you know, sub!luke is just so down bad for you he lets you do anything to him, use him to explore new things. so it’s only natural that one hot summer night you blindfold him and run an ice cube over his nipples, stomach clenching as the ice cold water runs over his skin, pooling at the base of his boxers, now completely drenched.
and maybe you take one in your mouth, cold tongue swiping over the head of his cock, tip flushed with need, before taking him whole in your mouth.
just saying 🤷🏼♀️
- @bewaryofpity
Just saying my ass, Viki!! You KNOW what this does to my ovaries! And I thank you.
[blindfold, iceplay, handcuff themes]
It’s pitch black for him. He can’t see your smile, the lingerie you’ve put on for him, the glass of ice in your hand but he can feel you perched on his lap, the metal around his wrists restraining him to the bed frame and the fabric over his eyes. He knows what’s going on, he agreed, but it doesn’t settle the fizzling in his stomach. You rattle the ice cubes in the glass, the clinking echoing, and the grin on your face wide as you pinch a cube between your fingers, gently pressing it against the expanse of his bare chest and swirling it around in a pattern. His breath hitches and mouth falls agape, exhaling as you drag it down the valley of his pecs, making sure to give his cock a small grind before sliding the ice cube over the left pectoral.
“Oh my God, y/n- shit.” He gasps, bucking his hips into you as the sharp chill shocks him. That’s the evil thing about you, you know his chest is sensitive, more so to your touches and kisses than anything else. His back arches, the freezing water from the ice spreading over his skin when you trail the cube around his nipple, watching it slowly pebble. His whines fill your ears, hitting straight to your cunt when they fall off his tongue. “So cold.”
His voice is so small, so whiny and he’s tugging the handcuffs to no avail. There’s a pooling between your legs, the sight of such a big and tall man, blindfolded and cuffed to the bed, squirming and tensing his jaw as you’re running an ice cube over his nipple has such an adrenaline kick to your nerves, cunt throbbing when he writhes.
“Mmm yeah, nice, isn’t it? What about this?” You coo, moving to his other nipple, swirling the ice around and over the bud, watching it melt over his warm skin. He puffs his chest out, stifling a moan. “Ooo, you like that, don’t you, Lu? S’got your perfect little nipples pretty and perked.”
“N-nah, that’s because you’re sitting on my dick, angel face.” Luke exhales, his voice raspy, breathing heavy as you press the cube to his sternum, giggling as the ice melts and dribbles down his stomach and into the crevices of his abs. “Fucking hell!”
You take another ice cube from the glass, taking your lip between your teeth and brushing it over his abs, letting his whimpers encourage you to trace the ridges with the cube and flush a chilly stimulation to his stomach, his abs clenching as his cock hardens beneath you and rutting against your ass. You could stop. You could let him breathe. But he’s wiggling and whining pathetically as the ice cube melts over his muscles, your hand unable to stop moving and tormenting his heightened senses. The pleasure intoxicating you is indescribable, but what Luke’s feeling is a horny torment - a delectable frenzy through his veins, a non-stop stimulation from the coldness of ice, the brushing of your fingertips on his receptive skin, falling into a lewd bliss every time you merely touched him. His cock’s unable to calm itself, throbbing and straining his boxers, hypnotised by the ice you’re sliding over his skin. It’s even worse when the cube you’re tickling his stomach with melts, the water pooling to the waistband of his boxers and dribbling under it, the jolt of his hips loud, practically screaming out how the cold has met his poor cock already and sent it into a sensory overload. It’s sexy.
He hisses at the contact, and an idea comes to mind noticing the fabric on his briefs darken. You place your palm on his thigh behind you, nudging his legs open and dazed in pleasure, he obliges, letting you part his legs and kneel between them. Briefly, you place the cup on the floor, freeing your hands to hook your fingers in his boxers and tug them down his legs, tossing them across the room. The room’s breeze hits his dick abruptly and he swears, quietly. Kneeling again, you run your hands over his thighs, feeling them tense under your touch and hips jolt the closer your finger grazes his crotch. Tingles. Those titillating tingles shooting through his system again, to his nipples, the hairs on his nape, his cock, hard with a red tip, in all its glory, in front of your eyes. Wrapping your fingers around his length, you only ghost your fingers over him, from the base to the tip, finger circling the precum over his slit.
“You’re mean.” He chokes, tilting his head back into the pillows, your touch exhilarating.
“Now that’s not nice, thought you were my good boy? You want mean? Ever wondered what a cold blowjob felt like, pup?” You coo, releasing him and reaching to the cup on the floor, taking another ice cube and plopping it in your mouth.
Tears prick his eyes and a short gasp burst from him, the ice cube hitting his nerves instantly, your lips plump and soft against his tip but it’s the ice that’s pulling pathetic cries from his chest. He feels like a puppet in your hands, and he wants nothing more than to get his own hands on you. He tugs and tugs and tugs at the handcuffs, the metal rattling against the bed frame but it’s not stopping you, you’re still swirling the ice cube around his tip, torturing him with some sort of carnal mockery.
The more you glide the ice and your tongue around him, the more it melts and finally allows you to sink further down, moaning into it and bobbing with your fingers wrapped around his base. The only noise you’re listening to is his blubbering whines, short and then elongated, chest tight as his abs clench the faster you suck and slurp on his cock. It’s unfair how he can’t watch you right now.
“Oh, my fucking God! Fuck, angel, please.” He cries, stomach coiling with a building warmth, a need, the flat of your tongue gliding coolness on his underside while your lips soothe over his ridges. “Baby, please, I’ll be good, m’sorry!”
You don’t stop; you can’t stop. Your mouth is cold still; his skin is cold still. He’s squirming and weeping whines, falling apart and he’s stuck doing so. Gliding back to his tip, your tongue flicks over his cockhead, sparking little bursts of stimulation and coaxing his longer, louder moans from him before engulfing his cock completely again, accustomed to his shape and size. He can’t comprehend anything anymore, not words, not his feelings, all he knows is the tightness in his lower stomach has to release soon or he’s going to break the godforsaken cuffs you’ve restrained him in.
MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | p in v: cowgirl | “blindfold” sensory deprivation | sexual content.
“The doctor said you’ll be fine just as long as we wait it out.” you remind PETER PARKER who has to be led by your hand through your shared apartment. He shuffles through the narrow passageway of the closing door, and fumbles through the hall with his fingertips grazing the wall. He trips up on some shoes that aren’t put away, and you catch him around his bicep, propping him back up with your body. “Woah, there.” you exclaim.
“When they tell you not to look at bright lights they sure mean it. Guess I was lucky it didn’t burn permanently into my retinas.” he thinks aloud with a sheepish scoff in spite of himself, letting you lock the door behind you as you guide him to the couch. “Next time I won’t make direct eye contact with Electro as he’s powering up no matter how sparkly he is.” You chuckle at his quip through your nose, turning his body so he can feel the furniture against the backs of his calves, signaling him to sit, so he does.
“Makes sense now why prey animals fall victim to bioluminescence, huh?” you reply back, offering up some banter that stretches that amused and dimpled grin onto his handsome features. He can’t look up at you—not like usual—staring straight ahead with his palms set on his knees.
“You callin’ me a prey animal?”
“Who’s temporarily blind because of the pretty lights, Peter?”
“Touché.”
You sigh from his verbal antics, unable to stay quiet even in a situation where most people would panic. His spidey sense did alright to get him out of that fight, but it doesn’t help much when he’s about to run into a wall—that’s where you come in. You round him to get to the kitchen, collecting some tap water in a glass.
“You know, when you said you were going to take care of me…” Peter begins, twisting his spine so he can project his words to you over his shoulder. “I wasn’t imagining you taking advantage of my misfortune and abusing me in some verbal beatdown.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” you chastise, rolling your eyes. It makes sense he’d be a little sore after today, maybe you should take it easier on him. You of all people know how much he hates being put out of commission. Glass in hand, you return, picking up his wrist to fix the water against his palm. Gratefully, he takes a swig. “So, in what ways were you imagining me taking advantage of you?” you continue the conversation, though you notice how flirtatious your tone comes off only after you’ve spoken.
Peter swallows thickly, and licks the moisture off his upper lip. You watch the motion from the side, that vacant gaze of his still stuck on the direction in front of him. “Well, for starters, we wouldn’t have any clothes on.”
“Oh, Peter…” you sigh, bouncing on him mere moments later. Completely bare, and soaking wet, you were quick to grant his wish, riding him at a second’s notice. Thick fingers tightly dig into the flesh of your hips, guiding them from his position underneath you. Blank eyes stare off into the ceiling, twitching as they narrow when the pleasure gets to be too much. “Can’t believe you wanted this after a day like today. You’re supposed to be resting.” your breathless tone doesn’t convey any serious admonishment at all, and it tugs a crooked grin onto his lips.
“But I’m so relaxed, honey. Doin’ such a good job, makin’ me feel so good. Better than a prescription. ‘Doctor would be proud.” he praises, husky and rushed. The delicate space between his brows pinch as his tongue forms over his upper lip, concentrating in increasing the pace. He overpowers whatever control you had, using his strength that far surpasses your own to hasten your hips. You don’t think he’s relaxed at all, he’s certainly not resting, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Every inch of him sheathed inside you, it’s hard to think about anything other than getting that tip to brush your spongy spot.
Your face twists, obscene sounds pouring out of you because of his actions. Showing off his taut body putting in the work for you always gets you going, dragging your nails down his pretty and flexed abdomen like a reward. A low and torturous groan cries out from deep in his throat because of it—like that’s exactly what he needed—and it sends a powerful shudder right through you. Hands slide up to your torso, squeezing your flesh as he lifts you, and fucks up into you instead. Your tits to the air bounce with each mad sheath, and you can’t help but be loud, keens echoing throughout the apartment.
He knows what you look like—he knows—every intimate and dirty detail. How you must look riding him, what expression you’re making on that cute face, what your body is doing to him right now… every secret mole and birthmark, where your hands are, how your tits jiggle, everything, he can picture it. It’s all in his head and just out of reach. When he opens his eyes, it’s completely without focus, staring up at the ceiling while he hears your pleasured cries as music to his ears.
He kneads your body in his hands, trying to release some of that base desire by molding your skin like clay. “God, I wish I could look at you right now, baby.” he confesses, and he means it with every fiber of his being.
Tim Drake/Reader, 650 words
Kinktober entry 12: Vibrator
Warnings: Dom/Sub | Blindfold | Vibrator
Requested by: Anonymous
When you arrive home, Tim’s already kneeling on the bed, stripped down to his custom-printed Blue Beetle I socks, dick at full attention, and eagerly awaiting instruction. You’d promised him tonight would be the night, even went out and bought a brand-new wand just for the occasion, and you can tell from his pink cheeks and bashful smile that he’s been looking forward to it.
“Okay, Timbo. Don’t move.” You smile at him as you cross the bedroom, fishing an old blindfold, your new toy, and a bottle of lube from the bedside table. Tim watches keenly as you climb onto the bed in front of him until you wrap the silky fabric around his eyes. You place a chaste kiss on his soft lips before leaning back to admire his muscular frame; his pale skin and the dark body hair that adorns his lower body until you see his toes twitching in anticipation. You count them out, making him wait until he gets to thirty before you concede. “Lay down, legs open, hands above your head.”
Ever greedy for praise and intensely aware of his surroundings at all times, Tim immediately follows your instructions easily getting comfortable without accidentally nudging you or fussing over where you might be situated.
“Oh wow, aren’t you being a good boy today?” You coo, and he offers an appreciative “thank you” in return, cheeks turning two shades darker already. If you wanted to, you could make a pretty apt chart of Tim’s horniness levels using nothing but pink and red paint swatches.
“Just keep it up.” You warn, enjoying the way his hips shudder in response to the cold lube you begin to brush along the length of his dick. Already he begins panting as you wrap your hand around his shaft, jerking him in slow, loose movements. “If you move out of position, I will stop, and you’ll have to wait until tomorrow night for another chance to cum. Is that understood, baby?”
“Yes.” The word sounds strained, pushed out of his throat between bitten lips as he tries hard not to rock himself between your fingers. “Please do it.”
“Since you asked so nicely.” You deliberately take your time however as you locate the power button and switch through the different speed and tempo settings until you find one you’re happy with.
As soon as you press the tip of the wand to the base of Tim’s cock, his mouth falls open, a long, obscene groan escaping his lips. His legs stay nice and wide for you, but he lifts them in the air, following the curl of his toes and incidentally giving you a gorgeous view of his tight ass.
“Does this feel good?” You implore, working the vibrating head along his shaft until it's pressed against the pink crown of his cut penis. Tim responds to your question with a series of indecipherable whines and the rapid nodding of his head. Intoxicating to watch, but not the answer you’re looking for. “Come on Timmy, you can do it. Tell me how I’m making you feel.”
“Sssss.” He hisses as you circle his tip, fingers thrusting into his hair to temper his fervour. Not quite the position he’d started in, but his hands are above his head, plus he looks so sinfully debauched, all rosy skinned and messy-haired, so you’ll let him pass. “Shit! So good, so, so good. Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
Already the veins of his cock are twitching and throbbing beneath your touch. Every time your pumping hand reaches the base, his balls grow tighter. Breath heavy, sweat-slicked skin growing more heated with every move of the vibrator. Poor thing is not going to last long at all.
Hey you, yeah you! You think you're hot shit? Good! Cause you are. 💖
Waking up blindfolded and bound to a chair wasn't exactly a novelty for the hero, but that didn't make it any less irritating. There was something about the forced ignorance a blindfold subjected you to that got on the hero's nerves and blew fuses in his brain.
The patter of footsteps on a parquet floor rang in the hero's ears, and he could already sense his mystery assailant get near him and flick him on the head like a disobedient child.
"You up, sunshine?" Detective's sharp voice called out.
The rough grunt he gave seemed to be enough of a response, and the detective removed the blindfold from around his head.
The light seemed to assault his eyes, too bright and cold and violent, and the hero let out a soft cuss. "Do you make a habit out of kidnapping people and tying them up in your basement, detective?" he questioned irritably, his eyes half-screwed shut.
The detective, immaculate as ever, wearing a goddamn three-piece suit in his own house, gave out a soft, but unsettling laugh, leaving his lips in a tight smile that was all teeth. "No, Hero. But you already know why you're here, don't you? Because I know you think playing dumb might save you, but I'm here to tell you it won't," he growled, baring his teeth.
The detective was never a particularly pleasant human being, dryer than a desert more often than not, but he was always calm, like no problem in the world could even sour his mood. So to see him already lash out, even this slightly told the hero that even with him tied up and possibly drugged with how groggy he was feeling, the detective probably saw him as a threat.
Shame he'd have to play another set of cards to win the game.
"Alright," the hero said calmly, fixing the other man with a piercing look, "if we're agreeing neither of us is here to screw around, then how about you cut to the chase. You don't seem like the 'pace and around the room and monologue' type of guy," he reasoned, an easy smile on his face.
Maybe he wasn't feigning oblivion anymore, but he wasn't giving the detective the satisfaction of feeling like he was scaring him.
The detective made a scoffing noise, reaching into his pocket to pull out a switchblade. "Maybe you'll learn to smile less at the wrong times, asshole," he spat as he unfurled the blade, looking eerily calm, nothing behind the whirpools of black that were his eyes.
"You're going to talk. Answer all my questions properly. And if you don't, I think even you are not dumb enough to not be able to guess what's going to happen."
The knife really didn't faze the hero the way it should. Sure, it left him uneasy, sharp and disturbingly pristine. But he'd been roughed up before one too many times, so he knew to some extent how this stuff worked.
The hardest part was selling his act.
"How did you find out it was me?" the detective started, pulling up another chair and carelessly throwing one leg over the other.
"I'm good at what I do," the hero shrugged, his face blank. But he couldn't help wincing as the detective grazed his thigh with the knife, his body already tormented enough with his ridiculously cramped muscles.
Nothing he couldn't handle, anyway.
"The evidence. What lead you to me?" Detective tried again, the blade still in his hand with Hero's fresh blood snaking down it.
"Does it matter? I figured you out anyways," the hero supplied listlessly, his gaze languid and half-lidded.
The detective stabbed harder this time, twisting the knife in the hero's shoulder and forcing a snarl out of him. He truly wasn't sure for how long he could keep playing the defiant card, the pain blooming across his shoulder and even down to his arm as the detective snatched the knife out just as fast as he'd put it in.
If he could incinerate the detective by staring at him wrong, he seriously would've. Instead he grit his teeth and tried to ignore his throbbing shoulder, looking up at the detective, irritated.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat right now." The detective's voice seemed a little too relaxed for comfort, the dirty switchblade now resting on the hero's jugular. The hero was no longer even slightly surprised the other man was a criminal.
It took an insurmountable amount of self-restraint to keep his lips from curving into a self-satisfied grin. Sure, it wasn't very believable if an agency-trained hero crumbled under a few stabs, but death was a reasonable enough fear for even someone as formidable as him. Nevermind that the wide eyes and the harsh bite of the lips were actually fake.
"W-wait. There's no point of you killing me. Not without finding out what you need to know. And do you really need anymore blood on your hands?" the hero breathed out, a little desperation sprinkled into his tone.
The detective looked almost lost in thought, until something wicked burned a fire in his eyes for just a moment. "You only get one chance, Hero. Don't waste it," he drawled lazily, pulling the knife away and twirling it elegantly with one hand.
The hero nodded gratefully, readying himself to lie through his teeth. "When you said the victim had died of asphyxiation, even before you were granted access to the autopsy report."
The detective's brow furrowed and his lips were pulled into a tight frown. "I never said he died of asphyxiation, he died of mercury poisoning."
"Bingo," the hero, his hands now free of their bonds, crooned, as he used the detective's momentary surprise as a distraction, pulling the knife out of his hand and using it to cut through the ropes around his legs.
Say something wrong about a subject and your target will rush to correct you. A surprisingly effective trick as the hero had come to learn.
The detective's face twisted into an expression of pure, unbridled fury as he tried to wrench the knife out of the hero's hand, but he dodged, quick on his feet much to the other man's chagrin.
Hero had to give him credit, the man was almost nearly impossible to stab, parrying the crime-fighter's attacks with calm, stable, maybe even clever moves, so much so that all he'd managed to do was lightly nick him with the blade.
But with all his focus on blocking, he hadn't even noticed that all the hero's fighting had backed him into a corner until too late, until thr crime-stopper's leg had slammed him into the wall with a painful kick, and the knife's cold edge had bit into his skin.
"Don't. Move."
The detective was breathing hard, practically paralysed by the knife and the glint of warning in his enemy's eyes. His face burned with the shame and humiliation of being frozen in place, his own weapon at his neck.
"How d-did. . .you find out it was me?" the detective panted, voice desperate.
It was the hero's turn to smile wickedly. "On the day of the victim's death, he got a visit from his doctor. I searched the trash and found a broken thermometer. It was pretty clear from the bruising on the poor bastard's face the killer was left-handed. The doctor you paid off that I interviewed was right-handed. To test out my theory, I told the doctor I was taking him to prison for the murder, and his tongue might've just slipped too much for your hush money to fix it."
And with that, the hero knocked him out with a punch to the jaw, dragging the other's body and praying desperately the adrenaline would keep the pain in his shoulder at bay until he got out of here at least.
Some trails are shadowy and unclear, obscuring the vision and playing tricks on the mind. But the smallest amount of resilience can very well go a long way, if only you learn to time your moves right. Because even if you only get a short string, you can still sew a mark on the tapestry of your fate.
There's the underground organisation that focuses on freeing political prisoners from interrogations.
The thing is, their rules say the members can never ever show their faces during the missions. Or their voices. Or anything that could help indentifying them.
So when Whumpee's carried out of the prison, they instantly lose hope. Because their rescuers don't remove the blindfold. They don't reasure Whumpee. They don't explain where they are taking Whumpee.
And when Whumpee starts fighting, they silently tie them down to a table by legs and wrists.
Even tho new Caretaker tries to treat their wounds the gentlest they can, Whumpee still begs for death, thinking another interrogation is about to begin.
______________
After a long time healing Whumpee is allowed to move around the room. Tho their hands are still tied behind their back, so they don't try to remove the blindfold.
Whumpee flinched at the sound of the door opening, curling up and shrinking away as much as their cuffs allowed them to. It wasn't much.
They whimpered when something touched them, waiting for the pain to start again. But the hand... it was gentle.
Their blindfold was pulled away, and Whumpee squinted into the light to see-
Caretaker.
Whumpee sobbed in relief, leaning into Caretaker's hand as they pulled the gag out of their mouth.
"C-caretaker, y-you came-" they gasped, disbelief clear in their eyes.
"Shush, it's alright, I've got you," Caretaker reassured, moving to work on the cuffs securing Whumpee's hands to the wall. "Everything's gonna be fi-"
They were cut off by the sound of gunshots in the hallway, deafeningly loud. Someone was calling Caretaker's name, loud and panicked.
Caretaker paled, turning to the cuffs with a sort of desperation Whumpee had never seen before. "Damn lock won't give," they whispered under their breath, brow furrowing.
"Caretaker, where are you?!" The shout came from through the open door, and Caretaker glanced over with a wince. "We got the plans. We need to get out of here. NOW!"
Caretaker bit back a swear word, giving the lock a few more desperate tugs. "M'sorry," they gasped, and when Whumpee met their eyes, they understood.
"N-no, wait caretaker, pleas-"
Bang!
Caretaker swallowed down a sob. "I-I'll be back," they promised shakily, before standing-
turning-
running-
away-
leaving Whumpee behind.
Alone.
They stared at that door as the sounds of escape faded away, dreading the moment Whumper would return again.
Because this time, they couldn't even hope for rescue.
WARNINGS: +18 MINORS DNI! Smut, established relationship, reader is blindfolded, reader is chained to the bed, condescension, oral sex (m.receiving), hair pulling, manhandling, penetration, rough sex, cream pie
DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi
Word count: 1.5k
Your wrists are cuffed, restraining your movability. But the chain is long enough for your hands to support your figure that’s lying sideways.
“Open up,“ you hear Dabi’s husky voice command. Condescending, but you know he’s wearing that smug smirk. His tone can be forcing at times, but nothing compares to the honey-covered praises you get when you obey.
You part your lips, not knowing whether he’s gonna shove his dick or a few fingers down your throat as the blindfold steals away your sight.
“That’s a good girl,” he grins. The chain clatters as you cringe, tasting the skin of his two fingers.
He moves them in and out of your mouth. Lecherous squelching sounds escape your throat as he’s prepping you to suck his cock.
“Yeah..“ he mumbles, aroused. His clothed erection pressing against the fabric of his pants, needing friction. Delicious friction, warm and wet and most importantly, obedient.
Dabi takes his fingers from your mouth and you whimper, panting a little from being out of breath.
That smirk is playing on his lips for your helpless state. You can’t predict much with your sight taken away. However, your ears were sharp to detect the sound of his belt jingling.
You hear a small thump as his pants fall to his ankles. His demanding hand grasps the back of your neck. Your breaths become ragged as your heart beats fast.
Suddenly you feel a gentle smack of his cock against your glossy lips. He’s dragging the tip along your lower lip and you open your mouth wider.
Your obedience arouses Dabi, his smirk widening and showing his canines. He keeps smacking your lips with his cock, teasing himself. His chest heaving as he feels your warm breath fanning on his cock.
“Fuck yeah..“ he mutters, gently guiding his cock inside your warm and wet mouth.
You whine as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, groaning at the way your lips wrap around his length.
His hand is still firm on your neck. But now you feel the fingers of his other hand on your hair, grasping a chunk of it.
You whimper, needing more air. Your hands try to move to his thighs to make him go easier on you, but the clattering of the chain reminds you of its presence.
Dabi chuckles breathlessly. He’s not cruel as he pulls out, getting more excited to see you gasp for air. He grasps the base of his cock, gently smacking your cheek and you take him in your mouth again without any hesitation.
Your position is rather difficult, but you still bob your head back and forth to meet the roll of his hips.
“Nghh, that’s right baby.. suck my fucking cock,“ he leans his head back in pleasure.
His groans are like a charm that makes your pussy wet. Your walls burning from pure need to get him inside of you.
Dabi notices you try to squeeze your thighs together, desperate to get some pleasure for your neglected clit. He sneers, grin tugging his lips.
“Oh baby girl, need me to fuck you that bad?“ he asks, still fucking your mouth.
A pathetic whimper is all you can emit in your current state, which makes him chuckle again. After a few seconds, Dabi pulls himself out of your mouth.
You’re panting, out of breath. But suddenly you feel his hand on your thigh and another one on your neck. Understanding the position he wants you in, you get on your belly.
There’s a small creak and the bed dips as he places his weight on it, setting himself on his knees between your parted legs. A horny grin on his stapled features, he strokes his cock for the utterly exciting sight.
“Lift your ass up, baby. Show me your fucking holes,“ he commands, his tone hasty and aroused.
You arch your back and bend your knees a little, showing him where he can shove his dick. His mouth is watering from the way your pussy was dripping, inviting him to fuck you.
You feel him move and lean over your smaller figure. A moan passes your lips as he drags his cock along your two holes. Suddenly his hot breath is fanning against the shell of your ear.
“Which one do you think I’ll be using tonight..?“ He asks, voice deep and seductive with a hint of derision.
You whimper in response, not getting any time to think as he sinks the tip inside your pussy, your walls allowing him with ease.
Your moan is long and sultry, like a bitch in heat. Your breaths are like small whines as you feel him softly bite your ear.
“Nngh.. Nice and tight as always..” he groans, adjusting his position.
You feel overwhelmed, full, Moaning loudly as pleasure consumes your body. Your fingers curl, digging into the sheets. His hand covers your mouth suddenly, muffling another moan that was about to slip out.
“Sshh, baby. You’ll wake everyone up,” his husky voice whispers in your ear. But then he gives a rather powerful thrust, making you cry out in his hand. Almost like wanting you to scream to let everyone know that his dick was currently inside you.
Another toothy grin tugs at staples of his face as he begins a steady pace. He places his other hand on the back of your head and fucks you hard, muffling every lovely moan that tries to come out of your mouth.
Dabi grits his teeth, groaning how your tight, warm walls were pleasuring him. His balls smack against your wet dripping pussy.
It’s an obscene sight, really. You’re trapped under his much bigger form, unable to do a thing as he takes you like an animal. Uses you like you’re no good for anything else.
But you’re getting more wet at the way Dabi is handling your body. As if you were his property, his toy. Your pussy was his to fuck whenever he wanted.
Squelching sounds fill the bedroom and with each thrust, your slick drips from your hole. He slams his hips against you harder, forcing louder moans to scrape your throat.
Dabi could feel his balls tightening in approaching orgasm. Your walls clenching around his length, driving him towards his bliss. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore.
“Fuck– I’m gonna cum inside you baby, okay?” He huffs in your ear and you respond with a muffled whine.
He rams his cock inside you so hard and fast that your moans become choked cries. There’s no anticipating how hard your own orgasm hits you as you cream all over his cock. Pleasure shocks your body, your pussy pulsating around him and milking him straight to his bliss.
A loud groan escapes through his gritted teeth as his muscles tense up. His hips stutter, pleasure blurring his vision as he empties himself inside your sore pussy. White ropes of hot cum staining your used walls.
Dabi catches his breath for a brief moment, making sure not to collapse on top of your fragile figure. He gets off of you and uncuffs your wrists. Your body is numb as he takes the blindfold off.
You’re still catching your breath. Your moves are a little troublesome as you turn yourself over. Dabi places his hand on your hip, helping you on your back and the sight of you just makes his heart flutter.
Your hands are placed beside your head as you pant. Your chest is still heaving a little. Your skin is glimmering from sweat and your eyes are closed, making you look peaceful.
It’s a sight he engraves in his mind for this will be a memory he never wants to forget. A warmth blossoms in his chest, knowing how lucky he is to be with you. As you open your hazy eyes, he smiles and places his hand on your cheek.
“Hi there.”
“Hi,” you smile happily.
“Are you alright?”
“Mhmmh.. I’m fine.”
“Good..” He kisses your forehead and moves to grab a small towel from the nightstand. He’s gentle when he cleans the mixture of his cum and your slick between your legs. Tossing the cloth somewhere on the floor, he focuses his attention back to you.
Your eyes are closed again, but as he places his hand on your cheek again you open them. You meet the enchanting blue of his heavily-lidded eyes that look down at you with deep love.
“Do you need me to get you anything?” He asks, but you gently shake your head.
“If you could just hold me now,” you plead and he smiles.
“Of course.“
He wraps his arms around your tired figure and brings you close to his chest. Your breaths are warm against his scarred skin as you soon drift away.
Dabi kisses the top of your head and falls into a slumber not long after.
Caretaker had collapsed at their desk, exhausted from the countless hours spent looking for Whumpee. They would not rest until Whumpee was found. Could not rest.
Because Whumper kidnapping Whumpee had been all their fault. And they couldn't live with themself if something happened to Whumpee.
Caretaker was almost too exhausted to move. Their eyes burned with each blink. Their body ached with each movement. They needed to sleep, but couldn't stomach the idea of laying still and doing nothing in the hunt for Whumpee.
But they could sit for a few moments at their desk and go through their mail. That they could do.
Caretaker put a couple of bills aside as a "later" problem. They shredded the junk mail. All that left was a small envelope. Nothing remarkable about it other than their was no return address.
Caretaker's mouth went dry as they opened the letter and several polaroid pictures tumbled out. "Whumpee," they whispered as they stared down at the pictures in their hands.
Whumpee was blindfolded and tied to a chair in each photo, their face pinched with fear. A knife flashed closer and closer to Whumpee's throat as the photos progressed. The last one, a photo with a knife pressed flush against Whumpee's throat though no blood had been drawn, had writing on the back.
"Tick tock, Caretaker. How long do you think it will take for them to bleed out? How long will you mourn them? Come find us and we can find out together."
Caretaker jumped up at Whumper's words. They didn't have time to sit here. They had to find Whumpee. Had to stop Whumper. There was no time to lose.
