#tw smut

brad dourif characters x reader headcanons: marriage

marriage isn’t for everyone but if you did tie the knot, there is no way it wouldn’t be a wild ride with all of them, one way or another. warning for smut (mild).

charles lee ray

• no one could ever accuse this man of being a romantic
• (except he really, really is)
• legally he doesn’t care if you get married or not
• but you suggest it first (not a proposal) and you both mutually agree to it
• then he sort of proposes (with a ring and flowers) after you’ve already agreed
• if you want a legal marriage it would have to be before any of his murders are he is known to the police
• (he’s already known for petty crime but getting married would really blow his cover if he’s already a wanted murderer)
• you go to the nearest courthouse and have a bare minimum ceremony
• he wears the nicest suit he already owns
• and you go out and get a white dress that you could wear again to a bar
• you sign the papers
• then you consummate your love in the ladies toilets
• whether you go on honeymoon depends on how much money you have at the time
• either you go to a tacky wedding motel or you stay in and don’t leave the apartment for a week
• either way you’re having a lot of sex
• like seriously

jack dante

• it’s hard work to get him to actually go through with the wedding
• he is actually the one to propose to you
• after sex of course
• “babe, we should like, get hitched”
• he means it, he does, but maybe in a more metaphorical way??
• it takes some nagging but you finally get him to go down to the courthouse with you
• there is definitely a legal/financial aspect of your marriage
• like he may be the wild card employee but he gets paid ludicrously well for everything he contributes to the company (and to try and keep a little bit under control)
• if something happened to him (and he has no doubt one day bob might just have him bumped off) he may as well give everything to you, there’s no one else for it to go to
• neither of you dress up for the ceremony
• but you do buy some tacky bridal lingerie to wear underneath
• another bare minimum ceremony
• it’s not your first rodeo doing it in a public restroom
• it’s almost romantic, a repeat of your first time
• the white lacy panties are surprisingly very appreciated
• you have to convince him to move back to his old apartment together now that you’re married instead of hiding away at CHAANK
• he honestly probably forgets you’re even married until you bring it up

billy bibbit

• he proposes to you
• one day while you’re at home on a sunday afternoon
• lay together on the couch while you read
• “h-hey, i h-h-have sssomething to a-ask you”
• his stutters gets a tiny bit worse and you worry something is up
• “l-l-listen, I-I rrreally love y-you a-a-a-and I-” he has to pause and collect himself
• but you already know what he’s going to ask and you can’t keep from smiling
• “w-will you m-m-mmmarry me?”
• you throw your book aside and throw your arms around him
• “yes! yes, of course I will billy!”
• billy is a good christian boy so you have a good christian church wedding (unless you have other religious/secular preferences)
• it’s a very small wedding
• only your favourite family members and closest friends come
• same with billy
• he feels incredibly guilty for not inviting his mother, but he hasn’t seen her since he finally discharged himself from the hospital
• you reassured him and remind him that this is the start of your lives together
• he looks so dapper in his suit
• you help him pick it out
• he insists he doesn’t want to see your dress until the big day
• he cries when he sees you walk up the aisle
• loves calling you his wife, and you calling him husband makes him feel wanted
• puts your wedding photo in every room and carries it around in his wallet

sheriff brackett

• he didn’t expect he’d ever find someone he’d want to marry
• (what with his last marriage ending the way it did)
• when he realises he’s truly in love with you, and you with him, he plans his proposal
• it’s nothing extravagant but it’s absolutely perfect
• you have a romantic dinner together and he does a whole speech about how much he loves you
• and you see where it’s going but you let him go on for a minute until you’re like “do you want to ask me something?”
• he flusters about it but is very cute and finally pops the question
• “i - sweetie, i’d be honoured to make you my wife, will you marry me?”
• you have a church wedding (unless you have other religious/secular preferences)
• close family and friends only
• cries when you walk down the aisle
• annie gets very invested in helping with the planning and is probably more bothered about it than either of you are
• you have a (very) classy dress
• loves that he can call you his wife now !! the sheriff’s wife !!
• reception at your house, classic buffet
• lowkey you both cannot wait untl everyone just leaves
• *wink wink*
• you do have a first dance in private though after everyone leaves
• you’re both soft and giggling and the song is a cheesy love song but it’s perfect
• your wedding night is the height of romance
• your bridal lingerie really does it for him
• what better start for your marriage than him making you cum so many times that you lose count?

doc cochran

• you and doc didn’t think you’d get married at all
• neither of you felt the need to make anything official
• you both consider yourself as his common law wife anyway
• but something happens (either you get pregnant or some unrest with the camp politics makes the future seem uncertain) you decide you may as well tie the knot officially
• there’s no real proposal, he just sort of asks
• you go to the Grand where E.B (being mayor) unfortunately has to officiate
• you don’t intend to invite anyone, saying it is no one elses business
• but people catch wind (i.e. al, trixie and jane, merrick, maybe sol and seth) and basically invite themselves
• you wear your best dress
• and doc doesn’t half scrub up well
• Al invites you both back for a drink at the gem which you accept
• (“only one though, al” “sure, sure, you gotta get back home - the marriage bed is waiting - I understand”)
• the marriage bed is waiting though and you get kind of emotional when you go home together for the first time as husband and wife
• funnily enough no one shows up at doc’s that night for treatment and you have the whole night to yourselves

grima wormtongue

• it takes you both a long time before you admit your feelings for each other and commit to having a relationship rather than a friends with benefits situation
• marriages move fairly quickly in middle earth
• no sooner are you engaged are you at the alter
• wedding is moderately fancy because grima is doing pretty well being the king’s adviser
• few people actually show up who don’t have to be there though because neither of you exactly have a lot of friends
• grima almost clams up when it comes the ceremony because he doesnt want to say all this personal stuff about how much he loves you in front of other people
• but you both get through it and finally, finally you are properly married
• he’s very emotional when you consummate your marriage but he tries to hide it
• (but you know him too well)

tommy ludlow

• he proposes one morning after sex
• it’s only just getting light and you both have to get up for work soon
• you’re still sweaty and his face is pressed into your neck
• and in hushed tones you whisper back and forth
• “will you marry me?”
• it takes you a second to process what he said, “you wanna get married?”
• “if you’ll have me”
• you kiss him and whisper “yes”
• it’s a church wedding for you and tommy (unless you have other religious/secular preferences)
• he has a pretty big extended family and he has to invite them all
• your dress and his suit are second hand
• (because you’re saving for better things)
• laura takes a lot of photos for you
• including the classic confetti toss one as you leave the church
• takes you ages to comb all the confetti out of tommy’s hair afterwards
• cheesy first dance at the wedding reception
• you can tell tommy is nervous so you joke around and make sure he doesn’t take it too seriously
• when you get home? goddamn you ride him like there’s no tomorrow
• (still in your wedding dress)

leo nova

• it’s go big or go home with him
• 80s fashion at its best
• your dress is worth more than the rent on your old apartment
• he doesn’t see it before the wedding
• you’re surprised at how many traditions he sticks too despite him having the emotional range of a teaspoon
• not many people get an invite to the ceremony but it’s a wild after party
• like a bunch of coked out 80s gangsters ?? amazing
• the honeymoon is next level
• you go to some tropical holiday resort (caribbean, thailand or spain) and it is all sun, sex and sangria for two whole weeks

tucker cleveland

• didn’t think he’d want to get married again
• but in reality he just didn’t like his first wife all that much
• takes you out to dinner and proposes
• when you say yes he is honestly relieved
• but because he doesn’t want to get emotional he calls over the waiter to get your free dessert
• courthouse wedding
• you do insist he wears a suit though and you buy a white dress
• does the whole “just married” thing on the back of his truck
• actually takes you on a honeymoon (sort of)
• you go out of state and stay in a motel for a week
• (vigorous sex ensues)
• now you’re married good and proper you can be his good little wifey

brad dourif characters x reader headcanons: lingerie

i’m liking doing these headcanons lists for maximum coverage for all our faves. lingerie is is a thing !! and all of them would go crazy for you (even if some of them aren’t very proactive (i’m looking at you jack)). any more requests for these lists are welcomed !! warning for smut(mild).

charles lee ray

• loves loves loves when you wear lingerie
• makes him weak at the knees tbh
• will buy new lingerie for you for any occasion
• your birthday? new panties. christmas? festive set. got a good deal on beer at the store? bralettes. halloween. sexy ‘costume’. fourth of july? get ready to disrespect the flag in star spangled lingerie.his birthday? crotchless panties.
• as much as he loves you in lingerie, he loves taking it off you even more
• makes an event of it
• or just rips it off you depending how horny he is
• goes feral if you buy your own lingerie as a surprise
• “chucky” you shout from the bedroom “won’t you come to bed?”
• complains that he is busy (he isn’t) but slouches into the bedroom anyway
• he gives a nasty smirk when he sees you’ve got all dressed up for him
• but he can’t hide his wide eyes
• he’s in love
• “very pretty panties, but I want what’s underneath”

jack dante

• has the exact same opinion on lingerie as every teenage boy
• it’s sexy, but he can’t tell one bra from another
• the skimpier the better
• his favourite past time (apart from guns) is looking through lingerie catalogues and porn magazines (which he considers basically the same thing)
• if by chance something catches his eye he will buy it for you
• but that is rare
• don’t get him wrong, if you wear lingerie for him he will be drooling
• but also know it all looks the same to him
• will steal your underwear for nefarious purposes

billy bibbit

• if you wear lingerie he is all yours
• (not that he ever isn’t)
• “billy, come see what I bought today”
• genuine jaw drop
• you may need to give him a minute or two to recover
• but once he calms down you can get him all flustered again
• he is very, veryappreciative
• loves the cutesy pink or white lingerie more than the super 'sexy’ stuff
• but that works for you
• he might combust before he could actually buy you any lingerie as a gift
• but you know what he likes and do a perfect job picking out your own
• “y-y-you lo-ook like an a-angel”
• honestly even if you’re just wearing normal underwear he worships you
• very considerate of the safety of your panties so does not damage them when he ravishes you
• if you wear a summer dress with pretty lingerie underneath it makes him melt
• takes his time peeling it off until you’re squirming

sheriff brackett

• he’s too old for lingerie on its own to really get him going
• that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think you look phenomenal in it
• he does
• but it’s definitely more of just a fun thing for you to do that is cute and sexy for him
• it’s playful
• and if you feel cute and sexy? that is what gets him going !!
• feels very honoured if you wear sexy lingerie for him
• (and will be just a little he flustered)
• he does not feel worthy (he totally is)
• respectfully peels your fancy panties off unlike some people (jack, charles, need I say more) who will just rip it to shreds
• as responsible as you both are, you play games with him by wearing something very sexy (and tasteful of course) under your regular clothes
• so when he sees you around town during the day he has a reminder of what’s in store that night

grima wormtongue

• is lingerie even a thing in middle earth?
• really it’s a case of how little you can wear under your dress
• if you’re in a dark corner somewhere and his hand goes sneaking under your dress and you are not wearing undergarments? he is going to lose it
• just to knowing you have nothing on has him over thinking all day
• when you take off your dress to reveal nothing underneath?
• he will lose it
• will ravish you

doc cochran

• sexy lingerie in 1876 was really something wasn’t it
• doc is a simple man, he doesn’t care what you wear or how provocative your undergarments may be
• he loves you anyway
• thinks you are way too beautiful to be with him
• which is why you like getting dressed up for him to show that he’s the only man you want peeling off your undergarments
• get playful with it because doc gets flustered like no ones business
• it’s risky business with how often people just barge on in but sometimes you’ll wear as little as possible and wait for him to get home
• he comes home and you’re waiting in bloomers and your corset
• once he finishes blushing he says “and what’s all this in aid of, darlin’?”
• “welcome home, doc”

tommy ludlow

• has seen his fair share of sexy models
• you’re by far his favourite
• (“none of 'em even come close to you”)
• loves to see you in lingerie, especially if you’ve been dressed very casually all day
• and then suddenly you turn into this stocking clad vixen?
• holy shit
• not that you’re not a vixen 24/7
• but slap a garter belt on and tommy is all yours
• all the fashion photography has rubbed off on you
• tommy buys a camera and takes polaroids of you in lingerie
• (what can he say, you’re his favouritemodel)
• loves on lazy mornings when you get up to make coffee while just wearing panties and a shirt
• (one of his shirts?)

leo nova

• loves lingerie on you
• now he’s got the money he buys the real high end designer brands for you
• which works for you because it is top fucking quality
• silk, lace, straps everywhere
• you are like that rich bitch in the lingerie and flowing mesh+fluffy dressing gown who’s sugar daddy might die in an accident
• tries not to show it but fucking drools over you if you do like a sexy strip tease for him

tucker cleveland

• has simple tastes
• you could be wearing your cheapest underwear and he would still think you’re drop dead gorgeous
• won’t necessarily buy you lingerie
• (unless he’s been away for a while on a job, he brings you something back as a present)
• but if you buy it yourself he will be very appreciative
• so appreciative in fact he won’t even wait for it to come off
• totally happy to just pull your panties to the side and get busy
• “you got all dressed up for me, i oughta show how much i appreciate it”

bonus:tiffany valentine (was inspired to add tiff because of the vibes of thispost)

• she loves loves loves when you wear lingerie
• fashion queen that she is, she owns her fair share of sexy underwear + accessories so knows exactly what she’s looking for when she shops for you
• your lingerie with tiff is slightly more adventurous; corsets, garters, shape wear, vintage bras, stockings
• she is the most appreciative of the lingerie as it’s own art form
• has the most fun with it, you can wear matching lingerie and doll each other up
• before ruining your looks by having very passionate sex obviously

chop top sawyer x reader (smut hc)

okay but chop top going down on his s/o and the radio is on and he makes them sing along to the songs they know so that he can hear their voice hitch and they can’t help but moan but he makes them keep singing as long as they can until he makes them cum

been an angel all year

ahh i was going to wait until christmas eve to post this, but i got to excited once i finished it !! with great pleasure, i gift this christmas fic to @pharmacykeys !! ahh i hope you enjoy and have a very happy holiday season fem!reader x bo sinclair on christmas eve. and of course some domestic sinclairs content because i cant resist. this is a long one warning for smut.

You could have sworn that time moved differently in Ambrose. No sooner had the leaves started turning brown and drifting sadly from the trees, was the frost settling in every morning. And then, before you knew it, it was nearly Christmas and you’d done nothing to prepare.

It had taken you literally going into the next town over with Bo on a supply run for you to even realise the festive season had arrived. Strings of fair lights lined shopfronts and Christmas music was playing in every goddamn store you walked into.

“Wait,” you said, looking around somewhat bewildered, “Wait, what’s the date?”

Bo shrugs, “How should I know?” But he routes through the pocket of his work trousers and pulls out a quarter for the newspaper rack. He pulls out the paper and looks for the date, “December 21st.”

“The 21st?” you repeat, aghast. No way was it nearly Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas and you hadn’t even noticed? “We haven’t even decorated the house or bought – bought any food or,” you miss a beat in realisation, “We don’t have any presents!”

Bo was looking less than impressed as he tried to keep walking up the sidewalk, but you kept stopping in horror each time you realised something else you hadn’t done.

“Look, darlin’, we don’t really ‘do’ Christmas, or any of that crap,” he insists, grabbing your elbow to get you to keep walking. He had a to-do-list today and he didn’t want to be away from town any longer than he had to be.

“Aw, Bo, c’mon! We have to do something,” you complain, but follow him anyway, “I love Christmas! Please, can’t we do something?”

Bo grumbles, not wanting to have this argument right now. Christmas hadn’t been particularly awful for him as a kid, him and his brothers actually did pretty well, but there was always a tension simmering just below the festive façade his family put on that unnerved him. There was too much possibility of something going wrong for his liking.

“Look,” you persist, “I’ll sort it all, you don’t even have to lift a finger. If you let me sort it now while you’re getting the regular supplies then I’ll be finished before we have to start heading home. Deal?”

You look up at him hopefully. You see something cross his face, but you’re not sure what it is.

He hesitates before answering. “Fine.” He goes for his wallet, taking out one of two twenty-dollar bills that is in there.

“Thank you!” you squeal, kissing him on the cheek and practically hopping around as he hands you the money.

“We have a tree and decorations and shit back home, I’ll get ‘em outta the basement if you really want ‘em, so don’t go wastin’ that money. Meet me back at the truck at 4. You come even 1 minute late and there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”

“Message received and understood,” you nodded firmly, before disappearing back down the sidewalk.

Bo watches you for as long as it takes for you to be absorbed by the crowd. He’s really started to regret letting you go off alone.

*

The ride home is probably more fun for you than it is for Bo. You chatter relentlessly about all your favourite things about the festive season and what you used to do as a kid and how the house will look so nice all decorated. Bo, to his credit, listens to you, nodding at appropriate times, but mostly focussing on the road ahead.

*

Despite your excitement, your festive plans are put even further on hold by an unexpected arrival. It took a few days for the atmosphere in town to calm down enough and for Vincent to finish up his new project before you could herd everyone into one place and force them to start enjoying themselves. By then it was December 24th. Christmas Eve.

“Okay,” you start, pacing around the family room in front of the twins who sit sullenly on the couch. You try to give your voice as much authority as possible because that was the only way you got taken seriously around here, “Here’s what’s happening: you two are getting the tree and decorations from the basement, Lester said he’ll be here in a half with the turkey and I will create some –,” you search for the right word, “atmosphere, in here.”

“Alright, Lil’ Miss Bossy,” Bo says. It sounds like he’s complaining but the way he gets up anyway lets you know that he doesn’t mind too much. If he was honest, he’d say he was even a little bit excited. Sure, he didn’t trust for the whole thing not to devolve into a fight (like it so often did when he was a kid), but for now he tried to trick himself. Trick himself into think that maybe, with you in charge, Christmas wouldn’t be too bad.

He tilts his head at his twin and Vincent gets up to follow him down to the tunnels.

You settle down on the recently vacated couch, picking up the stack of cassette tapes you’d located at the back of the video cupboard. Best Christmas Song Compilation. Festive Party Songs. Christmas Hits. So many to choose from, you thought, giggling with excitement.

As you took out one of the tapes and inserted it into the old tape player on the side table, you glanced at your phone, checking to make sure Lester hadn’t text saying a disaster had befallen him.

(The conversation with Lester regarding the turkey had gone something like this:

“Hey, we’re going to have Christmas dinner this year, you’ll come right?”

“Christmas? I dunno, what did Bo say?”

“He’s fine with it, he agreed! It was practically his idea. [Lord forgive you for a little white lie]. So, you’ll come, won’t you, Les?”

“Sure,” you hear the smile break across his face, “Sure, sounds good!”

“Oh, just one thing though,” you add, sweetly, before he hangs up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could get a turkey from somewhere?” Then, quickly adding, “Preferably not one that’s been hit by a 16-wheeler.”

That gets a laugh out of him; a short, surprised one, like a dog bark. “Sure, I think I know a guy that knows a guy who has a turkey farm.”

You don’t question this. “Thanks, you can bring it round on Christmas Eve? And stay the night, if you like.”

“I’ll see you there.”)

Comfortable in the knowledge that Lester had hopefully snagged a turkey from somewhere, you relaxed again, humming along to the first Christmas song that started playing.

Looking around, you realised something was missing. Whistling lowly, you strained to try and hear Jonesy’s feet pattering. She must have gone down to the basement with Vincent, hopefully she wasn’t getting in the way.

It took a while (you supposed if the boys never really ‘did’ Christmas, like Bo had said, then the tree and decorations must be pretty deeply buried amongst the rest of the junk in the tunnels) but eventually you heard a commotion and you wandered down the hall and towards the study.

Before you even opened the door you could hear Bo yelling and cursing under his breath. When you walking in, you tried to stifle your laugh but it was no use. Bo was trying to drag the tree up through the hatch whilst, you could only guess, Vincent was trying to push it up from beneath.

Bo turns to you and snaps, “And what’s so goddamn funny?”

You press your lips together tightly but it doesn’t stop your shoulder shaking with laughter. “I’m not laughing, see, not laughing,” you manage.

“Like hell you’re not,” Bo grumbles, but lets it go in favour of returning to his attempts to heave the tree up through the trap door. “Vincent you’re not even trying,” he complains, even though you all know Vincent is far stronger than Bo likes to pretend.

The movement from below stops and you hear a rustling amongst the branches. Your laughter is kickstarted when you see Vincent’s calloused hand squeeze up through the trap door and flip Bo off.

After a long while of pushing and shoving and heaving, and a lot of complaining (though when did the twins do anything together and not complain about it every spare second), the tree, along with the few boxes of decoration, was out of the tunnel and situated in the family room, positioned under your expert direction.

“Now, this is the fun part!” you clap happily, beginning to rifle through the boxes. You pull out strings of fairy-lights and garlands of tinsel. Plastic baubles and evergreen wreaths. At the very bottom of one of the boxes, you find a smaller box, an old cookie tin. It took some prying but you managed to open it, finding inside a nest of smaller, much more intricate wax baubles.

You look over at Vincent, “Vince,” you hold up one of the ornaments, a turtle dove, “Did you make these?”

Both of them look over at you from where they’re sat on the floor. There’s something childish about the way they’re slowly pawing at the decorations as you take them out of the box. They silently bicker over holding one decoration or another, things passed between them as they start to remember the baubles that they’d been most attached too as children.

Vincent shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before signing, “Momma made those, back when we were babies.”

You nodded in response, “You could make more, there’ll be enough room for new ones, I think.”

He shrugs, “Maybe.”

You let it go.

There’s a rapid knocking at the door and you start in surprise. It must be Lester; you leave the twins to poke through the decorations some more and run for the door.

“Lester!” you greet him, pulling him into a hug while dodging the huge turkey he held by his side.

“Happy Christmas,” he smiles, “Well, almost.”

“Happy Christmas!” you gesture towards the turkey, “Thanks for bringing this!”

“No problem, got it cheap off a guy.” You don’t question this.

“Come on in, the twins are in a mood with each other after a tree debacle, go and cheer them up, would you?”

“Annoy them more is more like it,” he shrugs, though he’s still smiling.

You do your best hostess impression and usher him in. He diverts into the kitchen to leave the turkey in the fridge, you’d cleared space for it especially but just looking at it you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. At least you’d be taking it out later to start cooking.

When you go back to the family room, Bo and Vincent have made a start on decorating the tree. Vincent was trying to be careful, while Bo was half-heartedly draping some tinsel around the crooked green branches.

With the music still playing quietly in the background, someone must have turned it down while you were gone, you sway up behind Bo. “You’re doing a good job,” you say, trying to be encouraging.

He’d never admit it, but he liked the praise you gave him. Contrary to that, he muttered, “I ain’t a kid, I don’t need complimentin’ on every lil’ thing.”

“I know,” you shrug, arms circling his waist as you press your nose into the fleece he was wearing. His grandad fleece as you so often teased him.

Maybe you were just imagining it, but a soft air seemed to be spreading through the house, lulling you all into a content silence.

This was momentarily broken when Lester reappeared from the kitchen, a can of beer in his hand. “Merry Christmas!”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Bo scolds, but the harsh tone of his voice is put on, and all of you know it. Bo just doesn’t like to admit when he’s having a good time.

Lester laughs him off anyway and starts root through the musty card board boxes, looking for anything that hadn’t already been claimed by the twins.

Things were going well. Surprisingly well, you might even say.

Bo seems relaxed enough in your arms, his own fingers working to string up one tinsel garland after another that you take a chance and let go of him, going over to the tape deck to turn the volume back up. The next song that comes on is terrible, a cheesy old Christmas song that played nonstop during every festive period of your childhood. It was also your favourite Christmas song.

You try not to squeal out loud, holding back only so much as to not start singing, but you sway happily to the tune, your hips swinging as you look around for the decorations that you’d put aside for yourself. Assured that everyone seemed content to get on with their own decorating, you hung your first baubles on the Sinclair Christmas tree.

*

It takes a few hours, all in all, to finish up. Between singing along with the Christmas music you were in full control of (you’re attempts to hold back going out of the window half way through your favourite song) and taking breaks to force Bo to dance with you, much to the amusements of his brothers, you managed to decorate the tree pretty well, and spruce up the rest of the family room into something festive enough for your liking. Standing back to admire your handy work, you clap happily.

“Great job, boys,” you jokingly praise them. A silly gesture, but they can’t help but feel just a little bit proud about actually doing something nice together for once, without it dissolving into bickering.

Bo has already left for the kitchen, coming back with an armful of beers. He passes them around before settling down on the couch. He takes the middle seat, with you on his left and Vince on his right. Lester, cracks his beer open, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch. He was the youngest, after all, and had long since resigned himself to the floor when all other seats were taken. He doesn’t mind anyway, he tells you, the first time you had noticed him taking a seat on the floor.

With all your decorating done, you sink contently into Bo’s side. He’s warm and solid and safe and you wonder how you ever felt at home without him. Without any of them.

Bo flicks the TV on and searches the channels until he settles on something. Something he is certain enough wont start an argument.

As the time passes, you see Vincent start to fall asleep at the other end of the couch, his head dropping to his chest now and then before he jolts awake again. You can tell that Bo has noticed too, his eyes darting over to Vincent every time he jolts.

Eventually Bo must start feeling for his twin and he nudges him with a soft elbow. “Vince, go to bed would you? You’re just gonna keep fallin’ asleep on me.”

Vincent looks up blearily, glaring at both at Bo and at you, who leant forward to see past Bo.

“I’m not even tired,” he insisted, though his hands were slow and he still made to get up, uncurling the leg he had tucked beneath him.

“Sure you ain’t,” Lester piped up, but he wasn’t in any position to talk. Even if he hadn’t fallen asleep yet, he was close to it. You could only imagine what time he’d been up that morning, working his last shift before getting Christmas day off.

Vincent stood and shook his can of beer to double check that it was empty before heading off to the kitchen on his way upstairs. He turned to sleepily sign, “Night.”

Lester doesn’t reply, he’s fallen asleep, even after his teasing.

“G’night,” you and Bo reply.

Then just signing, Bo adds briefly, “I love you.”

Vincent nods, repeating the gesture before going upstairs.

Lester leaves not too long after, stumbling just slightly when he stands up. You hold back a giggle. Bo doesn’t, laughing even as his arm shoots out to catch Lester if he really did fall. He pulls his arm back just as quickly when he knows Lester has righted himself.

*

For a while, you and Bo sit in silence, his arm around your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your arm.

Slowly, like you don’t want to startle him, your hand drifts across his chest, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his fleece.

“You getting ideas?” he asks, his large hand, the one not squeezing at you, comes up to cover yours, detaching you from his zipper to lace his fingers through yours.

“Might be,” you smirk, you pull your knee up higher, draping it over Bo’s lap so you can lean into him more fully. You’re feeling restless. The wait on Christmas Eve, on the cusp of Christmas day was always excruciating. Much to your delight, when you glanced at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece, you saw it had just hit midnight. Midnight. Christmas day.

Your hand still twined with Bo’s calloused one, you gestured at the time. “Happy Christmas, Bo.”

His smirk mellowed into a more genuine smile, a soft one like he only gave in the early mornings or late nights. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Do you want your present now?” you ask coyly. Bo knows exactly what the look on your face means and he hates being teased.

“If it is what I think it is, then definitely,” the arm around your shoulders pulls back until his hand is brushing you’re the back of your neck. His grip tightens only slightly and he pulls you in for a kiss.

He starts slow, because everything around him feels slow. Your soft hand in his and your warm body pressing into him. He doesn’t know how he got things so good. Its all coming up roses for Bo Sinclair, you’re your hot lips on his and you’re practically climbing into his lap.

His hands follow your movements, falling to your hips as he slouches down in his seat, gripping you tightly as if you might be going somewhere.

Soon enough, you don’t want it so slow anymore, your hands leave his chest you fumble with the hem of your sweater.

Sure, he thought some lovin’ was his Christmas present, but every present needed a ribbon on top.

At first he doesn’t notice, so insistent he is to return his lips to yours, but when he feels up your waist, over your tits, he pulls back.

Beneath his hands, you’re covered in red lace.

His for-once soft features twisted beautifully into a smirk. He stretched his fingers out over your tits, both thumbs over your nipples as they hardened from the touch. Moving further down, he tugged at the waistband of your pjamas, snapping the elastic against your skin. You yelp; you would have been annoyed, scolded him even, if you weren’t so insistent of him seeing what was underneath.

He pulled your pjamas down as far as he could with you still in his lap. Enough to see the red lace dip down between your legs.

“Lemme see you, darlin’” he patted your thighs, pushing his hips up to make you stand. Quickly you did as he wanted, stripping down to just the red bodysuit you had bought when you were last in town. Twenty dollars could go a long way when you needed it to. You point your toes, stretching up and posing for him. You almost get the giggles at how entranced he is with you, following the

“Oh angel, aren’t you just a perfect lil’ present…” he coos, reaching for your hand to pull you back to him, making you straddle his lap once more. “And all mine.” His lips dance over yours before dropping lower, teeth and tongue tracing your neck before latching onto skin, sucking. He was going to leave a hickey; you just knew it.

At that, you let out a whimper, he always knew exactly what to say – exactly what to do – to get you going.

“All yours,” you return, fingers gripping his fleece as you pulled him into another kiss. Hot and needy when you’d once been slow and savouring.

Before you can even think about it, he’s rolling you over, your back against the worn couch cushions and his weight pressing between your legs.

Keening into him, you moan again, his thigh firm as you try to grind into him.

He chuckles lowly, letting you writhe for a moment before sitting up, leaving you cold while he pulls his fleece over his head. Making yourself useful, you think, your hands go to his waistband, undoing the fly of his jeans and he shucks them off, as quick as he can without standing up.

He drops back down over you, fingers slipping beneath the lace to press against you. Your hips stutter and he slides through your wetness.

You don’t need to hold back, everyone else in the house is asleep, but you try to anyway. You kiss across his chest to give your mouth something else to do. Kisses turn into bites, which turn into your soothing tongue lapping at the bruises you leave behind.

“Bo, please,” you plead, “D-Don’t you want your present?” You hope the question will provoke him enough to get down to it, to finally give you what you want.

He just chuckles again, “Is this my present, or yours?”

“Yours.” His thumb works your clit and you can barely give your answer before your breath catches in your throat.

“That’s what I thought.” But he removes his hand, leaving you empty, as he pulls down his underwear and lines up against you.

You can stop the sigh of relief that leaves you as he pushes in, sliding in like you were made for him, before you whimper, feeling the stretch as he lets you settle around him. Whilst he waits for you, his hands, long fingers and rough palms, drifts to your neck. A pressure, just slight, against your skin. Your breath hitches, whether from the feeling of his cock inside you or his hand on your throat, you can’t tell anymore.

His hips twitch every time you clench around him, twitching until he builds up a rhythm. The thrusts start shallow and slow, building and building until he’s ponding you into the couch, his hand tightening around your neck, your legs tighter around his waist.

You never want this to end, Bo’s warm panting in your ear, his hands on you. Hands that can hurt but never do.

You don’t realise you’re over the edge until your already there. It feels like falling and his hand release your throat as you gasp for air, hips shaking with want even though you’ve already got it. Already got everything you might ever want. You’ve got Bo.

He shudders when he comes, a low groan in your ear and suddenly, everything is still. He rests against your chest, palming the soft flesh absentmindedly.

“I think I won present giving this year, don’t you?” you mumbled, combing a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

He shrugs, but you can see the smile tug at his lip, “Well, I was the one givin’ really, wasn’t I?”

You lean down enough to press a kiss to his temple, your thighs tightening around him, in an embrace this time.

You’d have to go up to bed soon, but for now you watch as the fairy lights twinkle on the tree and the house settles for the night with a happy family inside.

—this ain’t a fair fight!

pairing: loid forger x fem!reader

warnings: smut, bondage, slightly dom!reader (no pegging tho), riding, nipple play (fem!receiving), teasing, loid has horse cock (but we already know that hmmm)

a/n: this was supposed to be an uzui tengen drabble at first but i changed it last minute sorry uzui stans :(

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Post-sex with Loid Forger is truly blissful.

Normally, you can never catch him off guard. He’s expecting the unexpected at all times— even in his sleep, you recall, from all the times he fully wakes up when you merely shuffle in bed next to him.

But now, with sweat seeping from his skin, making the strands of his pretty blond hair stick to his forehead, his eyes are closed in peace. His breathing has evened out from shallow gasps, muscled chest rising and falling at a steady pace. You stroke his cheek and he moves into your palm lovingly. A part of you feels bad to ask him now when he’s feeling quite domestic, but you know you won’t have the confidence to tell him any other time.

“Loid.”

“Hmm?”

“…Why don’t you ever let me be on top?”

Blue eyes flicker wide open to gaze at you. “Huh?”

“W-well…” Your hands drop to the sheets, fiddling with the seams, as if that could hide your furious flush. “Every time I’m on top, you flip us over.”

“That’s not—”

“Everytime.”

You watch as he reflects, his eyebrows knitting together slightly in concentration. “D’you not like it when I take over?”

“Well, of course I like it.” You giggle at the bluntness of his question. “I just want to be in control the whole time, one time. So… would you let me?”

Loid stills. He hates feeling out of control, despises when his missions go wrong because of the stupidity of others. But he also knows you won’t do anything he won’t like. You know him better than anyone, and he trusts you, fully.

He reminds himself this as he tugs at the binds around his wrists, keeping him pinned to the head frame of the bed.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, fingers trailing down to trace the dips of his abs, easing his tensed muscles.

Loid is about to scoff out a “No”, but you’ve lowered yourself onto him, slipping his length into you in one quick motion. He groans loudly, embarrassingly loud, and his wrists ache in pain from wanting to cover his mouth.

“Fuck.” You flutter around him involuntarily, making him gasp. Loid curses himself. How can he lose his composure this quickly? It’s not fair, really, how you’ve got him like this, beading with sweat and straining in complete pleasure, and you’re not even movingyet—

You rise up on your knees and swiftly drop back down, repeating the motion until you find a steady pace to work with.

“I-is this okay?”

Loid faintly processes what you’re saying and nods, in fear that he’ll bite his tongue off if he attempts to formulate any words. Your pretty tits hang over his face, bouncing with every grind of your hips and enticing him to lean up as much as he can to wrap his lips around one of your peaks.

“Ah, Loid—”

He sucks hard to muffle his moans, rolling your nipple against his teeth. You noticeably shudder, slowing down your motions to arch your back.

Loid takes it as an opportunity to plant his feet into the bed and thrust upwards.

“L-Loid!”

You grasp onto his shoulders, whining at the feel of him throbbing inside of you. “No, you have to let me do it.”

“But isn’t this so much better?” He thrusts up harshly at this, watching tears immediately prick your eyes in pleasure. He does it again and again, watching you turn to putty in his hands— his tied hands— and it makes a twinge of pride run through his veins.

And then he stops, giving you a chance to breathe without the brutal force of his cock. When you look at him confused, he raises a brow back. “Go on.”

“But…” You try to grind on him again, but it doesn’t feel the same, especially not after that. Loid knows this too, eyes glinting in success. Before you can even ask him, he’s above you, the ropes tying him undone, his cock kissing your cervix as he pushes in deep. But you don’t complain, not at all, because you always like it when he’s in control.

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—i’m about to show you, baby, slow down!

pairing: eren x fem!reader

warnings:toxic relationship (eren and reader are both major assholes), poor jean thirdwheeling, smut, fingering, name calling, slight dubious consent, possessiveness, jealousy

a/n: erm… i’m back…

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The relationship that you have with Eren Yeager is… flawed, to say the very least. Toxic doesn’t even begin to describe it. Perhaps just catastrophically, utterly fucked up.

He says he doesn’t want a girlfriend— because why would he want to be held down?— but then wants to burn any man who even glances in your direction. You say you don’t need him, but here you are, falling at his feet once again.

“'ren, I can’t.” You gasp as he licks a path from your neck to the back of your ear, biting the lobe.

“You can.” He laughs lowly. You can feel him pressing against your core, aching through his pants in his want. His hands press up on either side above you, caging you in. Overwhelmingyou.

“I’m serious. You can’t just follow me to my dates and…” You falter as you feel his hands move from the wall to your waist, gently squeezing your hips.

“And?” He urges you to go on, fingers fiddling with the sides of your dress.

“And, do this.” You gesture to him, to the bathroom the two of you stand in. “I’m sick of it, Eren, I’m sick of you—”

His lips cover yours in an instant, the taste of his faint cherry chapstick— the one he stole from you— melting on your tongue and making you moan at the familiarity of it all.

Wait, no.

You push him off, chest heaving. “Stop kissing me!”

Eren runs his thumb against your bottom lip. “It’s the only way to shut you up.”

You slap his hand away. “Stop. I’m on a date with—”

“Jean?” Eren interrupts, scoffing. “You think he’s better than me?”

“Iknow he is. He’s nice, he actually cares about me, and he’s waiting for me, so we’re done.” You turn to unlock the door, but Eren slams his large hand against it, stopping you from prying it open.

“Eren.”

“Why don’t you get that you’re mine?” He nearly growls, forcing you to turn back toward him with a hand on your jaw. “I’m tired of your fucking games.”

Your heart stills at mine.

His hands drag down, easing your dress up your thighs. The glint in his eyes dares you to stop him, but you simply clench your hands into fists as your skin ignites in heat.

Eren pauses when he sees the black lace of your underwear. His gaze meets yours, and you can practically see the flames flicker in anger.

“You wore this for him?”

Truthfully, no. You’d planned on going home alone and texting Eren to come over. But you are well aware of Eren’s jealousy, especially his hatred towards Jean. You need to play this out logically, teasingly,no matter the risk.

“And what if I did?”

His hand is over your throat before you can even finish whispering the question, your body thudding against the door.

Checkmate.

“Fucking slut.” He sneers, his free hand cupping your heat and making you groan as his palm grinds against your clit. “Can feel how wet you are.”

He pulls the crotch of the fabric to the side, letting his index and middle finger slide through your folds and into your tight hole. The stretch is blissful, making you toss your head back. His thumb flicks your clit in gentle, steady circles. Eren watches eagerly as your brows furrow together in pleasure, how your teeth sink into your plush bottom lip, which is now fully smeared, pink traces left on the surrounding skin.

Eren laughs under his breath at the ease of it— your resolve crumbles from mere touches. There’s no way that you’ll ever get away from him, not when he has you clutching onto him, sharp nails embedded into his shoulders as you shudder at the feel of his fingers pumping into you.

You must look like a mess, you think. Eren thinks you look beautiful.

“Fuck, ‘ren.” You whine, pushing yourself against his hand. “I’m close.”

And, the asshole he is, he pulls his hand away. He desperately keeps a poker face as he slips his fingers into his mouth, watching the disappointment flood your eyes, tears threatening to fall over.

“Jean’s waiting for ya. Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Before you can clear the fogginess of your almost orgasm, Eren slips out the bathroom. His job is done. Because in about 5 minutes, he’s expecting a call from you, begging him to come over and wait while you come up with a shitty excuse to ditch your date.

Eren almost feels bad as he passes Jean on his way out, the opposing side of his dinner table noticibly empty. But he can’t help but grin as he tastes the essence of you on his tongue.

He can admit the relationship he has with you is catastrophically, utterly fucked up.

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@katemocha@picklejuiceboba@touyasfatcock@imkumichan@webecakin@crapimahuman@bohica160@counting-eyerolls@yourbloodyqueen@nocturnallee@fukicrossing@asaitashi@poisonedsultana@hannas16@dukina@lordbugs@berranurates@1-800-mocha@sftbunnyy

—you really got me bad, now i’m gonna get you back!(part 1: wide awake and waiting for the sun)

pairing: villian!hawks/keigo takami x fem!reader

warnings: yandere elements (drugging, kidnapping, all the things that happen in a bad wattpad story lol), violence, killing/death, blood, eventual smut, mention of rutting, possessiveness, slight manga spoilers

a/n: misery by maroon 5 is my current brain rot rn don’t ask. also @innocentnymph plzzz be awake and treat this as a gift

Keigo Tamaki hates it when people wastes his time.

His whole being is built on being fast. His time at the Commission, his hero career, and now his empire— he gained it all quickly without hardly ruffling his feathers. He sinks his talons in and moves on. His morning routine takes him exactly 15 minutes, he can kill with a snap of his fingers, and, hell, he can fucking fly.

So when this slow-talking imbecile, who is clearly sweating through his suit, babbles during his business meeting, Keigo can’t help but be annoyed.

Keigo thrums his neat nails against the table before glancing out the window, sighing under his breath. The weather was chilly— quite cloudy for Musutafu with wcool breeze weaving its way rbetween skyscrapers. Cars slowly push through the busy streets, people bustling on the sidewalks. Though he’s on the highest floor, Keigo can still see the details of each individual person with his hawk-like vision. Mindlessly, with his hand balancing up his head, he follows them as they walk down blocks, open doors for one other, laugh at a joke—

The fuck?

Keigo’s breath catches. He glances up— to make sure that no one has noticed the way his eyes widened like saucers— before he dips his attention back down, back to the girl he didn’t think he’d ever see again. Back to you.

You’re sitting outside a coffee shop, even though it’s seemingly too cold to do so. Your brows are pulled down in concentration, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you read something on your phone. An index finger is busy looping around the rim of your teacup. You put your phone down before lifting the cup, lips pouting slighly to blow over it before taking a hesitant sip. It must be satisfactory, since you give the tiniest sliver of a smile before drinking more.

He’d forgotten about you. But not anymore.

“Hawks?”

Keigo jerks his head back up. “Yeah, yeah. Just have it done.”

He has no idea what he’s agreeing to. But he does know what he’s sinking his talons into next.

Someone is watching you.

You’ve felt a heavy gaze following you since your visit to the coffee shop, even as you headed to the hospital for work. You glance around the halls cautiously, not sure what to expect. A ghost, maybe?

“There you are!”

You jump as a hand slaps your back, but your nerves quickly settle at the sight of a familiar face. “Hey, Natsu.”

Natsuo grins but his face falls as he notices your tense state. “What’s wrong?”

“Nah, it’s…” You wave it off. “What did you need to call me in for?”

His expression becomes grim.

Natsuo Todoroki is inarguably your favorite person in the world. During incredibly long shift of dealing with grumpy and angry patients, Natsuo is the one who makes you smile through it. You’d think he’d have the opposite of a cooling quirk with the way he warms the hospital.

To see him this upset about something that isn’t his father makes you sick to your stomach.

“There’s been this string of patients coming in.” Natsuo says as he leads you down the hall. “And, well, they’re all the same— lowly criminals. Not anything we haven’t seen before.”

You digest his words. “Another gang fight?”

“We aren’t sure yet. The police is working with us, but the markings on them are what’s off.”

“Stab wounds?”

“You’d think.” Natsuo opens the doors to the sectioned-off portion of the ICU— which was already a bad sign that he was bringing you in here— and you immediately freeze at the sight.

5 of the beds have a host wrapped in the heaviest of bandages around their necks, yet blood still seeps through the cloth to give it a pink tint. The wrists of each patient are clinked into handcuffs, but it seems satirical with the unconscious state of the criminals.

The hum of shallow breaths and heart monitors fogs your brain. “What the fuck?”

Natsuo clears his throat before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Every single one of them had their carotid arteries slashed. There were 12 of them. We couldn’t save the other 7 and they were sent for an autopsy.”

You swallow. “And?”

“They thought it was a knife but they couldn’t match the markings to an exact weapon. Maybe it’s some weird knife quirk, I don’t know. I asked Shoto but he hasn’t found anything in the system.”

Your hand inadvertently drifts to your own neck, feeling for the pulsing vein with the tips of your fingers. “How’d the killer manage to nick all of them in the right spot?”

Natsuo narrows his eyes. “That’s what’s freaking me out. There’s only one wound on each patient and it always hit the artery.”

He jerks his head back out the door and you follow, quite anxious to leave the room anyway.

“The police and heroes are trying to keep this under wraps, until they find more information. But I’m telling all the staff anyway for safety reasons. The fact is that there’s a skilled killer on the loose.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “What do we do?”

Natsuo pulls together the smallest of a smile. You can tell that he’s faking it to ease away your worry, which does make your heart melt at his graciousness but does nothing to stop you from internally panicking. “All we can do is to stay safe, that’s all.”

You went home soon after, since you had the whole week off before your next shit. Yet, you stayed in your apartment for the next few days, sheltered for the sake of your safety. A few texts from Natsuo revealed that three more people were brought into the ICU with the same wound. You promptly turned off your phone and triple-checked every lock in your apartment.

When you finally got called back into work, you distracted yourself with your job. Shrieking patients in pain only dulling down after you place a gentle hand on theirs, your quirk resolving the issue within seconds. Yet, the nagging fear in the back of your mind of the serial killer roaming the streets of Mustafu makes you lose a track of time. One patient turns into forty until you realize just how much you’ve overused your abilities.

“Hey, why don’t you go home?” Natsuo frowns as he seems the way your hands tremble, a tell-tale sign of you working too hard. “I’ll drive you back.”

You nod, relieved. No way could you walk to your apartment now.

“Of course you’d drive a Tesla.” You laugh as Natsuo leads you to his sparkling white car, the T practically winking at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pouts, making you giggle even more. He opens the side door for you, the gentleman that he is.

“Itmeans it’s expected. Anyways, Natsu, how do you adjust the seat? This shit is going to kill my back.”

It takes you a moment to realize that Natsuo hadn’t even shut the door for you. He’s not standing next to the car, even though he was right there a moment ago.

“Natsuo?”

Silence. Leaves scrape the ground ominously.

Your legs swing out of the car swiftly, though they feel like jello when you find your placing on the ground. The parking lot has sparse cars, but is vacant of any people.

“Nat—”

A hand slaps over your mouth, cloth against your nose. The smell is immediate, overpoweringly sweet and sticky. It reminds you of your childhood, licking away at cherry-flavored popsicles that dripped down your fingers. It also reminds you of your organic chemistry class in college, the warnings that your professor has drilled into you, the large “DO NOT INHALE” sticker on the side of one of the bottles.

Chloroform.

But that memory took too long to emerge— you’re already slumping in the grip of the stranger, black dots swimming in your vision.

“Please don’t kill me.” You whisper to no one in particular, hoping that some being beyond can save your fate. A hero.

“You’re gonna wish I did.” The stranger chuckles before everything goes dark.

Your brain feels like wisps of cotton candy when you finally gain consciousness. You crack your eyes open, but the immediate light makes you hiss. After a few blinks, you peak down and see that you’re sitting in a metal chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. Your wrists are clasped behind your back in red rope, which dig into your delicate skin.

“Shit.”

Too busy deciding whether dislocating your thumbs is worth the pain in order to break free, you don’t notice that you are not alone.

“She’s awake. Tell the boss.”

A chill crawls its way up your spine. You turn your head as best as you can, catching a glimpse of a handful of men in black suits. Your hands become slick with sweat when you notice how each of them have a holster and gun. Dateline did not prepare you for this.

“C'mon.” One of them— who has way too much gel in his hair— grabs you by your bicep and pulls you out of the chair. Your feet stumble trying to keep up with him.

Your mind swarms with questions, but your inate instincts tell you to keep quiet. As Gel Hair (yes, you’ve nicknamed him and everything) drags you through the hall with the others following close behind, you try your best to take in all the details you can.

The warehouse door leads to a well-furnished hallway— one like that of a 5-star hotel. The cream wallpaper and gold decals are in pristine shape. The crimson patterned carpet has a shade too close to that of blood. The chandeliers swing above you like icicles ready to impale you with every step. The men behind you chatter quietly, but you catch some of the words. Office. Mission. Killed.

“Hey, let’s go.” Gel Hair grunts, tugging your elbow harder. You hadn’t realized that your legs tensed up at that last word.

The group stops at a grand door, two guards with the same suit attire standing side to side. Instead of a gun in their holster, they each hold an assalt rifle— the ones you only see in action movies. You feel faint.

“This her?” One of them asks, and Gel Hair nods. The guard prompty swings the door open. And you stubbornly plant your feet further into the ground, refusing to enter.

A sickening feeling coats your body. It’s the same sensation you get when you peer over the edge of a cliff, when you catch a glimpse of a black cat wandering down an alley, when you get an emergency call from the hospital during your break.

An overwhelmingly powerful force within you knows that something terrible will happen if you set foot through that office.

“The fuck are you doing? Move!” Gel Hair snarls, yanking you forward.

You squirm in his grip, desperately pulling back. “No! Let me go, you fucking asshole! You have the wrong person!”

Filled to the brim with desperation, you do the only thing you can. You shriek at the top of your lungs.

The two guards notibly cringe before lifting their guns in defense. Gel Hair slaps his palm over your mouth. Perfect.

You chomp down on his hand.

The feeling of pride at Gel Hair’s blood-curdling scream and the taste of metal is short-lived. He slaps you hard, but you don't— can’t— register the pain, not when he’d pulled out his gun and pressed the barrel up against your forehead.

“You crazy bitch, I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out. Ha?” He grins as you whimper, heart thrumming so hard that you have to read his lips to understand what he’s saying. “Don’t care that you’re the boss’s girl, I’m gonna kill you. How does—”

There’s a flash of red. That’s it. This is it. You were shot in the head, cause of death: brain hemorrhage. You can picture your graveyard: Here lies a daughter, a healer, a friend. But the red clears and Gel Hair is still and expressionless. Blood spurts from his neck, spraying droplets against your face as if it were an empty canvas. He crumples to the floor, gasping and clawing at his wound.

Again, all you can do is scream.

Your knees buckle as you fall to the ground as pure and utter shock chills you to your bone.

"What did I tell you all? She’s precious cargo!” A voice chirps disappointedly, like a parent scolding their child. The sound crashes over you like a wave, roaring and echoing in familiarity.

You slowly lift your head. It can’t be.

“Well. At least he wasn’t one of our better members.”

A tight black-and-gold shirt is paired with baggy khakis. The belt around the waist glints golden Hs across the band. And behind him, large vermillion plumes drape behind his back like a deranged version of a cape.

No fucking way.

His golden eyes squint as he smiles, the black markings at the corners of his eyes sharpening his glare on you. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The “rope” holding your wrists together unfurls, looping around your face to flaunt itself as a feather, before it finds it’s place back to Keigo’s wings.

“Didn’t want to meet this way but, y’know.”

“What the fuck?” The venom coating your words surprises you, but it’s understandably. “You kidnapped me? You… you’e the one who killed all those people, didn’t you? Keigo, you’re on Japan’s Most Wanted—“

“Memorized my wiki page, huh?“

He’s laughing. Your blood simmers beneath your skin. He’s killing people for fun and he’s laughing.

Even though the Commission capitalized on your healing quick, they did teach you basic self-defense and fighting techniques.

You aim for his legs. An easy sweep, so long as you pounce quickly and hit right above the knees.

Of course, you’d forgotten just how strong he is.

As you lunge in his direction, two feathers circle around each of your wrists and tug you back. Unshed tears from the stress, the fear, the anger spill over your waterline.

“What do you want from me?” You scowl, teeth bared and ready to lash out.

“Your compliance.” Keigo takes a few steps forward, bending down to your height. You can’t pull away as he brings a calloused hand to your face, gently cupping your cheek. “We can’t have you biting away at my men, can we?”

You can feel bile rising up. “And why the hell should I listen to anything you say?”

“Hmm…” Keigo hums, the edge of his grin stretching even wider, Joker-esque. “We do have your Todoroki boy with us, don’t we?”

You blink, heart sinking. “No.”

“If you comply, then there’s no need to worry.” Keigo gives your cheek a pat before rising back up to his full height. His shadow paints over you, sealing your fate.

“Take her back to the bedroom. And someone, clean this shit up. I don’t need the scent of blood in my hallway.”

“That went well, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jin.”

Keigo clenches and unclenches his fists, snarling as he makes his way back into his office. He didn’t want to scare you away, but the fear and fury in your eyes confirmed it all.

But, you’re tough. You can handle a little blood, right?

Besides, spring is creeping in quickly. He’s already showing signs of his impending rut— nails growing sharp, eyes becoming more slanted and predatory. Hell, he’s surprised that he didn’t rip that Todoroki boy to shreds when Keigo caught his scent on you. His business partner, Dabi, wouldn’t be too pleased if Keigo tore into his beloved brother.

Nevertheless, Keigo needs you to comply soon. Because he’s about to lose every ounce of his self-control once spring begins.

—you really got me bad, now i’m gonna get you back! rukuna’s 5k event!

—pairing: villian!hawks/keigo takami x fem!reader

—warnings: yandere elements (drugging, kidnapping, all the things that happen in a bad wattpad story lol), violence, killing/death, blood, eventual smut, rutting, possessiveness, slight manga spoilers

—a/n: i just hit 5k!!! thank u all for ur vast support, i’ve been wanting to write a series for a while and i’m so excited to be writing this!!! i always wanted to write a fic with a trashy plot so i hope y’all enjoy >.<

—part 1: wide awake and waiting for the sun

releasing: january 21st, 2022

—part 2: your salty skin and how it mixes in with mine

releasing: ???

—part 3: so let me be, and i’ll set you free

releasing: ???

—who says we’re through?

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

warnings: mild manga spoilers, smut, dubcon (if you squint), cursing, cunnilingus, reader is lowkey a sugar!mommy, size kink, edging, choking, name-calling, slight body impact (spanking), biting, no condom (creampie), lowkey angst but happy ending </3, confession of love, takes place in jjk world (au where toji hops around but only depends on one woman hehe)

a/n: all i ever wanted was you.

“No way in hell—”

“C'mon, sweetheart, I’ll just be here for the night, that’s all—”

You sneer. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, asshole. The last time you said that, you cleaned my whole fucking wallet—”

“You know I didn’t mean that, darlin’.” He grins sheepishly, scar widening. “Besides, you know I pay you back. How much ya charging tonight? Three orgasms?”

You slam the door on his face.

“Four?” His voice echoes from outside.

“I’m not letting you in.”

“When’s the last time you had a dick in ya?”

“Toji!”

Cheeks flushing, you pull open the door again. “Shut the fuck up.” You hiss, dragging him into your apartment. “Do you want to embarrass me?”

He raises his arms, as if to prove his innocence. “I just asked a question.”

You glare up at his mischiveous eyes, watching his pupils dilate in amusement. “Sleep on the couch. Don’t even think about it.”

“About you?”

You walk towards your bedroom, refusing to look back at him— if you do, you know you’ll be caught up in his lust. “About anything.”

Toji is stuck on your mind, late into the night as you lay in bed, blankly staring up at the ceiling. The last time you saw him was a few months ago. And just like you’d scoffed at him, he did take the cash from your wallet on his way out. That fucking asshole. But even though he’s a terrible thief, that isn’t what pisses you off about Toji.

It’s just… he never contacts you. He comes and goes whenever he feels like it, making you worry. He could be broke, homeless, dead— and you’ll never know, waiting until the next time he stops by your apartment. You’re well-off, you could help him— he simply won’t let you.

And that’s what makes you mad.

But he never lets you be mad at him, because he apologizes. Well, never verbally, but with his fingers, with his lips, with his—

Knock knock knock.

Thanking the heavens that your filthy thoughts are stopped, you drag yourself out from under your soft blanket to the door. Toji towers over you, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"What do you want?”

“Water.”

“No.” Your hand reaches to pull the handle, but Toji sticks his foot out.

“Hey, ya can’t let me die of thirst.”

“I’d kill you before that happens.”

He juts his bottom lip out, slightly furrowing his brows. Pouting. “Want me to beg? I can do that for ya.”

“Fuckinghell.”

You push past him, rolling your eyes. You’re desperately trying to keep your anger at bay but it’s so difficult whenever Toji is around. The worst part is that he knows it too— the corner of his lip keeps twitching in amusement, his brilliant eyes glimmering as if he’s winning. Like this is some sort of game.

“Here.” You present him with a glass filled to the brim. He takes it with a “Thanks” before proceeding to down the entire thing in three gulps. Not that you were counting by looking at his adam’s apple, or the prominent veins of his neck, or the gentle scars—

“Hey.”

Too busy in your ogling, you didn’t realize that Toji had boxed you in with his hands against the counter. The smell of his sharp, sea-scented cologne holds you hostage, stilling your body, your mind—

“Toji…”

This is bad, this is bad.But,fuck, you can’t think anymore, not when his thick fingers drum against your hip, his other hand sliding up to rest on the base of your neck. His thumb sweeps against your soft skin, making you extremely aware of the fact that you aren’t wearing a bra under your sheer nightgown, that his finger is just a few inches away from your achingly sharp nipples.

“Hmm?” He hums, dipping his head into your neck, lips puckering to peck you right on your shoulder. He deeply inhales, taking in your sweet scent, the gentle smell of your skin. “I missed you.”

You pretend that his words don’t make your heart race. Glancing at the ceiling, you bite back your moans. “I didn’t.” You lie, voice slightly wavering.

Toji glances up with his eyes narrowed, calculating. “You didn’t?”

You shake your head deliberately, not trusting your voice. But Toji simply smiles, bending down to lift you up on the counter.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t ya?” He pushes your hips back further, forcing you to lay back. A gentle kiss is planted on your knee, bare from how your nightgown has shimmied up your thighs.

“I’ll make it up to you, alright?”

In, out. You have to focus on breathing because it’s getting terribly shallow, especially when Toji hasn’t even started. His teasing fingers push up your nightgown up to your waist, exposing your plain panties. Toji takes his time pulling the lace down too, smirking as you squirm.

His breath hovers against your thighs, a gentle heat that warms your insides. You shiver again, forcing Toji to hold you down by the insides of your thighs. The new position gives him an open view of your cunt, slick and pulsing.

“Didn’t miss me, huh? Your pussy says otherwise.”

“Toji, I swear to God—”

You can’t even finish your sentence because his tongue is prodding you open, pure sin flooding your nerves and forcing your back into an arch.

“Nghh!”

He feasts like a starved man, slurping and flicking his tongue messily, letting his spit mix in with your arousal. You feel debauched, corrupted by his vulgar actions, but you ignore the shame as you roll your hips into his face, letting your clit catch onto the point of his nose.

“‘M gonna cum.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel the coil in your belly tighten a bit more. Toji squeezes his palms around your ass in encouragement, pressing you even closer to his face.

“Let me taste you, sweetheart. Come f’me.”

His lips latch onto your clit, and it’s the end of it. You gasp, nails desperately scratching against the counter as you ride out your orgasm, hips still twitching against Toji. He doesn’t let up either, tongue lapping up every drop of your nectar and forcing you into overstimulation.

“Ah, Toji, too much, s’ too much!”

Tears well your eyes, feet kicking out involuntarily, but Toji’s large palms wrap around your ankles. As he stands, he pulls you towards him, forcing you to straddle him.

His eyes are bright, a smug smirk tracing his slick lips. “Tell me you missed me.”

You pull down your brows, desperately trying to keep your fury in control. “Why would I miss you?”

He smiles now, teeth sparkling in the little flicker of moonlight that presses past your window. “Because…” For his answer, he glances down at where the two of you meet, your core right against him, wetting his trousers. When he looks back up, you can barely see the green in his eyes— his dark pupils are eating away at the color. Eating away at you.

You blush, cheeks flaring red. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“What does it mean, then?” Toji traces your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling it down the slightest before letting it pop back up. You don’t say anything, too absorbed in his motions.

His thumb pushes past your lips, resting heavily on your tongue. Without thinking, you suck it in, tasting him off. You swear you hear his breath stutter, eyes widen as he looks at your lush, glossy lips.

Before you know it, he’s sweeping you off the counter with ease, like you weigh nothing in his arms. His mouth distracts you, tongue prodding against your lips until you part them and let him in. He’s sweet— the slight taste of your arousal and the smell of him making you lightheaded. You’re terribly aware of his hands cupping and squeezing your ass as he guides you to your room, dropping you on your bed.

“You’re a bad liar, y’know that?” Toji leans back, pulling his shirt over his head. You know he’s flexing, and it should make you cringe and scoff… but beyond the new scarring across his chest that makes your stomach twist in worry, his taut pecs and defined biceps distract you in the best way possible.

“Your body can’t lie to me.” He yanks down his pants, cock bobbing in your peripheral vision as you force yourself to keep your eyes on his emerald voids. He crawls towards you— on top of you— thumb reaching out to mockingly brush the corner of your mouth. “C’mon sweetheart, you’re drooling.”

“‘Mnot.”

“Really? Well, you are down here.” His cock parts your folds, dragging up your wetness and letting the heaviness rest between your legs.

“Ah!”

“Admit it.” Toji coos, letting the head of his length catch onto your hole before pulling out. You squirm, whining, but he pins you down with his hands on your wrists.

“Please.”

It is said so low, so quiet that you aren’t completely sure if he even said it. You blink up at him, pushing away any anger you have toward him just for a second of clarity. Though Toji’s eyes still have that humorous glitter, you can see through him, noticing the hidden doubt and concern in the bags of his eyes, the wrinkles on his forehead, the fine droop of his lip.

He’s…worried.

And hell, if that doesn’t make your heart thrum faster than it already does around him.

“I always miss you.”

It’s true. You miss him during every moment of the day, hoping that today will be the day he stops by again, and just in case, you always make enough food for two.You miss him even when he’s there, because you know you’ll miss him even more when he leaves. You miss him the most when you roll over the covers and he’s not there, just his lingering scent reminding you that there’s nothing in the world that can preserve the feeling you have when you’re with him.

You hope he can hear all that through your minimal words because your throat is too clogged to say anything more. When he responds by caressing your cheek, his dick guiding into you, you’re sure he knows.

Your mouth widens into a silent gasp. It’s been too long.

“C’mon, breathe.” He hums as he pushes in, feeling slight guilt but mostly pride as he notices the moisture gathering on your lashes. “Atta girl. Tight fucking pussy.”

“T-Toji.” You whimper as his fingers roll against your clit, easing away the pain. “You’re so…”

“Big?” He teases, rolling his hips into you sharply. You can’t find it in you to chastise him because it’s true, he’s terribly big with the way that he’s splitting you in half. You pathetically nod as your nails embed themselves in his back, lifting your head to tuck yourself into the crease of his neck.

Every single thrust makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Toji’s warm palms keep your thighs spread, occasionally squeezing and slapping the fat of your thighs just to hear you squeal.

Toji throws his head back in pleasure, a low groan escaping his mouth. You watch how he tenses— a drop of sweat drips from the column of his neck and you follow it with your eyes as it drips down between his chest and torso, his lower stomach, before wetting his happy trail. God. You feel your toes curl as you clench around him.

“Fuck.” He hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as his thrusts stutter. “Do that again.”

To tease him, you do it in a succession of three. He gasps, his palm landing on your throat to squeeze you back. “Fucking hell.”

Toji pulls out. He snickers at your whine and your failed attempt to latch onto him, before flipping you over.

“Greedy little thing.” He laughs as he pushes in, reveling in the way your fingers fist at the sheets.

He’s going faster than he was before, balls smacking your ass hard enough to make a thwack-thwack echo around the room and change your cheeks into a crimson color.

“Toji.” Tears slide down to your pillow as you bury your head. “Gonna come. Need you…” You drift off, knowing that he knows. You should have known he’d be cocky about it.

“Need what?” His mouth hangs over your ear, teeth grazing the shell of it. “Don’t know what you want, sweetheart.”

When you don’t answer, he bites down.

“Fuck!Just… touch me.”

“Could’a just asked.” He huffs as his thumb and forefinger pinch at your clit, giving you the relief you need. “Go ahead.”

You feel your body tense, breath getting caught in your throat, along with a jumble of emotions. “Missed you—fuck, love you, s’much.” The knot in you unravels deliciously, euphoria hanging over your consciousness.

Meanwhile, Toji’s mind is whirring at your confession, hands tightening against your waist. “L-love you, shit.” He pushes into you one last time, fingers pressing into your skin to really remember this. He needs to know that you’re really here under his hands before he cums, for once not in his fist. Toji trembles, panting through his orgasm and falling right on top of you.

You can’t get a full breath in with Toji’s weight pressing against you, but you do nothing to move him. You feel suffocated in the best way possible— engulfed in his scent and warmth and love.

“Don’t leave.” You murmur against his bicep that curls against you in a tight hug.

“I won’t.”

You don’t care if it’s a lie because it’s enough to make you relax into him more. Tonight, you refuse to think about when he’s gone— you press a kiss to his cheek and giggle when he nips you back.

And when he leaves, you know he’ll come back.

masterlist||tip jar||taglist||help palestine

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imapursoon:

imapursoon:

imapursoon:

it’d be rly funny if balls were bathbombs, you go to shower with your boyfriend and his balls start fizzing and dissolving. Would we still suck them?

it’d be really funny if someone wrote a smut fic about this too

I have to do everything around here

“god baby you’re so hot when my balls are dissolving down your throat” he said with lust in his throat.

Our aforementioned “baby” could not respond, his eyes watered and all he could do was gurgle and try not to vomit as he took both of his daddy’s large breeder bath bombs into his speaking airway. He was literally foaming at the mouth as daddy, his daddy pushed him against the slick shower wall. The stream of water from the shower head landed right on his ginormous bath bombs, they began to fizz and bubble more than he ever thought possible, our babys throat started filling and filling. God they had never felt so full of bath bomb before.

Previously he had went to bed, currently he’s in the bath, and now he was ready to go beyond. Taking the mostly dissolved bath bombs and all the bath bomb fluids as far into his throat as he could; he started sucking and slurping, like he was in collage eating ramen for breakfast lunch and dinner all over again. He guzzled his sexy bath bombs like my car guzzles gas, eventually swallowing every last drop.

He felt nauseous. From the sheer pleasure of it all or from all the bath bomb he had swallowed? he was unsure, he collapsed to all fours the world spinning around him. He felt something in his hair, “a hand?” He thought to himself. When suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his ass, his daddys absolute shampoo bottle of a cock was carving into him. His hand tightened around his hair and yanked his head back, and that’s when it happened.

He felt his stomach churn from all the sudden motion, his entire body went limp, all the previously swallowed bath bomb came spilling out onto the floor of the shower. He was truly going beyond now, watching limp and dead eyed as his stomach contents swirled down the shower drain. Daddy pulled his cock out and let his limp body fall to the floor, leaving him there for the rest of the night.

Happy pride ️‍