciel’s fashion translated to 2020 standard

Redesign: Ranmao Historically Accurate

Redesign of Yunbastian’s Demon Form

Redesign of (more accurate) Sebastian Michaelis

O!Ciel’s ceremonial clothes

#Historic fashion accuracy #Fashion history #historic accuracy #Circus arc #Noah's Ark Circus

118 notes · View notes

the-lady-writes-what · 3 years

Text

for @ladycallian

I’m sorry, but I didn’t know if you wanted SFW or NSFW. I’ll post one that’s SFW for now and come back latter with a different version. That’s not to say this will be G-rated.

Prompt: #1 “You’re mine, Doll.”

Content: stalking, knife play, forced kissing

16+

Yandere Prompt List

Your heels clicked down the sidewalk. Your feet moved faster despite your heels almost breaking your ankles when you sped up. One hand guarded your purse while the other carried your bright yellow umbrella. The city carried a distinct smell mixing with the rain. It has been pouring on and off all day, but that wasn’t the reason why you were rushing home. Your heart pounded inside you chest with every second you weren’t inside the safe confines of your home. The only way you’d feel safe is if you locked and bolted yourself inside.

It began simple enough. A bouquet of flowers, a letter, and someone dropping money into your bank account. The first could be excused as a mistake, but when all the other gifts started piling up there was no way you could call it a ‘shipping mishap’ or ‘wrong address.’ Co-workers who noticed pointed out that all those things were clearly meant for you and you alone. The gifts became more personalized with your initials engraved in gold or gift wrap printed in your favorite color. You would find your favorite flowers waiting for you on your desk every Friday on the dot. With each day, your paranoia grew worse.

You stood beneath a shop’s canopy to catch your breath. You looked up and down the street, your heart constricting inside your chest. With a bone-shaking thought, you wondered which one of the pedestrians passing you by was your anonymous secret admirer.

“Super villain, Deku, was last spotted in...Police are...The public is advised to steer clear...Deku is con-- ed armed...dangerous.” The news anchor on the television in the shop window kept buzzing in and out.

A shiver ran up your spine. Deku. The name came with so many memories, some of which you weren’t fond of. Deku had been Izuku Midoriya once upon a time. A smart, observant kid who was mercilessly picked on for being born without a quirk in a school overpopulated by them. You shared in his predicament but there was no way for you to predict how he would end up. Something happened during middle school. The boy disappeared one day and no one knew what happened until he was robbing banks and blowing up government buildings. You felt anger boil inside of you, and yet, there was a glimmer of pity for the boy who might still be hiding underneath all of Deku’s rage. You quickly moved on and continued your way home.

You hadn’t reached two blocks from the shop window when a hooded figure appeared in the corner of your eye. Nothing about them was visible except for the flash of silver they used to cut through the leather strap of your purse. Once it was severed, your purse fell right into their hands. Dumb as it was, you followed your instinct and chased after them. The hooded figure ducked into an alley with you on their tail. You ditched your shoes to be able to run faster. Soiled stockings be damned! That purse contained all of your personal information and you weren’t about to let some hooded creep get away with snatching it from you.

When there was no more alley, he disappeared. You stood in the rain, umbrella discarded somewhere behind you but you couldn’t see it. Your feet sunk into a pile of muck, which you hoped was mud. You whipped around to find them again, just to make a fool of yourself.

“Dammit!” You cried. The rain started to soak through your shirt and into your bra.

“Looking for this?”

You turned on your heels. Deku held up a musty hoodie and your purse. Frozen to the spot, you couldn’t move. Couldn't breathe.

“I’m sorry,” said he. “You must not remember me. I��m Izuku Midoriya. Although I’m sure you know that I go by a different name now.”

Deku threw the hoodie on top of a pile of garbage. Your eyes flickered to him then to your purse dangled in his hand.

“C-Can I have it back now?”

“I...don’t think so.” The smile that grew on his face sent a shiver down your spine.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think you’ll be needing it where you’re going,” said Deku.

The blood drained from your face. Your flesh turned to ice. You tried to back away only for him to follow you.

“I remember you from school. You tried to stand up for me against Kacchan. He goes by Ground Zero now, doesn’t he? A hero. Who would have guessed?”

“L-Listen, Midoriya, I...I would love to catch up, however--”

With the speed and strength you didn’t know he could ever possess, Deku pinned you to the wall behind at your back. The flash of silver you saw before, the one that slice your purse strap, was at your throat. The cold metal was pressed against your neck.

“Catch up? Why would I just want to catch up? I’ve been trying to contact you for weeks! But you always seemed to think that it was all practical joke or wrong address! Why is that?” Deku snarled in your face like you just insulted his mother.

“Please, I didn’t know! Don’t kill me!”

A look of puzzlement came over his face. Deku pulled away the knife a bit. He cocked his head to the side like a puppy.

“Why would I...? Why do you think I would kill you?” Deku’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Your eyes flashed to the knife still in his hand.

“Oh ho-ho, this? No, no, no. I would never kill you. What would be the point of killing you? The girl--no. The woman I love.”

You’d rather have him slit your throat then and there in that alley among the garbage. Tears mingled with sweat beading down your brow and raindrops falling from the sky.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, love. So, why don’t you show me your appreciation and give me a kiss?”

You didn’t want to. You would still rather have him kill you. You shuddered in disbelief. You glanced down the alley in the vain hope that someone would see and help you. At least call the police or a hero. Anyone!

“Nobody’s going to come and save you. They’re all just too wrapped up in their own pathetic lives to care about one little stray lamb!” Deku pushed you back into the wall, bruising your shoulders against the brick. His knife was pressed against your skin. You felt the sting of the blade sinking a bit deeper and almost break the skin. “Now, kiss me like you mean it.”

You didn’t have any choice. You pressed your lips against his. Both of your faces were wet from the rain, but only Deku’s was warm to the touch. He was blushing like a schoolboy in love although he held a dangerous blade against your throat. You kissed him until you couldn’t breathe. Deku pressed his knee between your legs and snaked his free hand around your waist to pull you close to him. He never let go of the knife while licking your mouth and nibbling on your bottom lip. His tongue ravaged your mouth like a starving man.

“Now,” Deku whispered in your ear. “There is one more thing I need you to say.”

“W-What is it?” Your legs could have buckled underneath but with Deku’s leg pushed between your knees, he would catch you.

“Tell me that you’re mine, Doll. I want to hear you say it.”

Your lips were swollen from his kisses. You shivered in the cold and the rain and the fear controlling you. You tried to think back to a time when Deku was just Izuku Midoriya, the boy next door. Everything faded around you. The sounds and smells of the city, the pitter-patter of rain against your face. Only two things you couldn’t escape from: the knife at your throat and Deku’s piercing eyes. They narrowed like a viper’s glare as he waited for the fated words to fall from your lips.

“I...I-I’m yours.”

#my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #yandere content #Yandere prompt 1 #reader fic #fem!reader #villain! au #Villain!Deku #Yandere!Deku #16+ only

28 notes · View notes

toothlessturtle21 · 4 years

Text

Cold Blooded

So as some of y’all know, I’m a fanfic author, so I figured why not publish some of my oneshots on Tumblr? So, here’s the first one in a (maybe) series of oneshots being posted. Enjoy!

---

Jay's talking gets him into a lot of trouble, sure, but when he's faced with a mob boss who wants to work with him to resurrect his dead father, his chatter might be his only weapon. (Mafia AU) (tw: kidnapping, guns, mentioned death)

All of his life, Jay had been told that his excessive blabbering was annoying. His friends and his family were not safe from the chatter, everywhere and all the time. And god forbid that he was nervous, because butterflies in his stomach seemed to equate to words spewing from his mouth like a fountain. So when he found himself tied up and blindfolded after a nasty run-in with some gang members, what else was he supposed to do?

"So, uh, what kind of wood is the chair I'm in made of? It feels pretty strong, but I also can't see the color to make any guesses," Jay quirked his mouth, and one of the men nearby grumbled, having put up with his incessant rambling for the better part of the hour. "Is it grainy? I can't really tell through my pants, but if it is you guys should really sand it. Splinters are no joke, even if you're wearing gloves. They always wait until you're least expecting it and then ouch, there's wood in your hand."

His company was silent, perhaps hoping that he would shut up if left unanswered. After a few beats of silence, Jay tapped his feet on the floor, an uneven rhythm that was in no way musical. He tried to think of some beat to mimic that would take his mind off of his situation. He hummed some jingles, some pop songs, and even snuck a little bit of some showtunes in there before a harsh slap to the cheek stopped him, causing Jay to cry out indignantly.

"Hey, I'm just messing around! What's the big deal anyway? You guys are the ones who nabbed me off the street, why should I listen to- mmph!"

A hand was slapped over his mouth very quickly, accompanied by a sharp shh. For once, Jay decided to listen, and heard another man in the room on the phone.

"Please sir, he's driving us insane, can't we just..."

Silence for a few minutes. Jay's heart raced at the thought of there being a man higher up waiting to get his hands on him, despite his current situation already being pretty undesirable.

"Wait, really?"

Muffled words from the other side of the line were audible now, and the man with him laughed a little, obviously relieved.

"Thank you, boss! We'll get him to you right away."

And just like that, Jay was in the air, the chair he was tied to lifted by some thug, and he squawked in surprise as he was gripped roughly by strong hands, the grunts talking amongst themselves as they brought him along. Finally, they stopped, and set him down onto a tile floor, judging by the sound of the legs hitting the ground. One ripped off his blindfold, and they immediately scurried away, leaving Jay to blink his eyes like a newborn kitten to adjust to the light.

"Ah, so you're the famed Ninja of Lightning. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Walker."

Jay finally found his sight, and discovered he was in an office, of sorts. The walls were a circle, bookshelves lining the room, except for the one area where a cabinet full of guns stood. The furniture was elegant, smooth curves and a sleek black sheen to everything made for a very intimidating look.

What was even more intimidating, however, was the figure perched on top of the desk at the far back. He looked to be young, black leather clothes contrasting with his stark white hair, combed back into a feathery undercut. Clear blue eyes stared the ninja down, and Jay felt his skin crawl under the scrutiny.

"Oh, don't tell me they harmed your vocal chords on the journey over, I've heard so much about your jabber," The man slid off the desk, striding over with quiet steps. Now that Jay was closer, he was quite tall, most definitely taller than himself.

"No, they didn't," He managed to squeak out, clearing his throat afterwards. "And how do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things," The man shrugged. "For example, I know that you were born and raised in a trash heap, your favorite food is blackberry pie, and your name is James."

"If you know so much about me," Jay's cheeks burned from hearing his birth name and from the insult towards his parents' livelihood. "Then who are you?"

The man thought for a moment before answering, almost as if questioning himself. He seemed to finally decide on an answer after a few tense moments.

"Call me Snake."

"No offense, but you don't really don't look like a Snake," Jay blurted, and the man raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I mean, you have a pretty blue, black, white color scheme going on, and snakes are usually green. You seem more like an Spider or Shark to me than a Snake. You don't give me slimy vibes."

"Thank you for the feedback," Snake nodded, stepping back a little. "I suppose I will keep that in mind for the next time I have to choose a persona to give to strangers."

"Was that a joke I heard?" Jay asked, and Snake's expression never wavered. The blonde looked at his gun cabinet for a split second before returning his gaze to his hostage.

"So, Mr. Walker, it has come to my attention that you are especially skilled in robotics, correct?"

"I mean, yeah, but-"

"What do you normally create?"

"Small robots, mostly. Y'know, can sweep things, stack bricks, charge phones, and..." Jay trailed off, mentally slapping himself. "Actually, it's none of your business what I do. You're the one who organized my kidnapping, I'm not telling you anything!"

"Hm, just as we were doing so swimmingly. Very well then," Snake walked away, returning to his desk. He once again avoided the chair, choosing to stalk Jay from his desk like a bird of prey.

"Also, consider changing your name to Falcon. Still fits better than Snake."

"I thought we had moved on from my name, James," Snake smiled amusedly. "Although Falcon does have a nice ring to it, thank you. Perhaps I will keep that one in mind."

He pulled his legs up, crossing them on his desk. It was then that Jay noticed the portrait sitting next to his knee.

"Hey, who's in the picture?"

Snake's expression darkened, and Jay's heart picked up once more at the thought of his last words being so lame.

"Perhaps you don't understand your situation. You are in no position to be asking questions, especially ones about my personal life. As far as guests go, you have been treated rather graciously, Mr. Walker. Although I do consider myself rather forgiving in the face of insubordination, I too have a limit."

Jay went quiet, at least for a few moments, but a sudden bird cry followed by a black shape swooping past his face made him shriek, and Snake laughed at his expense. He held out his arm as a black bird rested on him, and Snake gently took the note from its mouth.

"You really are quite entertaining. I might keep you just for that."

"Usually my jokes are a little more thought out than- wait, what do you mean by keep-"

"Hush, I am trying to read, James. Do be polite."

You could hear a pin drop as the man read, cool blues scanning the page. He bristled as he hit the bulk of the letter, presumably receiving bad news.

Snake scoffed, and snatched a lighter from beside him on the desk. He lit the flame, and held it up to the paper.

"Burning letters is so much safer than texting, wouldn't you agree? Plus, fire can be oh so fun to play with if done properly."

"I'm not really a big fan of fire. I guess I just don't like heat."

"I would be inclined to agree. Ice is often much more effective, anyway. It is a silent killer, with much less destruction than fire."

"Um, killer?"

"I run an organized crime ring, do you think I reached where I am by playing nice and holding hands?"

"How did you weaponize ice?" Jay asked, and then quickly backpedaled. "Uh, sorry, no questions, I'll stop."

"There are many ways, but I will indulge you with my personal favorite," Snake released his bird, the avian flying out the small window it had come in from, and stalked towards Jay. He touched a gentle hand to his bound arm, and Jay felt his breath quicken at the contact.

"I am the master of ice. Blood is half water. If I were to concentrate right now, I could freeze your veins and arteries, leaving you stiff like a doll. My ice does not melt easily, and so it creates a wonderful display if presented properly. Of course, the victim would need to be positioned correctly, but that is beside the point."

"You're sick," Jay strained against his bonds, suddenly comprehending the danger he was in. "Is killing people a game to you?"

"Not necessarily. If I kill by necessity, then deaths are quick and painless. If they have wronged me greatly, however, I enjoy watching them writhe to the best of their ability as they feel their blood freeze under my grasp."

"Then why am I here? I haven't wronged you, as far as I know, and I'm not already dead. What do you want from me?"

"I want your expertise. I am interested in your abilities. You are skilled at creating artificial life, James. While I have trained myself in many areas, capturing the essence of a living being is something I've yet to grasp."

All of a sudden, the puzzle pieces clicked in Jay's head. The color scheme, the white hair, the obsession with birds and robotics, and the ice all suddenly brought back memories that Jay forgot that he had.

"...Zane?"

The blonde smiled sadly, and then let out a small, hollow laugh.

"Ah, so you do remember. It's been a while, I know."

"Yeah, since we were toddlers."

"Are your parents well?"

"As far as I know, yeah, they're pretty good. How about your dad?"

Zane scowled, resting his chin on his hand.

"Dead. Killed in one of your little endeavors fighting Garmadon. Tasteless, really. My father deserved a death more fitting of the great mind he was than rubble crushing his body."

"I'm so sorry," Jay bit his lip, dread filling his bones. "So, uh, you're a gang leader now?"

"In a way, yes. I was already rising to power when he died, and his passing only drove me further. And now we are here," Zane gestured to the Lightning Ninja, still tied up. Jay's fingers twitched from their bound position.

"So why didn't you tell me your name off the bat?"

"What would be the point in that? None of the men under me know my name, so why I would I tell a stranger?"

"Fair, I guess. So why am I here?"

"Considering that you killed my father, I feel it is only right that you bring him back too."

"I'm the master of lightning, not a necromancer!" Jay writhed in his bonds. "And I haven't killed anyone. You're insane!"

"I'm not insane, I'm insulted you would think that way," Zane frowned. "You recall how I told you that my ice was especially cold, correct?"

"Yeah? What's that got to do with anything?"

"I have his body frozen downstairs. My ice takes an incredibly long time to melt."

"You what?" Jay shrieked. "I'm going nowhere near a frozen corpse!"

"You won't need to," Zane reassured, although his tone was anything but lenient. "I have brought you here for your mechanical skill. Together, we can bring my father back to life."

"And if I say no?"

"I have a cabinet full of guns to my side as well as the power to freeze your blood, and you're tied up at my mercy. We may have met in our earlier years, but familiarity has never stopped me from killing before."

"Uh, okay, noted," Jay said hurriedly, annoyed at himself for forgetting his situation. "So you want me to help you bring your father back to life by building him a body? But what about his memory?"

"You leave the software to me. You're here for the hardware."

"Ok, ok," Jay nodded slowly, although his mind was going a mile a minute trying to figure out how to escape. "Can you untie me though? I can't exactly build if I'm stuck here."

"You just called me insane and have been nothing but resistant this whole time. Why would I let you roam?" Zane sneered, crossing his arms. "However, I can release you to some extent, since you will be working for me."

And with that Zane untied and retied him so that his hands were still bound, but had enough wiggle room to work. Zane kept a length of rope knotted around the middle, to prevent the Lightning Ninja from breaking away.

Jay's cheeks burned at the thought of being led around like some pet, although he supposed his captivity could have been more humiliating. At least Zane was holding him by the wrists and not by some borderline kinky rope collar.

"What, don't like it?" The blonde laughed genuinely, albeit a little cruelly. He glanced over Jay, almost as if reading his mind. "I could change the positioning, if you'd rather. I was trying to spare you some dignity."

"No, it's fine," Jay looked down and away, refusing to make eye contact with the man currently holding him on a leash.

"James, if we're going to be working together, you need to be able to look at me."

"Don't call me James."

"Why not? If you call me Zane, I feel as though me calling you James is just as personal. Although I do request that you call me Snake in front of the others. I have worked for a long time to reach my status, and I would hate to have my persona crumbled by one pesky ninja."

"Fine, I'll call you Snake, just don't call me James."

"You are in no position to bargain, but I suppose I could allow you this one reward."

"Don't call it a reward, I'm not your pet," Jay hissed, and Zane raised an eyebrow threateningly. Jay gulped. "Sorry."

"Now then, shall we get started?" The blonde purred, and Jay bit his lip to stifle a snarky comeback. His stomach decided to respond for him in the form of a growl.

"Uh, actually, do you have any food?"

"Pardon?"

"I haven't eaten in a while, and nerves makes me extra hungry once I stop feeling anxious. Do you have anything to eat?"

"I'll have someone grab some food for you."

"Thanks," Jay said quietly, and silence fell over the pair, Zane staring off into the distance as if calculating something. "I really am sorry about your dad. I remember him being pretty nice."

"The last memory I have with him is the day before he died. He was telling me about his newest plans for building a robot capable of passing the Turing Test. It was shaping up to be a wonderful project, I would have loved to have seen it."

"Yeah, that would've been really cool. I wish I was better at programming, y'know? People like hardware and stuff, but it's really the code that makes a machine cool. Like, I wish I had a fraction of the capability that your dad had. Wait, if you're planning on bringing him back, that must mean that you're pretty good at coding too, right?"

"I suppose so. But what does this have to do with resurrecting my father?"

"If you miss him more for his inventions than his company, maybe you shouldn't be bringing him back."

Zane didn't say anything, but his eyes bore holes into Jay's head, blue iris filled with cold fury. If looks could kill, Jay's blood would already be solid. Just as Jay was about to backtrack and retract the statement, sensing that it did way more harm than good, Zane yanked Jay towards the side of the room, holding fast to the rope while rifling through the cabinet holding his guns.

"Z- Zane, wait, what are you-"

"Shut up."

The room was silent except for Jay's panicked breathing and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Zane pulled out a handgun, the sleek black barrel glinting in the low light of the room.

"Are you religious, Jay?"

"N- No."

"Then pick a god and pray."

Zane loaded it quickly, and pulled Jay closer before he could react, pressing the weapon against his forehead. Jay felt tears form in his eyes, the realization that he was about to die making his muscles spasm and he kicked out, landing a hit on Zane's knee but also handicapping himself, his shaky limbs betraying him as he fell to the floor.

"No-! Don't, please, I'm sorry, just please don't shoot!"

"Too late. We cannot work together, and now that you know who I am I cannot leave you alive."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise! I don't want to die!"

"Neither did my father, and yet you still killed him anyway."

"I- I think I understand why you want him back."

Zane kept the gun pointed at his head, but allowed him to continue.

"You feel like you have no one left for you. Sure, you have your cronies and whatever, but you're just lonely. And you don't have to be," Jay offered, and squeezed his eyes shut just in case the next feeling he knew was a bullet going through his brain. Seconds passed, and nothing happened. The rope around his wrists was still pulled taught in Zane's grasp, but nothing changed.

After a few more moments, Jay slowly opened his eyes to see the gun still pointed at him, but the expression on Zane's face had changed into one of uncertainty.

"What do you mean I don't have to be? I have nothing left."

"You're the master of ice, right? I'm sure Sensei wouldn't mind another student, if you're willing."

"You- you want me to join you?"

"Okay, if I'm being honest, maybe not. You did just almost shoot me. But maybe you could make some friends. It wouldn't do any harm to lower your guard a little."

Zane looked away, and the hand holding the gun shook.

"Damn it," Zane muttered to himself, voice broken, and roughly untied the ropes holding Jay's wrists together. "Just go."

"You're letting me leave?"

"Just get out before I change my mind," Zane mumbled, throwing his gun down on his desk and sitting with his head in his hands. "You're right."

"Hey, woah," Jay couldn't believe his own actions even as he performed them, but he walked towards his captor and rested an easy hand on his shoulder. "I mean, thanks for letting me go, but take care of yourself, alright? We may on opposite sides here, but I'm sure you can be a nice guy if you set your mind to it."

Zane looked up, gaze weary.

"I'm not sure about the truth of your statement, but I appreciate the sentiment. Goodbye, Jay. Perhaps this will not be our last meeting."

"Maybe not," Jay pat him once on the shoulder before walking away, finding his way out pretty easily. Sure, he could run back to his friends and storm Zane's hiding spot if he wanted to, but something told him that would just end up with Zane putting a bullet through his own head instead of Jay's. As he was greeted by the cool night air, he decided on two things.

One, he needed to go back and talk to Zane again sometime, as he was still sure that there was a good guy down there somewhere. And two, never before in his life had been so thankful for his chatter.

#ninjago #ninjago jay #jay walker #ninjago zane #ninjago fanfiction #ao3 #fanfiction #mafia au #mafia #Mob Boss!Zane #not romantic #but could be read as the start of slowburn #gun tw #kidnapping tw #toothlessturtle21 writes

22 notes · View notes

psychosistr · 4 years

Photo

FOWL Agent “Bokor Baron”

Art by @thefriendlyfour , full bio below the cut:

Physical Description: An extremely tall and buff eastern redtail hawk (otherwise known as a chicken hawk) with a physique that leaves him an inch or two larger than even the likes of Steelbeak. Mostly white feathers on the front of his body with a spotted-band of dark feathers across his broad chest, brown feathers along his back, hands, and the upper half of his head (from his beak up) with the typical speckled markings along his back and arms, and his breed’s namesake red tail feathers.His eyes are a bit odd for his species, though, with black rings around them and an intense red color that’s so vibrant it’s practically glowing (given his powers, though, it might actually be glowing for real…). Has dark brown hair/head feathers woven together in a way similar to cornrows that end at the middle of his neck.

Outfit: Wears a loose-fitting blood red top with a lighter red interior (though the actual colors can change depending on what spirits and/or deities he’s invoking) and a large black collar- typically keeps the chest part opened fairly wide to show off his strong torso and the sleeves rolled up around the elbows to do the same for his arms; has a large pocket on the right side that he reserves for small charms. Keeps his shirt tied closed with a dark purple and black striped sash which is also used for holding various larger dolls and charms as well as a well-worn brown leather pouch with a black bird-skull motif on his back-right side that holds his most powerful and dangerous charms and amulets. Pants are black leather with a purple band around the hips, but the purple part is rarely seen with how far down his top normally hangs. Accessories include a black leather-cord necklace with a circular black metallic pendant emblazoned with a white veve for one of his primary deities, several beaded bracelets on his left wrist (in black, red, white, purple, and alternating combinations of the colors), and a hat that at first looks like a rather flat black cap but is actually a collapsible top hat with a dark purple band holding a few red flowers and small bird skulls along the brim. Typically forgoes shoes and just walks around with his talons exposed.

Gender: Male.

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual and very upfront about what catches his eye.

Age: 32

Nicknames: The Baron, The Bokor, Big Red, Redtail, and Henry.

The last one is Steelbeak’s name for him and a purposeful mispronunciation of his real name rather than a nickname.

Real Name:Henri Vivant

First name is pronounced ��on-ree”.

Background:

Little Henri grew up in New Orleans as part of a long-line of Louisiana Voodoo practitioners, spending most of his childhood in a small house with his grandmother and five older siblings.

From the first time he mentioned being able to see the ghosts and spirits around him, he was taught the names of the spirits and deities to call on to help himself and others as well as the proper rituals to summon them when necessary. Kids outside of his family would tease and bully him for talking to “imaginary friends”, as they would put it, but he enjoyed the looks of terror on their faces once he learned how to invoke spirits and allow them to possess his body- revenge was something he GREATLY enjoyed.

Over time, Henri’s viewpoints began to differ from those of his family: Instead of wanting to use his abilities to help people, he wanted to use them to gain power and recognition. Instead of the more benevolent spirits and deities his family formed connections with, he sought out the more powerful and destructive ones. Instead of a simple life as a houngan, he wanted the dark powers of a bokor.

Needless to say, his family was very disappointed with his choices in life and all but disowned him by the time he was old enough to move out on his own. It didn’t take long after that for him to start using his powers to commit crimes and earn the attention of FOWL- he accepted their invitation and became a full agent at age 28.

Was partnered with Steelbeak about two years ago and to this day is still considered by the chief officer to be one of the WORST partners he’s ever had. It wasn’t hard for Steelbeak to figure out Henri, by then dubbed “The Bokor Baron”, was a two-faced snake in the grass who wanted the chief officer title and the power that came with it, even if it meant killing the current chief officer to do so. Their partnership lasted two and a half weeks before High Command finally agreed to Steelbeak’s numerous requests for a different partner.

Current Position: Active field agent for FOWL, he’s often called in to deal with more supernatural related missions (ancient magical artifacts, getting information from deceased individuals, clearing spirits out of FOWL facilities, etc.).

Personality:

Henri will act suave, gentlemanly, and cordial to anyone upon first meeting them, winning over most people almost instantly as if they are mysteriously compelled to like him…

The truth is, though, that this side of him is just an act to win people over. One of the charms he carries with him at all times increases his natural charisma and desirability to those who fall for his gentlemanly demeanor- once it takes effect, individuals under its sway will almost always be inclined to side with him during disputes, take his advice to heart, and, for those attracted to men, more often than not they end up adoring him to the point of a sort of pseudo-infatuation.

Those with a naturally higher tolerance against magic or attunement to the spiritual realms have shown resistance or even immunity to this effect. Other than the natural immunity, the only ones who aren’t affected by his charm are those who have a chance to know what he’s really like before his gentlemanly act can fool them.

To-date there are less than 10 people in all of FOWL who’ve proven immune to his charms, with High Command and Steelbeak being four of them.

Deep down, his real personality is manipulative, greedy, and power-hungry. He wants to be considered the best in whatever field he is a part of, and FOWL is no exception.

Should be noted that he does have a bit of a temper problem when things don’t go his way, often leading to him losing his composure and slipping into his much thicker New Orleans accent while cursing and throwing a fit.

Steelbeak is extremely good at provoking this reaction out of his ex-partner and does so with glee, despite it causing anyone under the other man’s charms to see Steelbeak as a horrible person for angering Henri in the first place- he doesn’t care, though, it’s totally worth it to see him blow up and lose his cool.

Interesting Bonus Facts:

Can speak both English and French fluently, and will often pretend to be French when first meeting someone to help with his gentlemanly illusion.

While he predominantly uses Louisiana style voodoo, Henri is also well-versed in hoodoo, mainly practicing it for the materials and charms that can be made from the practice.

Has cigars and rum on him at all times. The cigars are strictly for his invocations, as is the rum, but he’ll occasionally take a swig of the rum when he’s so inclined.

Can sing and dance really well, both for the sake of his rituals and invocations, and just for fun.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but his favorite song is “La Vie En Rose” because his grandmother used to sing it to him when he was little. He knows it in both English and French and will sometimes sing it when he’s stressed or having trouble sleeping

IF he ever lets someone get close enough to let his guard down around them, he might sing it for them occasionally.

Although he’ll swear up and down that he adores the way those charmed by his spells fawn over him, in reality he finds them boring and weak and could never fall for someone so simple-minded.

His ideal romantic interest would be someone with a strong enough mind and spirit to resist his charming magic, who’s assertive enough to put him in his place when he acts up without trying to “steal his spotlight”, and could see ghosts and spirits like he can so they would never think he was crazy for talking to himself.

#darkwing duck #dwd #dwd oc #my oc #FOWL #fowl agent Bokor Baron #thefriendlyfour

25 notes · View notes

copias-thrall · 4 years

Text

Whoops!

Mary makes bad decisions and Suey is exasperated about it.

(Start at the beginning)

*mentioned drug use*

You knew Mary was going to some kind of after party for opening a Battle of the Bands (which you were explicitly not invited to because apparently Mary and you can’t be trusted together), so you’d just assumed you wouldn't be seeing him.

You’re in the middle of making some tea when you hear a few thumps outside of and a scrabbling at your door. You tense—wondering if you should go for Masher—but then the door is banging open, and Mary is stumbling through, giggling … and behind him trail two women, similarly laughing.

You freeze.

You watch Mary as he tries to hang up his leather jacket—he misses, and it falls to the floor.

“Whoops,” he says, and the women laugh. He bends over unsteadily to grab the leather, then rights himself even as he lists into a wall trying to hang it up successfully. When he sees you, he’s face brightens as he holds his arms out. He’s still in his bloody shirt and ripped jeans.

“There’s my baby doll!”

When you don’t move, he gestures you to his embrace with his hands. Your eyes flick to the two women (who seem to be holding each other up)—their black hair is done if a little disheveled; both faces in differing executions of heavy, winged liner and fading red lipstick; one is in a black mod dress with studs on her boob cage and the other is in a fishnet top with black zipper jeans; and they’re both in boots with heels. You’re in the hoodie covered with food stains—the hood not only on your head, but cinched tight and tied under your chin—and your batman sleep pants with the hole from the crotch halfway down your thigh, since your laundry basket only made it as far as outside your bathroom door, because: ugh, later.

“Suey,” he whines.

The saucepan makes a gurgling noise behind you, and you make a sound of surprise. You hold up a finger to him, then turn to carefully pour the bubbling liquid into your mug—you also use the opportunity to shove your hood down and run your fingers through your ratty hair, trying your best to fluff it. There’s a low murmur of voices behind you, which you do your best to ignore.

When you finally do turn back around, Mary and the two women have moved from the doorway to your living area—he’s looking at you expectantly, and their heads are swiveling all around as they sway into each other. Reluctantly, you shuffle over to Mary, trying your best to keep your thighs squashed together.

Just when you’re within reach, Mary pulls you into him, rocking the two of you. He’s still in his full stage makeup, and he smells like he’s been sweating under stage lights all night. It’s not necessarily a nice smell, but it’s definitely one you’ve come to associate with him.

“This is her!”

The gaze of the two women snap to you, and you tense, waiting for them to appraise you … but they just grin at you. Boob Cage lunges at you—well, lunges as though she’s stuck in molasses—and takes your hand.

“Oh my god,” she says in a nasally-affection, “you do exist. We thought Mary was being grumpy.”

“Uh …”

Fishnets leans forward precariously, and you’re afraid she’s going to topple them both.

“Look at you. So cozy! My feet hurt so much.”

You quickly glance up at Mary, but he’s looking down at you with sleepy eyes.

“I-I mean … you could take your shoes off?”

“Oh my god, that’s so nice of you!” says Boob Cage.

As if their strings were cut, the two of them droop down to pull at their laces, and your hands go up reflexively in case they lurch.

“Why don’t you sit on the couch while you do that?” you grimace.

You watch as they seem to register the couch, but then Mary is tugging you toward your bedroom and rubbing his face in your hair. You allow it only because it’ll give you a chance to interrogate him (and change).

Once through your door, you round on him, but suddenly he’s kissing you—his mouth tasting like skunk spray. You push him away with a hand to his chest, and he goes easily, as if made of paper.

“You’re hot,” he says languidly as he sways.

You sandwich his face in between your palms, despite the transfer of cake makeup; you peer into his eyes and see that his pupils are blown wide. You’re no stranger to Mary showing up at the wrong end of drunk or after toking with his band—but this is something clearly different. Maybe later you’ll be angry, but right now you feel the need to caretake.

“What did you take?” you ask, trying to catch his gaze.

“Pssh,” he says, his hands clasping limply at your wrists. “Just a shared joint.”

“Just one?”

Mary stumbles back a bit, catching himself on your dresser and giggling.

“Yeah.”

“From Marty?”

Mary’s brows furrow.

“No,” he says slowly. “One of Moxie’s friends.”

“Moxie?”

“Yeah. Moxie and Roxie.” He sweeps a hand in the direction of your living area.

“Wait—” you say, suddenly distracted, “their names are Moxie and Roxie?”

“Goth names.” Mary makes a dismissive gesture. “They do everything together. Best friends since high school or something.”

He sashays toward you again, and you stop him with a hand.

“Ok … but why are they here, Mare?”

His arms still come out and encircle your waist.He pulls you into him and rubs his face on yours.

“Had to prove ‘em wrong. Had to show ‘em my hot girlfriend.”

You push him away and move toward your chair pile to paw through your clothes.

“Well, a little head’s up would’ve been nice, Mare. I look like a hobo.”

He presses into your back, his hands groping at your curves through your clothes.

“You look soft and welcoming.”

Mary presses kisses then bites to your neck, but you continue to search through clothes mountain. You extract a pair of lounge pants that you don’t wear because they’re too tight around your belly despite their softness, but at least there are no gaping holes in them. You pull two of Mary’s large tees out before discarding them—no one wears Mary’s shirts but you. Mary’s octopus arms encumber clothes searching, but you manage to find two oversized shirts of your own for Moxie and Roxie.

He squints at you. “Why do they need clothes.”

You sigh. “Mare, they’re not going anywhere else tonight, and they might as well be comfortable.”

His lips are hot and wet on your ear. “Oh? And where are they going to sleep?”

You push him away and glare at him. “Oh the couch! If they share ‘everything’ then surely they can share the fucking couch. Christ, I’m going to put some coffee on.”

Making sure to pull the hem of your hoodie down over your hips of the new lounge pants, you leave your room. Shirts in hand, you walk out into your living area, confused at first when you don’t see Moxie and Roxie. Mary stumbles after you as you investigate further.

“Oh!” you exclaim as you peer around the couch to find Moxie and Roxie sans clothes and going at it on your floor. You watch for a moment as they kiss and rub against each other before you realize that you’re being creepy.

“Just putting some sleep shirts here!” you squeak as you toss them to drape over the arm of your couch. When you turn, it’s into the solid wall of Mary’s flat chest.

“Mmm,” he rumbles. “That gives me ideas.” He presses you into the island that separates your kitchen area from your couch.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Mary,” you say in your Teacher Voice, “please go and wait for me in my room.”

“K,” he says, and then he swerves and weaves back to your room.

You press your head into your counter until you hear a particularly throaty moan, and then you sigh before making your way into your bathroom. Once there, you take a moment to sit on the closed toilet, head in hands, before performing your nightly ablutions.

When you try to make your way into your room quietly, you end up tripping over your laundry basket—but the only noise that’s made is your grunt as you fall on top of it as the soft mesh collapses. You stay there for a moment, contemplating your life choices, before scrambling into your room.

You find Mary naked and propped up against your wall, his hand flying between his legs as he jacks his hard cock. As he hears the door click shut behind you, his face turns toward you.

“Please ,” he whines. “Please touch me. Suey.”

Sighing, you clamber onto your bed and squeeze in between Mary’s back and the wall, wrapping your arms around his waist. You hook your chin over his shoulder.

“That’s it, buddy,” you breathe.

Mary leans his head back onto your shoulder as he continues to jack his cock. His mouth drops open and he pants. You snake your hand down and start rolling his balls in your hand. Mary jerks against you and grunts. You bite at his shoulder, and Mary freezes—his balls tightening and his chest heaving—before his hand continues, and then he’s spurting cum up his stomach.

“There you go, there you go,” you chant as he twitches in your arms. You at his face as he becomes limp. When you look over at his face, you see that he’s passed out, and you roll your eyes. You manage to extract yourself, and you make yourself useful by grabbing the cum towel to clean him up as best as possible.

You kick off the lounge pants and wiggle out of the hoodie—so that you’re just in one of Mary’s tees (it’s how Mary likes you)—before situating you both into a comfortable sleeping cocoon with you as the big spoon wrapped around Mary.

It’s a fitful sleep at best. To be honest, you’re a little wary of having two strangers unsupervised in your space, and you keep jerking awake, your dreams full of burglars and slasher villains. You’re sure it’s probably fine—but you’d rather not be sorry, so when you flail awake again a little after 6am, you decide to just get up. Mary doesn’t seem to have moved at all.

After tucking the covers in around him, you pull on your shortie shorts before leaving your room for the bathroom—where you flip your head upside down to brush your hair out before giving a faint line to your eye, which you smudge. Except for the dandruff you brush off your shoulders, you’re pleased with the result.

When you tiptoe the 5 steps into your living space, you see Moxie and Roxie tangled together on your floor—one pressed up against the couch and the other half under your coffee table. The sleep shirts still hang limply from your couch armrest. Sighing at the laundry you really are going to have to do later, you tug the afghan off the back of your couch and surreptitiously drape it over the two sleeping women.

Opening your fridge, you survey the contents you’re willing to spare. With a whole unopened “mega” pack of bacon, you’re feeling bacon rich—but you’re running up against your egg allowance for the week. You decide that at 2 eggs per person, you can get away with 6 if you cut them with some milk.

You find your very strong mug of tea on the counter from the night before—which you gulp half of—before getting a coffee drip going. Then you start frying up 4 slices of bacon—1 per person—expecting the smell to wake the household. When it doesn’t, you just shrug and start whisking the eggs and milk with a fork. When the bacon is done, you lay the strips out on a folded piece of brown paper bag before carefully adding the egg mixture to the frying pan. You’re not magnanimous enough, though, to add even the fake cheese that Mary prefers.

Just about when you’ve judged the scramble to be done, you hear Mary moving about in your room. You see him shuffling—squinty-eyed and hair half squashed—in your robe (and while it wraps around him better, it does fall a little short) from your room. He encounters the laundry basket like a Sim: stopping in front of it for a beat, then walking around it and into your bathroom. You begin to plate the food—a dollop of eggs, toast, and a strip of bacon each.

You can hear more than see the girls begin to move about—there’s some knocking about and a quiet murmuring of voices.

“My fucking head. The fuck are we?” you hear Fishnets yawn.

“Fuck me. Weren’t we with Mary?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t Mary’s.”

“You’re at his girlfriend’s,” you say loudly.

There’s a thump and an Ow before you see two heads pop up out of the edge of your afghan.

“There are shirts,” you say, pointing toward the armrest.

There’s a lot of shuffling about, and you turn your back under the pretense of dealing with the coffee pouring. When you hear the movement behind you stop, you turn back around. Moxie and Roxie are standing awkwardly on the other side of the island, swimming in your shirts, eyes wide and looking peaked. You note that their gray pallor and red eyes probably aren’t due to embarrassment. Smiling—hopefully invitingly—you slide the food plates and mugs toward them.

“Here,” you say, and they take both slowly.

With shaky hands, they sip the coffee. They look at each other, a whole conversation passing between them before Mary comes bustling out of the bathroom.

He looks up sluggishly before he spots Moxie and Roxie—and then he freezes.

“Good morning, Mare Bear,” you beam at him. “I have eggs and coffee for you.”

His bleary eyes dart between you and the girls. You hold up a coffee mug, and he continues toward you—albeit cautiously. When he reaches you, you turn your cheek to him and point it, saccharin smile in place.

“Uh … morning—baby doll,” he murmurs as he pecks your cheek and takes the proffered coffee.

Moxies and Roxie are giving him sideways glances as he takes his place next to you, still in your robe.

“So,” you start as you hand him a food plate, “what did you crazy kids get up to last night?”

They all look at each other shiftily, hands wrapped around coffee mugs. You dive into your breakfast.

“Dig in—please,” you chirp. “I don’t know what you guys took, but you all look like death warmed over. I think a little grease will help.”

Mary squints his eyes at you.

“Took?”

You squint back. “You guys were high as fucking kites.”

He keeps your gaze. “We didn’t ‘take’ anything, Suey. Just shared a joint.”

“Uhhh …” comes from Boob Cage.

You turn to her.

Boob Cage is looking chagrined. “It might have been laced with something.”

“Roxie!” gasps Moxie.

Roxie turns to Moxie. “I’m sorry . It’s from Kincaid … but it was free.”

“I thought we agreed to stop going to him after the Unfortunate Incident!” Moxie pinches the bridge of her nose. “You dumb fucking bitch.”

“What was the ‘Unfortunate Incident’?” you ask.

Roxie looks at you with big eyes as Moxie looks resigned.

“Kincaid sent a girl to the hospital. I guess he laced her joint with rat poison and meth or something.”

“I thought that was just a rumor,” murmurs Mary.

Moxie shakes her head. “I don’t know the girl personally … but one of her friends told me. He spent the night with her in the ER.” She turns to Roxie. “Which is why we don’t fucking get drugs from fucking Kincaid.”

Roxie just hangs her head. You feel Mary slip his arm around your waist.

“Well,” you say, “please eat some food. It sounds like you guys could use something solid in your stomachs.”

The lot of you start picking at the eggs and bacon. Moxie looks at Mary and then at you.

“So … what happened last night?”

You feel Mary tense, so you lean into him.

“You guys showed up pretty out of it, so I went to get you something to sleep in. When I came back out you were having sex with each other on the floor, so Mary and I left you to it and went to bed.”

“Oh, wow. Hey sorry. We were all having a pretty good time at the venue, I guess we wanted to include you?” She laughs.

“Mary’s always been lots of fun,” quips Roxie brightly, letting out a soft Oof when Moxie elbows her.

“Not that much fun,” says Moxie hurriedly.

You smile at them. “Oh, I know. The night we met, he fucked me in the men’s room.”

Mary—who’s only been getting tenser, his arm tightening further—looks down at you and adds, “Only because someone was fucking impatient.”

Roxies laughs. “Oh yeah! One time—”

Mary slams his hand down on the counter.

“OKAY. No need for a trip down memory lane.”

Moxie is clearly trying to communicate “Shut the fuck up” to Roxie with her eyes. Roxie furrows her brows.

“Why not? I thought we were—”

“I’m sure Mary’s girlfriend isn’t interested in parties from forever ago.”

“Oh my god, that’s right. I—” Roxie stops. “Oh! That’s why we came here!” She looks at you. “We thought Mary was just trying to blow us off.”

Moxie tilts her head. “Oh yeah – that is right.” She laughs and turns to you. “Cuz he totally shut this down.” She gestures between herself and Roxie, then seems to realize what she’s just said and grimaces.

Roxie nods. “Yeah, he’s usually—”

“He’s usually nowhere near us. Like, at all. Ever. Mary, who? I don’t know her.” Moxie gives a nervous giggle.

You cant your head up to Mary, who looks like he wants to leave his body and exist on the spirit plane.

“You told me you were a virgin.”

Mary gives you his grump face as Moxie spits out her coffee all over her eggs.

“OM MY GOD, I’m so sorry!” she says as she wipes her chin and you hand her a paper towel.

“It’s fine. Eat, please.”

Moxie and Roxie get back to their food—though Roxie looks like she wants to ask a question and knows she’s not allowed. You look at Mary’s plate and notice he hasn’t touched anything.

“If you don’t eat some of that, I’m going to feed it to you myself.”

He gives you a look like that’s actually an appealing proposal, so you hen him to the rusting cafe table and chair. You settle sideways onto his lap before scraping some eggs onto a triangle of toast, which you bring to his lips.

“Here,” you say as you cup one hand under the bread, and Mary takes a bite.

Despite the (now silent) presence of the Oxies, Mary doesn’t seem self-conscious about losing himself in eating breakfast from your hand. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that the two women are looking over at you two now and then—but you pay them no mind. Mary finishes all the food—occasionally saying Bacon when he wants a bite from that—and washes it down with the coffee himself.

Once done, he wraps his arms around your middle and rests his head on your shoulder. You carefully sink your fingers into his stiff hair so that you can lightly massage his scalp. When you look up you can practically see the hearteyes emanating from the Oxies, but you raise a finger to your lips.

When Mary shivers, you register that he’s still only in your robe, so you tsk at him.

“Go put some clothes on before you freeze.”

He sighs. “Yes, ma’am.”

You flush a little, wondering if the Oxies heard him, but you don’t look over at them.

With Mary gone and breakfast over, the Oxies begin the process of searching for their things—a slight scavenger hunt ensuing when a left shoe is found to be MIA, and which is eventually located under the couch.

As you hear Mary shuffle behind you, Moxie says, “Would you mind terribly if we wore these home?” She plucks at the top of yours she’s wearing. “You know how it is putting on last night’s clothes.”

You’re about to tell them Sure , despite your reluctance—knowing you’ll never see the tops again—when Mary steps in (now in a fresh different shirt and a pair of your sleep pants) and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Let’s leave Suey her clothes, guys.”

“Oh yeah … sure, right,” says Moxie, deflating a little.

“But you can use the shower first. If you want,” you’re quick to add, a thought that comes seemingly out of nowhere—it’s not like you want them to accept. “There are towels in … uh …” You look at Mary—who’s looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind—and ask, “Are there towels?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t do any this week, which means nothing’s clean, because heaven forbid you wash anything.”

You scrunch your face at him. “It’s better when you do it. You know I’ll just forget to put them in the dryer, and then they get all musty. And I got the basket real close!”

“You’re a disaster.”

“Oh my god—you guys are so cute,” says Roxie.

“No we’re not,” the two of you say in unison. Roxie just beams at you.

“Ok, then,” Moxie sighs wistfully. “Well, just go change. C’mon, Bitch.”

When they’re both in the bathroom, Mary looks down at you.

“What the fuck.”

You wince. “I don’t know … old habits die hard, I guess.”

“What old habits?”

“Oh. Um. Growing up? Hostessing. It used to be one of my ‘duties.’ My parents threw a lot of soirées. It was part of my ‘training’ or something. For when I was supposed to throw parties.”

You flick your hand as if to wave the information away. Mary squints down at you as if he’d like to inquire further, but then the bathroom door opens, and the Oxies emerge looking fresher even with their rumpled clothes and bare faces.

“Ok, well! I guess we’ll be going then!” chirps Moxie.

Roxie comes forward and grabs your hands. “Thanks so much for the food.”

“Oh uh, no problem.”

“You guys really are so cute.” And then before you know what’s happening, she’s in between the two of you and snapping a selfie.

“Oh, ok …” you say as Mary belatedly puts his hand up.

“C’mon, Rox,” hisses Moxies as she pulls her friend away.

“What? We have lots of pictures of Mary.”

Mary presses his fingers into his eye sockets.

As the two of them wobble into their shoes, you realize that they showed up without coats last night.

Shit.

“Uh, so … your coats.”

The two of them look at each other, then at your hooks where their coats aren’t hanging.

“Are they … not here?” asks Moxie.

You grimace at her. “I’m afraid you weren’t wearing them when you came in.”

Mary starts, but you put a hand on his arm. “Your jacket’s here.”

Roxie looks at her friend. “Oh shit. We must have left them at the club again.”

Moxie sighs. “We really need to stop doing that.”

“We’ll have to take a cab.” Roxie suddenly makes a pained face. “My wristlet with all my cards is in my coat pocket.”

Moxie’s face pales as she scrabbles in her tiny purse. “I only have $10—and you know my card is maxed out.”

There’s a pregnant moment where all four of your stare at each other.

You sigh. “I think I might have some mad money stashed about?”

“Hold on,” says Mary. He disappears into your room and reappears with his wallet.

“Mary, no … I can—” you start, but he shrugs you off.

“I got it, it’s fine.”

Mary fishes out two twenties from his worn wallet and offers the bills to Moxie. She eagerly plucks them both from his fingers, smiling.

“Thanks, Mare Bear,” she quips.

You bristle, and Mary snaps, “Don’t call me that.”

Moxie shrinks away a little. “Oh …ok. I guess we’ll just …” She throws a thumb over her shoulder as she backs toward the door.

Roxie smiles and waves. “Bye, guys!

They finally leave, closing the door behind them, and you slump. You turn to Mary.

“I can’t deal with this right now. I’m going back to bed.”

You’ve just about made yourself comfortable under your covers when Mary appears in the doorway.

“Am I allowed to join you, or …?”

“Just don’t talk.” You lift your head. “And no funny business—I’m not in the mood.”

You feel him crawl into bed with you, and then he tentatively wraps an arm around your waist. When you don’t eat it off, he wiggles closer and presses into your back.

“You’re still mad,” he murmurs into your ear.

“I’m not mad.”

“You seemed fine when—”

“Mary,” you snap, turning toward him slightly. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, ok.”

When you wake up again, it’s a little after noon and you’re sprawled over Mary’s chest.

“Hey,” he says.

“Mm,” you rumble. “You been awake this whole time?”

“Nah. Not too long.”

You’re content to continue to lie there and to suck Mary’s heat out of his body and into your own, but he’s apparently been waiting for you.

“So. You’re mad.”

You let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m not mad. I just wish you’d take better care of yourself and not bring groupies into my home with you. Rat poison? Jesus, Mary.”

You can feel Mary tense under you.

“Oh, what? Like you take care of yourself?"

You lift up to look at him “Excuse me?”

“Can we talk about the pile of mail that lives in the corner? Or the fact that you never have clean clothes? Or how you’d rather let the garbage overflow than just taking it out to the chute? You don’t think I worry about any that? Sometimes I’m afraid to not see you for too long, afraid of what state I’ll find you in when I come back. If we’re gonna talk about shit, how ‘bout we talk about that?”

You sit up. “What the fuck, Mary?! You’ve known me for—what?—6 months? When I’ve been living on my own for 5yrs? I suddenly need a big, bad, scary Mary to take care of me?! And how the fuck is any of that even close to accidentally taking meth or whatever? Yeah, I can see how similar that is to unopened mail.”

He sits up too. “That’s just a rumor! You’re really going to take Moxie’s word on it? It could’ve just been really strong weed!”

You cross your arms. “You guys were definitely on something stronger than just weed, Mary. What if something happened! I wouldn’t’ve been able to help, and you guys were beyond useless.”

“Oh so, you’re the morality police or something?”

“I’m the ‘at-least-know-what-you’re-putting-in-your-body’ police!”

“Christ—you’re acting as if I took an unknown substance for funsies from some sketchy dude in a dark alley. It was a joint from two girls I know.”

“Oh yes, it was made very clear how well you know them.”

“Is that what this is about, then? My former fuck buddies? I thought we were past our sexual histories!”

“You brought them into my home! You suggested we fuck them together!”

“No I fucking didn’t.”

“You did . Twice.”

Mary suddenly looks unsure at your vehemence.

“Well I was—”

“High off some unknown substance?”

His face contorts again.

“Shit fucking happens. I didn’t fucking do it on purpose.”

“So it’s just ok? It’s ok you didn’t know what you took? Ok that what you took made you think it was fine to bring the Oxies here?”

“I—the who?”

“The Oxies.” You make an impatient gesture at him. “Moxie and Roxie.”

“Well. That’s clever, but I’m too mad at you right now to be amused by it.”

“You’re mad? You’re mad ?! In what world do you show up high as fuck with groupies, unannounced, into my place and get to be mad at me?”

“Fine, maybe it was dumbass high logic, but it made a sort of sense.”

“Fucking how?”

“They—” He looks down, rubbing at his wrists. “Fine, they hit on me, ok? Yes, I’ve been with them in the past. But I told them no, ok? And at first they were being real pushy, like ‘why not?’. So I told them I had a girl. And they were just. They thought I was blowing them off because: who’d wanna make that kind of commitment to me? So I thought I’d show them. That you were real. That you were awesome.”

“Well … poop.”

Mary raises an eyebrow at you. “Poop?”

“Yes: poop. I still think you made some pretty shitty decisions, but I can’t deny your high logic.”

“Oh. Well. Who wins, then?”

You twist your lips. “I don’t think either of us win. I think that’s the point.”

“Well that’s fucking unsatisfying. Now what?”

You throw your hands up. “I don’t know! I can’t even make breakfast! We already had it!”

Mary thinks for a moment. “You … could make lunch?”

“Lunch … yeah,” you say nodding. “I could do that.”

“I could help?”

Lunch is a small affair. You heat up a can of minestrone soup while Mary makes “garlic bread”—by sprinkling some garlic powder on buttered bread—in the oven. The oven warms up your small space considerably—which is good because you’d shoved the afghan into the laundry basket. (“You got it so far, Suey. So far … you only had one more step.” “I’m telling you—I still would have forgotten it in the washer.”) You instruct Mary to leave the oven door open ajar—to let the residual heat waft out—and then the two of you plop down on the couch with lunch.

“I can’t believe you gave them cab money,” you say as you purposefully slurp your soup (much to Mary’s annoyance).

“Well, did you think I was going to let you give them money?” he asks as he dips his bread in until it gets soggy ( disgusting!).

You shrug. “I just wanted them to leave.” You laugh. “It kind of reminded me of when you got that cab for me, though. The bathroom night.”

“That’s what made me think of giving them the cash, actually."

You smile at him. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d go for it when I asked you to pay for me.”

“That’s because you thought I was a fuck boy.”

You give him a wry glance, and Mary shoves his hand in your face.

“Don’t be a bitch.”

The two of you finish your food and lie down on the couch tangled together, Mary grumbling about the lack of a cover. He runs his fingers through your hair and then begins to kiss you—a soft press to your lips, then to the apple of each cheek, and then an attempt to kiss your eyelids that you stymie by turning your head with a noise of disapproval. Undeterred, he works his way down to your neck—adding his teeth—as a hand snakes under your shirt, running lightly over your belly before continuing up to its real objective. He grabs a handful of one of your tits, and rolls it around in his palm.

Despite where his head’s at, yours is somewhere else entirely.

“What are their real names?”

“Hmm?”

“The Oxies? Do you know their real names?”

“No, why would I know that?”

“Pillow talk.”

He looks up at you, his ministrations stopping. “Jesus, Suey.”

“What?”

“Can we not talk about the Oxies right now? Or, like, ever?”

“All right.” You trace circles on his back through his shirt as he gets back to it. “Should I have a Goth name?”

“What?”

“Should I have a Goth name?”

“No, I heard—no. You already have a Goth name.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. ‘Suey’.”

You scoff. “That’s just the nickname you gave me.”

“It’s ironic. I’m very clever, see.”

“Whatever.”

His hand slips down and presses in between your leg in pulses, and you gasp, your hand sliding down to grab at his ass.

“Mmm—now I’ve got your attention.”

He brings his hand back up to suck his fingers into his mouth before he’s making use of the gash in your pants to slip them in between your lips. He’s just started rubbing at you in earnest, but it’s not what you want.

“Oh fuck … eat me, Mary,” you pant.

Mary doesn’t even hesitate, he just slides down your body—yanking the material out of the way—and wiggling his tongue in between your lips to lap steadily at your nub. You moan, grabbing what tufts of his hair you can. His tongue laps and presses and taps, and you rock into him as you gasp with each movement. He pulls you by your thighs into his mouth, and he inserts a finger into you.

“Oh god, another,” you cry out, fingers clenching into the roots of his hair.

He pulls his one finger out, and then swiftly reinserts it with another. You make an embarrassingly high pitched moan and clench around his digits, head lolling back into the couch. Encouraged, Mary laps at your clit faster as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, angling them until you twitch at contact with your G-spot.

You’re panting and squeaking out little noises of pleasure as Mary builds and coaxes your orgasm—pointing his tongue so he can press at your clit, then relaxing it so he can swirl around it before flattening the muscle to run it roughly over the growing hardness. You can feel your climax growing at your clit throbs and the sweetness of the pleasure starts to expand. It starts deep in your cervix and spreads outwards, little sparks stoking the fire at each flick of his tongue until you feel your pussy tightening around his fingers.

“Don’t fucking stop!” you cry out.

He tap tap taps at your G-spot, and you find yourself arching off the couch with a moan before your climax breaks, bursts of purple behind your eyes as you go Ah ah ah ah in time to the pulse and spasm of your cunt.

Mary knows exactly what you like, giving you slow, languorous laps and gentle thrusts of his fingers as you ride your orgasm out. You’re sloppy and boneless, and Mary nibbles the inside of your thigh before tilting his head to look up at you, head pillowed on your other thigh.

“Can I fuck your tits?”

You laugh. “Yeah, ok.”

Mary wipes his mouth off with the edge of your ripped clothes, and you tetch at him.

“Go get the lube,” you say as you begin to squirm out of your shirt.

Mary—who’d been just about to yank his (obscenely-tented) pants down, whines.

“It’s in the other room, can’t we just—”

“I know you could give a fuck, but you’re not spitting on my tits, Mare.”

He pouts, but scampers off to get your bottle of lube. You’re out of the band tee, your nipples beginning to pebble, before he comes back with the item in hand.

“You need to keep better track of your shit. I found it under a pile of what I think you said were clean clothes,” he says as he set it on the coffee table.

“You moved my piles?” You frown.

“I lifted the bottom of one and carefully extracted this.”

“Because I know where everything is.”

“Mhm,” says Mary as he shimmies out of your sleep pants, his cock now only half hard. He climbs back onto the couch—straddling your waist—and reaches down with a dry hand to fondle each tit and thumb each nipple. Turning, he gives the bottle a few pumps to fill his hand with the lube, which he generously applies to your sternum and breasts.

A few more pumps, and he’s coating his cock—stuttering out a grunt with eyes closed—as he strokes himself, with wet squelches, back to full hardness. Once satisfied, his eyes open, and he wipes the excess off on your chest.

You make a face at him, which he ignores.

“Hold your fucking tits together,” he rumbles lowly.

As Mary positions his cock, you squish your tits together, fingers interlacing for a better grip. Before you’re even settled, Mary starts thrusting, the shiny, pink head of his cock appearing and disappearing from your cleavage. You look at him, but his gaze too is fixated on where your décolletage swallows his member. Your eyes are drawn to watching his stomach muscles contract as he thrusts.

Mary starts thrusting faster, exclaiming “So soft!” in between grunts.

Because of the lube, your fingers are starting to slip, causing Mary to grumble whenever you readjust.

“Keep them tight!” he pants.

You decide to add in some dirty talk to distract him.

“Mmm … you like my tits?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“They’re so big and soft.”

Mary grunts. “So big.”

“Do my great big tits feel good around your cock?”

“Fuck, so good.”

“Do you like how your cock looks in between them?”

Mary speeds up. “Fuck—your tits are so big. I can’t even see my dick.”

“Mmm, I bet you can’t wait to cum all over me. Maybe I’ll catch some in my mouth.”

Mary’s eyes close and his jaw drops.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna cum on your tits.”

You think he means that once he shoots his load, your tits will be covered, but instead he draws back and starts jacking his dick. You squeeze your breasts—which are now shiny with lube—and then Mary’s grunting as he shoots his release over each one. After he’s that satisfied he’s squeezed all the cum out, he settles his weight onto your abdomen and slumps.

“Fuck,” he says as he runs his fingers through the mess. “You look so hot covered in my cum.”

“Your kink is showing.”

He smirks at you. “Mebbe.”

Taking your discarded sleep pants, he wipes off your chest before snuggling into you. When you glower at him, he sighs.

“Jesus, I’ll do a load before I leave, ok? Can we just lie like this for half a second?”

“Yeah ok,” you say.

This is more Mary’s thing than it is yours, but you’ve learned to enjoy it as long as he respects your time limits. Despite your sticky chest, Mary presses his face into your clavicle, a hand resting on a tit, and one leg over yours. You card your fingers through his hair and press a kiss or two into the crown of his head—happy to make him happy.

“What’re your plans?” you ask after a bit. “I wasn’t really expecting to see you today.”

You feel Mary huff against your skin.

“I really should go back. Not that any of us thought we’d be working today, but we’re trying to ride the holiday momentum.” He looks up at you. “I might be a little scarce, but it should break before New Year’s.”

“Ok.” You think for a moment. “I’ll be away for a couple of days for Christmas … but I’ll be back for New Year’s.”

You’d accepted an invitation to spend a few days with a few college friends at a mutual friend’s house warming extravaganza—he married a rich girl who could hang, and they’re going all out for their tree trimming. You’re cautiously hopeful at seeing the gang again. You hope no one loses a hand.

“Family?” he asks cautiously. You explain to him. “Ah. Yeah. The band is doing its usual thing. But … there’s a New Year’s party?”

“Ok.”

Mary traces his finger up and down your torso. “You could … come if you wanted?”

You bury your nose in his hair. “I could do that, Mare.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You feel Mary melt a little further into you, and you extend your internal time limit.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

#mary goore #feral cats fic #gutter punk #gritty girls #my writing #original post #original content

32 notes · View notes

nicolewoo · 4 years

Text

Are you a dom?

Pairing: Roman Reigns X Reader Joe Anoi X Reader

Warning: Smut!

I was doing the dishes when he wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Baby girl.” He purred in my ear. “Can you do me a favor tomorrow?”

I thought back to last night and decided to breach a sensitive subject we needed to handle. “Yes, daddy.” I answered half as a joke and half to bring up the subject.

“Can you....” He stopped mid-question and tensed up. “Did you just...” He stopped talking.

“Call you daddy?” I finished as I placed my arms over his. I could feel he had tensed up and was standing straight upward towering over me.

“Why?” He asked tentatively.

“Ummmm. Did you know you talk in your sleep?” I practically whispered as I looked down.

He turned me around to face him. “Look at me,” He hooked a finger under my chin and lifted my face until I could see him. “What did I say in my sleep?”

“You said I was a good girl, and daddy was going to reward me.” I answered. He let out a frustrated breath.

“Did I say anything else?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“You asked for my hands and feet and then told me I looked good tied up.”

He looked crestfallen. “Anything else?”

“No.” I took a deep breath before asking. “Joe, are you a dom?”

He paused for a second. “Are you a sub?” He asked.

“I...” I really wasn't sure. “I've dabbled. I've done some things, but I.... I never found anyone willing to explore with me.” Just saying it out loud made me feel better; like it had been a huge secret I just let out.

With that, he softened a bit. “What have you tried?” He asked.

“Spanking, being tied up.” Those were easy enough to admit to, but what I was about to admit was a secret only known by me and one of my exes. I had to look away from him to say it. “I tried nipple clamps, a cat of nine tails and a riding crop.”

“And did you like those?” He wasn't the least bit fazed by my admission.

I flushed a bit as I admitted, “All except the nipple clamps.” I tried to look down, but he held my chin firmly in place.

He spoke softly as if trying to be gentle with me. “Baby girl, I'm not a dom, but I do like to be dominant in bed sometimes. I didn't know that was something you wanted. Is it?”

He tilted my head back with his hand. “Look at me.” I obliged. “Do you want to be my sub?” His voice sounded so soft.

“I... I don't... don't know. Would it be a 24/7 thing like in 50 Shades? I'm sorry. I don't know how this works.”

He raised his hand to my cheek and stroked it with his thumb. “No. It's not like that. If we choose to try this, we will continue on like we are now, but there will be times when I want to dominate you in bed, and I'll expect you to follow my orders. Does that sound good? Do you want to try that?” When I shook my head yes, he kissed my forehead. “Good.” He let out a sigh of relief. “We're gonna have to have a long talk later, but first, do you have safe words?”

Just talking about this had me so turned on. “Yellow and red.”

“Good. And do you trust me?” He kissed the tip of my nose. I nodded yes as his mouth trailed down my cheek to my jawline. “How about we try just the things you've already tried right now?” His lips wrapped around my pulse point of my throat sucking as he snaked a hand into my hair and gently pulled my head back. I couldn't get up the courage to answer him, so I shook my head yes. “Use your words, baby girl. Do you want daddy to dominate you?” He prompted as his lips tortured my throat while his hips pressed against me, and I felt his erection. My core clenched, desperate to find relief.

“Y.... yes... uh.... daddy.” I stuttered out.

“Try that again without stuttering.” He still sounded gentle.

“Yes daddy.” I managed to sound more sure this time.

“Come sit on my lap.” He grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. He sat on the couch and pulled me onto his lap. “I need you to understand some things.”

Now? He needed to explain now? I was already worked up, and feeling his huge dick against my ass was only making things worse. “Yes daddy.”

He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Daddy doesn't have any toys right now. We'll have to get some, but I can spank you and tie you up today. Will that be enough for now?” He brushed my hair behind my back and kissed my neck softly. I squirmed at the feeling and tried to wriggle my way closer to his dick. “Whoa. Slow down, baby girl. I'll take good care of you, but you have to be patient.”

“I'm not good at being patient.” I explained.

I could feel him smile against my neck. “I'll have to teach you.” That sounded like fun. “Answer my question. Do you want to be tied up and spanked?” I felt my core clench at the word spanked.

“Yes, please, daddy.” I felt him inhale as I spoke.

“One more thing before we go play. I'm going to get you some nipple clamps, and I'm going to show you how pleasurable they can be. Do you understand?” When I agreed, he pulled me off his lap and led me to the bedroom.

He kissed my forehead softly when we got to the room. “Take your clothes off, baby girl.” I did as instructed and he continued on. “The first thing you need to know is that YOU have all the power. You decide when things have gone too far. You tell me what you need. It's my responsibility to keep you safe and to bring you pleasure. Second, you will follow my instructions when we are in here. Even if you don't like it.”

I furrowed my brow. “That doesn't make any sense.”

He smiled down at me fondly, “It will make sense. I will push your boundaries to get you to try new things, to feel new things. If I push you too hard, you need to use your safe words. Does that make sense?” He brushed my cheek with his thumb as I agreed. “Good girl. Bend over my lap, baby girl.” He took my hand and pulled me over his lap. His large, warm hand stroked and grabbed my ass. The anticipation of the eventual spank was driving me crazy, but I didn't have to wait long. His hand came down hard, the sound filling the room. I cried out in pain and then moaned in pleasure as the pain turned to tingling and he stroked my ass again.

“Was that ok, baby girl?” His low voice rumbled my core. He sounded so intense.

“Yes, daddy.” I moaned out.

His hand slapped my other cheek then gently rubbed it. “You're doing very good, baby.” The third spank caused me to moan and he growled. “Good girl. Can you count the spanks for me?” His hand neared my core as he massaged the soreness out.

I licked my lips. “That was three.”

“Very good.” His hand drifted nearer my core. Spank.

“Four.” I barely made a noise.

His hand brushed against my slit. “You're so wet,” he said as he slipped a finger inside me.

“Daddy!” I cried out needing more. “Please!” I begged. He pulled his finger out and moved his hand back to my ass, where he smacked hard again. “F f five.” I stuttered out. “Please daddy!”

I could hear his low chuckle. “You have no patience, little one. I told you we have to work on that, and I'm starting now.” Spank.

“Six.” I hissed out. He rubbed the soreness out of my skin and picked me up like I was a rag doll. He laid me down on my stomach and grabbed my wrists pulling them behind my back roughly. The movement only made me hornier, and I cried out in delight.

I heard Joe remove his belt and felt the leather wrap around my wrists. He pulled the belt way too tight, but I didn't want to complain. “Good job, baby.” He took off his clothes before he lifted my hips and slid a pillow under me. “Now THAT's a beautiful sight. Your red ass and wet pussy waiting for me.” His words made my core clench. He slid his hand over my ass and down to my core, lightly brushing my lips. “So fucking wet.” He growled out. He kissed both of my ass cheeks before slamming his cock deep in my pussy violently.

“Fuck!” I yelled as he stretched me. My scream dissolved into a moan as I adjusted to him.

“You like this?” he barked at me.

My voice was husky, “Yes daddy.”

He growled again as I felt his cock jerk inside me. He pulled out quickly, and I mewled out at the emptiness. “That's all you get for now.” He chuckled down at me. I felt his fingers brush against my lips again, and I tried to push back hoping for relief. “So greedy.” He observed. “I was going to lick you, but you pushed against me. Good girls aren't that greedy.” He teased and I whined in disappointment. He walked up next to my head. “Look at me.” I did and he grabbed my hair roughly as he put his face just inches from mine. “Can you be good for daddy?”

I nodded my head as much as I could in his grasp, “Yes daddy.”

“Good,” he said as he walked back behind me. Without any warning he slid his tongue inside me. My instinct was to cry out in pleasure, but I didn't want him to stop, so I held it in. His hands massaged my ass as he fucked deep inside me with his tongue. His face was flush against me, and I could feel his tongue exploring me. I couldn't hold on anymore, and I came hard. He moaned in pleasure as he sucked my cum out of me. Just as I was coming down from my orgasm, he removed his tongue and slammed his dick into me again.

“Baby girl,” he practically whispered, “From now on, when we play, you're only allowed to cum when I say. Understand?”

“Yes daddy. I promise. I couldn't stop myself, daddy.” I admitted.

His hands began running over my body as he spoke. “I understand.” He pulled his dick almost completely out of me and pushed back in before stilling again. “That's as much my fault as yours, sweetheart. I didn't realize you were so close.” He pulled out and back in again. “As I get to know you're body better, I'll be able to learn your signs.” He began a slow, steady pace.

The thought of him learning my body made me melt inside. I couldn't wait for him to explore me and for me to explore him.

He dug his fingers into my hips and guided me as he fucked faster and faster into me, cooing out praises, and encouraging me.

“There's daddy's good girl.”

“You feel so great around my dick.”

“Yes baby, buck your pussy against my dick.”

“Daddy!” I cried out. “Please,” I begged.

I heard a chuckle on his lips. “You need to cum again?” he asked.

“Yes, please, daddy.” I half moaned.

“You can cum baby. Cum as much as you want.” He said, and I did. I screamed his name out “Joe!”

“Mmmhmmm, baby girl. Cum all over daddy's big cock.” Fuck! His words made my orgasm last longer. “Keep cumming for me.” He pounded into me wildly. He adjusted his position to get even deeper inside of me, making me feel even better. Better than I'd ever felt. Another orgasm rolled over me like a wave. “Good girl.” I heard the tension in his voice. He was getting closer to cumming. “Fuck, baby. You're so tight.” He stopped talking and grunted as he came, bucking wildly into me.

As he started to recover, he undid the belt that tied my hands together, removed the pillow under me and laid down next to me, gently massaging my wrists. “How was that?” he pulled me onto his chest.

I moaned in pleasure, and he kissed my forehead. After a few minutes, he hooked a finger under my chin and raised my head so I was looking at him. “You REALLY need to learn some patience.”

“I'll try.” I promised.

He kissed me, “I'll be happy to teach you.” He smiled down at me.

#roman reigns joe anoi

78 notes · View notes