#<- not the most recent session but. the one before that one

[tiyawnyana]

Heyy! I'd like to request Viktor x f!reader, an academic rivals sort of thing. Lots of bickering, teasing and all that. I really love the concept, and I've read every fic I found like this, but I'd love to see it in your style!

So the reader is really frustrated, and they are arguing, lots of tension yk, then she accidentally confesses to liking him/finding him really attractive, so she turns all flustered and tries to deny it, aaand I'll leave the rest to you, maybe it could be smut? With a bit of dom Viktor, hehee

Thank you so much<33

Thank you for your request and patience!!! Loved envisioning Viktor in this 🥴

A/N: i had the woooorst hangover new years day oh my goodness

Characters: Viktor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: rivals to 'lovers', tension, dom!Viktor, teasing, praise (use of good girl), fingering, slight oral (f receiving), maybe a little ooc but I picture Viktor as a teaser

MINORS DNI

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In Piltover's esteemed engineering college, there were always self-proclaimed rivals in academics.

You stand in the entry hall, glaring up at the scoreboard for the most recent exams.

Your name was placed second.

Second to Viktor. An honorary student from the lower streets of Zaun. To be fair- he had clawed his way to where he was now. That much you could respect.

But come on. Really?

You were practically born reading, studying, bleeding engineering. This was your calling.

How was he able to score better than you? There's no way.

The sound of a metallic cane hitting the ground echoes in the hallway before stopping beside you.

You sigh, gritting your teeth.

A low chuckle can be heard,”Nice score,” the voice speaks smoothly, rolling the ‘r’ and looking your way.

You exhale angrily through your nose,”Oh, shut up.”

A mock look of surrender crosses his face as he raises his hands, cane hooked on his forearm as you cast a scathing look his way.

“Hostile, hm?” He smirks at you and you shove down the fester of butterflies swarming your belly.

With a scowl and a scoff, you turn and stalk off.

His pleased snicker can be heard, sending a jolt of anger up your spine.

The annual engineering designs contest was creeping up.

You were practically vibrating from excitement, having finally finished your own project weeks in advance.

In between that time there were seemingly countless exams that you had to cram study sessions in for.

As usual, it was a back and forth with a certain Zaunite for who claimed first place.

Frustration brewed in your belly, festering over time into something more aggressive.

The day of the Engineering contest was a huge success.

You had cleared your mind of all unease and submitted your invention, pleased with the professor's reactions along with your peers.

“Quite impressive, I will admit,” that accented voice sends a chill up your spine, and you turn to see Victor smirking at you and your invention.

”Sarcasm, how delightful,” you scoff.

“Not sarcasm,” he clicks his tongue, moving past you to peer down at your entry,”Interesting design- can’t help but notice its similarities to the early engineering of Piltover creations.”

You tense slightly, surprised,”What of it?”

He shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips,”Have you seen my invention yet?”

You narrow your gaze,”No, I have not-“

He keeps his smirk on his lips as he tilts his head towards where his invention is being admired. By many, you should add.

Even the Dean.

Hot, boiling jealousy brews in your gut.

You ended up storming out of the halls, needing to calm down.

You find solace in one of your favorite classes, Professor Daughtry’s room. Pacing back and forth, you attempt to calm down; looking at chemical compounds written on the chalkboard to formula’s on posters to distract yourself.

You’d worked so hard, going over seemingly countless versions of your invention in hopes to get the Dean’s approval and favor. With your parents breathing down your neck and now this overwhelming pressure to be the best- you couldn’t seem to calm down.

You hear someone approaching the room, door ajar.

“Sorry, can I please be left alone?” You mutter the most respectful way you can.

“This is a common area,” of course, it’s him and his stupid accent.

The hairs on your arm bristle up as you turn to glare at him.

He mockingly raises his hands in surrender, a small smirk on his lips. He walks in, allowing the door to slide closed behind him.

“Viktor- the door!” You yell but it’s too late. The automatic lock can be heard.

Professor Daughtry had it installed when one too many students snuck into his class to fool around.

“You- you imbecile!” You groan, crossing the room to try to pry the door open.

“Wiggling the doorknob isn’t going to unlock it,” he teases.

You whip around to glare, finding him already lounging against one of the tables by the front of the classroom.

“Oh- will you just- just shut up!” You scowl, glaring at him.

“Feisty,” he smirks, raising his hands again in mock surrender,”What did I do to get on your bad side, hm?”

You roll your eyes, huffing in annoyance. Your forehead comes to rest on the door, willing it to unlock.

Of course Professor Daughtry has an automatic lock, you think silently with an eye roll.

“Well?” Viktor hums, sitting against one of the desks.

You scoff,”What haven't you done?”

“Oh? There's more than one?” He smirks and you find annoyance in the butterflies that swarm everywhere inside you.

You narrow your gaze as you look at him fully, taking in his relaxed state.

Curse him to look so good in the Zaun colors. Curse him to have such a gorgeous set of golden brown eyes.

Curse him to be blessed with such a face.

Curse him, Curse him, Curse him.

“I was born to be a top engineer,” you scowl,”And you just come waltzing in being a know it all-”

“Sorry that I too, was born to be an engineer-” he looks bewildered, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up! This is my entire life-”

“It's my entire life, too! What are you going to do- sell off new inventions to the highest bidder?”

You glare at him,”What of it? Profit gets more creations made, all in the name of progress for-”

“For Piltover, right?” He huffs out a sarcastic laugh,”None of it for Zaun?”

You look at him in surprise, eyebrows shot up.

He smirks at you, but it's not the one you've found yourself liking,”Of course not. I am here in the name of Zaun, princess. Everything I do and create is in hopes that Topside will see that Zaun is capable of great things.”

“I never said-”

“You didn't have to, it's written on your face!” He shouts, pointing his cane towards you,”I see the way you glare, your judgement is based solely on the fact that I am from Zaun.”

“I'm not- glaring because of that!” You huff angrily, taking one step closer.

“Then why, huh? I’m scum to you? Filth from the undercity?” He steps closer too, cane hitting the marble flooring with a clack.

“You’re hot- you stupid-“ You cover your mouth instantly, face warming in embarrassment.

He stands still, eyes wide as he looks down at you in surprise before his mouth lifts in a smirk, an exhaled laugh leaving his now parted lips.

“That’s not- I-“ You stammer, backing up to the door and turning to tug on the knob while simultaneously hoping the floor beneath you would swallow you whole, saving you from this mess.

You rest your forehead against the door again, the cool varnish on the wood a contrast against the warmth in your face.

You hear his cane clacking against the floor as he steps closer before you feel him lightly hit the back of your ankle.

“Stop it-“

He huffs out a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. You lift your head from the door, side eyeing him and that stupid smirk.

“So.. if I heard this correctly-“

”Ugh.. shut up,” you groan, clenching your eyes shut in pure mortified fashion.

He hits the back of your ankle again, taking delight in your embarrassment.

”You’ve been glaring and being a sour princess because you..” He takes a step closer,”Find me attractive?”

His cane is used to box you in against the door and you warily turn around to face him and the stupidity of your unfiltered mouth.

“No- that’s not-“ You try to deny but you’re shut up when he just smirks down at you, stepping closer.

“Oh? Well.. if that’s not the case, that’s too bad, then..” his voice is now bordering a sultry, seductive tone.

Your eyebrows scrunch, your confusion obvious on your face,”How- how so?”

He quirks a brow at your curiosity, a grin overtaking the smirk. He takes a moment, seemingly deciding if he wants to keep teasing you or just be out with it.

He deliberately lets his gaze trail down your front, tracing every detail, taking in every ripple of the university's uniform. He brings his gaze back up to your face, lingering over your lips.

He quirks up an eyebrow, waiting.

You inhale sharply, cheeks warming even more so, coming to the blatantly obvious realization that he was openly checking you out.

There’s a long pause, followed by him taking a few steps back to lean against the teachers desk. He rests his cane against the side, looking back at you before beckoning you with a quirk of his fingers.

It’s like a command you’d been praying for- you step forward so quick, hands coming up to cup his gorgeously sculpted face before you’re tugging him down to meet your kiss, clumsy at first but desperation obvious.

He’s just as desperate, hands pawing down the back of your vest, cupping around your waist firmly.

You release a shaky moan against his lips, leaning into him as he takes charge of the kiss, licking at the seam of your lips and invading your mouth. One of his hands come back up to cup the side of your jaw, tilting your head back.

You brace yourself, palms pressing down on either side of him on the desk, only to jump and pull back at the loud clang of his cane hitting the floor.

He huffs out a soft laugh, cupping your cheek again and tugging you back in, tongue pressing into your mouth.

“Mmph-“ You moan against him, pawing down his front before carefully unbuttoning the top buttons of his vest.

“Eager, are we?” He says once he pulls back from the kiss, lips now slightly red.

“Shut up-“ You huff in annoyance, but you’re stopped when he grabs your wrists.

“That’s not very nice.. is it?” He hums, eyes darkened with lust as he gazes down at you.

Your cheeks flush, swallowing thickly before rasping a soft,”Sorry-“

”Sorry for what?”

You’re surprised even more so, mouth agape in confusion.

“You must be so used to always getting what you wanted, hm?” He gently but firmly cups your chin, tugging you closer, teasingly brushing his lips against yours,”What are you sorry for, Princess?”

You chase, but he holds you firmly, ensuring you’re not able to get what you want. You whine softly, pleadingly looking up at him but he remains stoic, now, a disappointed look in his eyes.

You swallow thickly,”I’m- uh.. I’m sorry for telling you to shut up-“

”Very good,” He praises, and your thighs clench beneath the long skirt of your uniform.

He grabs your chin, tugging you back in for another heated kiss before pulling back to unbutton your vest. You get the message, unbuttoning his as well and helping him out of it before shrugging yours off.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs in praise as he helps unbutton your shirt, sliding it down your shoulders, his hands gently tracing down your arms, goosebumps following soon after.

You shake it off, cheeks flushed as you undo his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt, but leaving it on to admire his disheveled look.

“Enjoying the view?” He teases, beckoning you back in.

You roll your eyes but follow his call, sighing with bliss when he cups the side of your neck, fingers lacing into your hair to tilt your head to press kisses down your throat.

His touch sends heat through your body, your thighs tense beneath your skirt. You inhale sharply as his fingers unhook the back of your bra, carefully slipping the straps down your shoulders- your nipples harden in the cool air and it's almost like you can see his gaze darken.

His touch is careful, moving his hand from your hip up, up over your ribs to cup the underside of your breast and thumb over your hardened nipple.

He huffs softly,”To think- all this strife and annoyance could've been avoided..” He smirks and pinches your nipple, reveling in your soft yelp,”If we would’ve talked sooner..”

“Please,” you rasp softly, hands fumbling as you grip over his ribs, pawing at lean muscle and soft skin.

“Oh? Begging sounds so nice coming from your lips,” he praises softly.

You huff, leaning in to chase his mouth but he just chuckles at your eagerness, burrowing his fingers into your hair and tugging just right, a whimper escaping your throat.

“Please, what, princess?” He coos, tilting his head and giving you a lust filled look in his honey brown eyes.

You struggle to form words, licking your lips before finally managing to beg,”Touch me-“

“You’ve got to be specific, gorgeous, how am I supposed to know where?” He firmly cups your tit, nipple hard in his palm,”Here? Or..”

His knee suddenly presses between your legs, grinding into your clothed cunt.

“Mmmph- Oh, ahh-“ you whine, eyes fluttering.

“I’m almost tempted to make you get off like this, Princess,” He smirks, kissing your temple almost fondly, feeling immensely intimate,”But.. I’m not cruel.”

He disconnects from you, sliding over to the teachers chair as he uses the desk for stability, before beckoning you over and again, under his spell, you follow without hesitation.

He grips your hips, pushing you back against the desk and guiding one leg up onto the arm of the chair he sits in. He kisses the inside of your knee and you inhale shakily, stabilizing yourself against the desk with a white knuckled grip over the edge. His hands bring your skirt up, bunching up around your waist as he ushers you to lay against the desk.

He whistles teasingly, eyes lighting up as he sees the mess of wetness between your legs,”I haven’t even started, princess..”

“Don’t- don’t tease me,” you murmur in embarrassment, averting your gaze as warmth covers your cheeks.

“But you’re so fun to tease,” he coos, bringing the chair closer to kiss your inner thigh,”Take them off for me?”

You narrow your gaze, only to stop when he raises his eyebrow. Despite the embarrassment, it seems your need for him outweighs it, so you carefully shimmy your underwear off, not missing that he grabs them and stuffs them into his pocket- when you also spot his tented trousers.

“Spread them,” he taps your thighs.

You listen. Of course you do, almost like you were hypnotized by his voice and he can’t help the smirk almost permanently etched into his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting your outer thighs and pressing a soft kiss to the soft skin inside, lingering as he groans from your scent.

He trails his hand up your other thigh, spreading you further before his thumb brushes over your swollen clit.

You squeak, releasing a shaky moan when he grins and rubs his thumb over it softly, not enough to get you off but enough to have you needy and whimpering for more.

“So greedy,” he murmurs against the skin of your inner thigh.

“Viktor- please,” you beg, gripping the edge of the desk with a pleading look in your eyes.

He chuckles, but decides to not tease, instead choosing to spread your folds with a pleased groan at the slick glistening on your cunt. He prods, allowing your slick to wet his fingers before looking up at you.

“Tell me to stop whenever, ok, Princess?”

You nod shakily, warmth gathering in your chest.

“Use your words, now..”

”Yes- I will, Viktor,” you stammer softly, chest heaving at his command.

He nods his approval, carefully pressing his pointer finger into your heat, groaning at the vice-like grip he’s greeted with. You open up so beautifully for him, gummy walls welcoming him almost greedily.

You huff, whining softly before slumping against the desk with a squirm of your hips, almost trying to pull him in more.

He pulls his finger back, then presses back in more, up to his knuckle, getting you used to the stretch. He listens to your soft, airy moans with a satisfied grin.

He presses another finger in, curling both upwards and gently pulling back just to press in harder, other hand holding you down flat against your stomach, thumb rubbing over your clit with precision.

Of course he’s a natural, you think to yourself with a huff before a moan is almost punched out of you as the pads of his fingers press something inside of you. You lift your head, dazed, as you peer at him only to groan at the self satisfied smirk on his mouth.

He sucks a mark into your thigh, speeding up his fingers and thumb, listening to you moan louder and longer, babbling nonsense and repeated pleads.

“Please- oh, don’t stop-“ You beg, head shaking back and forth against the desk.

“You sound so good, all desperate,” he coos, thrusting his fingers into you faster gradually,”Makes me wonder how you’ll feel riding me.”

You moan out loud at the imagery, your walls tighten up around his fingers and he groans, nipping into your thigh.

He keeps at it, grinding his fingers into you faster and harder as you gasp, whine and squirm against the desk. You babble, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to that crest.

“Please- please, oh-“ you moan, back arching into his hands.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he praises,”I think you deserve a treat.”

He removes his thumb from your clit and you almost groan angrily only to yelp in pleasure as his mouth seals over the sensitive bud. He flicks his tongue over it, circling and sucking until you shriek out a moan, sure to have echoed around the empty class as you find your release.

After the mind numbing orgasm, followed by him licking your slick from your folds and his fingers, he pats the outside of your thigh to get your attention.

“C’mon, princess,” he coos.

You tiredly sit up from the desk, peering down at him as he sits back with a cocky smirk.

He points to a button on the inside of the desk,”Did you know that I was the one that installed the new locks to Professor Daughtry’s class? He requested that a secret button be placed on his desk that only he should know about- to unlock it, of course,” He tilts his head,”Sure, there’s a key that he carries, but there are perks to being one of the students he likes.."

He lifts a lone key after grabbing it from his pocket.

You raise your brow in confusion.

“We won’t be bothered at all,” he smirks, a lustful glint in his gaze as he scoots that chair back with his good leg before unbuckling his belt. He taps the floor with his foot,”Show me what else your mouth is good for.”

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A/N: got some more im working on!!

[happy-hermit]

HI GUYS I'M BACK ON MY BULLSHIT <333

Have some Scar angst featuring Clockers comfort :) Enjoy!!!

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Scar kills Cleo.

He doesn’t mean to do it, doesn’t mean to break the rules, doesn’t mean to hurt his own ally. It’s still a shock that he even has allies — it is still something that hits him all over again, every time he opens his eyes and they're still there. 

But Scar kills Cleo. They won’t be there for much longer. 

“You dropped it right on her head,” Bdubs says, solemn, and Scar feels sick. His heart is skipping in his chest, his breath is frozen in his lungs. His hands feel like they’re being assaulted by pins and needles. 

He’s made a mistake. He’d known, of course, that it was only a matter of time, but. Well. Sometimes he likes to pretend. 

He can’t anymore. Not now. Not after that. 

And Cleo didn’t even seem all that mad, is the thing. She hadn’t yelled, hadn’t even frowned, really. She’d been quiet though, at first. And she’d laughed after, but— But people could laugh and still be mad, couldn’t they? And Bdubs had seemed pretty disappointed. 

Scar can’t do anything right. If they hadn’t known that before, they certainly did now. 

Scar kills Cleo.

 That night, he packs his bags. 

It’s not at all hard to sneak out, which is a fun change of pace. Cleo slept like, well, like the dead, and Bdubs had fully mastered the art of sleeping at this point. Nothing short of breaking the bed was going to get him out of it. So Scar just… walks by. He’s got what little possessions he’s collected stored safely in his bag, and the rest he’s left for them. They’ll make better use of things than he will, he’s sure. 

The night is clear and quiet, the same stars as always hanging silently in the sky and watching him while he walks. Those little twinkling lights have been witnesses to every misstep and mistake he’s ever made. He was a bit surprised that one of them hasn’t yet taken it upon themselves to fall out of the sky and end his misery. Though he supposed that might’ve been the moon's true motive. Maybe it had been rude to avoid the inevitable crash. 

Tonight, though, the stars stay where they are, and Scar does not. 

He walks by the Bad Boys burned mansion, the earth around it scorched and bare. He looks up towards the roof for a while, thinking. He almost wants to go up there and find Grian, because at least Grian makes sense. At least Grian hurts him in a way that he is used to. 

Selfish, he thinks, shaking his head and turning away. Grian never meant it; he isn’t cruel. Scar just tends to awaken in people the need to get away, is all. Like how all anyone ever thinks about when carrying a heavy object is a place to put it down. 

Scar wanders for a bit, dodging mobs as he stumbles through the darkness, until finally the sun starts to rise. Scar drops his bag down at the bottom of a hill and sits down heavily beside it, as dim light transitions to golden rays. He’s not going to build on a mountain, he resolves. Not this time. Not when he’s trying not to be noticed.

He eats a quick breakfast of steak and bread,  heavy silence sitting like a cloak on his shoulders, and then he starts carving a hole into the hill. He spends the rest of the day like that, hollowing out a home as hollow as he feels, ignoring the buzz of his communicator in his pocket. Either someone was trying to get a hold of him, or no one had noticed at all. He’s not sure which he would prefer, and so he doesn’t look. He doesn’t look, and he tries his best not to think about it, either. He builds a new base of stone and brick into the hillside, and then he shuts the door behind him and lies in bed and doesn’t sleep. 

There is the steady and faint noise of water leaking through the roof across the room, single drops of water falling in intervals into the bucket he’d placed haphazardly before crawling under the covers. There is the crackling of the oven a few feet away, still warm from the steak he’d cooked earlier. There is the quiet howling of wind from outside, as it tugged on grass and trees and at his door. He can hear himself breathing, can hear it hitch as soon as he becomes aware of it. 

He’s cold, and he shivers, tugging the blanket up further as he stares at the ceiling. There’s moisture stinging at the corners of his eyes, and there is a lump in his throat, and even though there is no one around to hear he still can’t quite break the habit of crying silently.

He wakes up to birds singing, and dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Scar sits in bed for a moment, lost, and then he grabs his hoe and wheat seeds, and he goes outside. 

There are a few pigs on his hill that he spends an hour herding into a pen, and then he finds a good stretch of land and gets to work tilling it. By the time the seeds are planted and watered, it’s mid afternoon, and Scar jumps straight into cutting down a few trees for wood. His muscles are sore and straining, but still he swings the axe. As evidenced by the unintended brutal murder of his pretend mother, he really doesn’t know when to quit. 

At least now with no one else around, there is no one else to hurt. It’s just him. Which is fine, really, because he’s done it before. He knows how it goes. This is how they play the game. 

So Scar is not expecting anyone to come after him. Which is probably why he almost takes Bdubs’ head off with his axe when he’s suddenly just there.

“You’ll clear out the forest at this rate,” Bdubs says casually, very close behind him, and Scar yelps in alarm and spins around mid swing. “Maybe you— Hey, watch it!”

It’s only thanks to Bdubs short stature and quick duck that his head remains on his shoulders, and in the aftermath they stare at each other with wide eyes and heaving lungs.

“Bdubs,” Scar manages, strangled and high-pitched, and then he rapidly clears his throat, pasting on a smile. “You— I didn’t see you there! Not that—”

“If you’re going to make a short joke I will stab you on the spot,” Bdubs grumbles, and he tears the axe out of Scar’s slack hands, throwing it to the ground a few feet away. “I’ve been out all night looking for you, I hope you appreciate the lack of sleep I’ve had to endure.”

Scar stares, awkward smile slipping a little as his mind sluggishly attempts to comprehend the conversation. 

“Why?” Scar asks eventually, interrupting the other’s unintelligible grumbling as he smooths his clothes. “Did I forget something? Or— I didn’t take something of yours by accident, did I?”

Bdubs goes still and looks up, brow furrowed slightly and eyes unreadable. “Did you— You forgot to say goodbye, for one thing!” Bdubs crosses his arms and glares at him. “And didn’t tell us where you were going! And didn’t answer our messages! You— You disappeared!”

He seems angry, or at least frustrated, and Scar’s heart beats a little faster. He doesn’t— He’s confused, is all. He’s not sure what this is about.

“Oh! Well, I thought— I thought it would just be easier, you know?” Scar says, and shrugs like it's no big deal, like his chest isn’t constricting. “So you didn’t have to say it.”

“Oh what are you blabbering about?” Bdubs scowls, but can’t quite hide his confusion. “So we didn’t have to say what?”

“Just— You know.” Scar looks away in defeat, because now Bdubs is gonna make him say it. “So you didn’t have to ask me to leave.”

“...What?”

Bdubs says it like he has no idea what Scar is talking about, like he’s talking nonsense, and something desperate wells up in his stomach and crawls into his throat. He has to make him understand.

“Look, I’m— I may be clueless, but I can still read a room,” Scar says, quick and shaky and filled with false bravado. He tries for a smile, and it sits on his face like a wound would. “Trust me, I know when people have had enough. Just— Let me leave with my dignity this time?” Scar chuckles, like it’s a joke, but it’s a sad little sound, and he can’t look Bdubs in the eyes. “You don’t have to… ask. It’s fine, really. It’s better for everyone like this.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Scar almost thinks Bdubs already left. But—

“You’re right,” Bdubs says, and something about his voice is strange. Strained and soft. The words land like a blow, but Bdubs isn’t finished. He comes up next to him and touches his arm. Scar closes his eyes. 

“You are clueless,” Bdubs says, still in that gentle, choked tone, and Scar gasps as he’s pulled into a hug.

His hands hover aimlessly over Bdubs’ back for a few long seconds, tears stinging at the back of his wide eyes. His heart is beating fast, and his chest aches, and for some reason, Bdubs is hugging him. Tightly, like he’s not planning on letting go. Like it’s not a goodbye. 

“I killed Cleo,” Scar chokes out, because his throat hurts and he doesn’t really want to say it, but he has to make sure Bdubs knows, even though there’s no way he doesn’t. 

“Yeah, you did,” Bdubs replies easily, and squeezes Scar’s middle pointedly. “She thought it was funny. She’s not mad.” He pauses, and continues a little softer. “We didn’t want you to leave. We don’t.”

Scar lets his hands rest carefully against the other’s back, like he’s not sure he’s allowed. “Please don’t be lying,” he says.

“You called me out for being the Boogey, Scar,” Bdubs says, a bit of amusement returning to his voice. “You know what I sound like when I’m lying.”

“You’re bad at it,” Scar says weakly.

“Exactly. So are you.”

“We make a good team?”

“We do,” Bdubs says, and finally pulls away. His eyes are a little puffy, and Scar blinks in shock. Bdubs grins. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

Their clock tower raises high in the distance, and as they approach, Scar spots Cleo standing outside of it, tapping their foot and checking her communicator. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until Bdubs calls his name in question. 

“She’s really not mad,” Bdubs insists, tugging at his wrist lightly. “Well, maybe that you left, but not about the killing thing.”

“I don’t know, Bdubs,” Scar says, nerves making his voice waver. 

“That’s because I’m in charge of knowing right now,” Bdubs scolds, and Scar finally relents and starts walking again. “Just don’t run away again.”

About halfway up the mountain, Cleo spots them, and her shoulders sag. In relief? 

“It’s past your curfew!” Cleo calls out, and has their hands on their hips when they finally make it to where’s she’s standing. She raises an eyebrow at Scar, who shrinks a little beneath their gaze. “Where have you been?”

It’s like they’re upset that he left, that he wasn’t there, that he was gone, and Scar— Doesn’t know how to deal with that. It is so far outside the realm of his recent experiences that he’s struck speechless, for a moment. Bdubs seems to take pity on him. 

“He thought you were mad,” Bdubs says, nudging Scar forwards a little. 

“So you left?” Cleo asks, as if that’s not the rational conclusion that Scar thinks it is, and he swallows hard, avoiding their eyes. 

“Well, I thought—“ He wrings his hands into his shirt, heart pounding. “I thought you… wanted me to leave?”

Cleo’s face falls, almost imperceptibly, and Scar winces. 

“Why would I want that, Scar?”

His mouth is dry, and right now he really does feel like a little kid in trouble with his parents. 

“I killed you,” Scar says, quiet and ashamed. He’s studying the ground beneath his feet with rapt attention. There is dog fur stuck in the cracks. 

“Yeah.” Cleo shrugs, and Scar glances up in bewilderment. “And Grian, and Jimmy. It was amazing, actually.”

Scar stares, and something in his face must give him away, because Cleo’s softens. 

“I told you I was proud,” Cleo says. “I did mean it, you know.”

“But—“

“Why is it so hard to believe?” Cleo interrupts, voice suddenly commanding, and yet still gentle. It’s something only she can pull off. “Why is— Your first thought is that we want you gone. Why?”

“Because no one wants me around,” Scar snaps, finally fed up, some overwhelming and burning emotion building in his chest as his voice raises. “You know I— All I ever try to do is make allies, but no one ever— Only one person has ever stuck by me, but it was never because he wanted to. He had to.” Scar makes a grand sweeping gesture, manic smile breaking under his trailing tears. He lets out a shaky laugh that’s more of a sob, and he lets his hands fall back to his sides. 

“Everyone leaves,” Scar says eventually, after a few seconds of oppressive silence. “And maybe it’s— maybe I’m made for it, but I don’t—“ His voice breaks, and he closes his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.”

It’s not something he’s ever admitted out loud. It’s not something he ever really felt like he deserved to feel. 

“Then stay,” Cleo says, and her hand appears on his wrist, cold and careful. “We have a choice, and we want you here.”

“What’s a little death between family, anyway?” Bdubs pipes up, and takes Scar’s other hand. “Just brings us closer.”

Scar doesn’t realize he’s crying again until Cleo lets out a soft sound. 

“Oh, Scar…”

Scar lets out a watery laugh, wiping fruitlessly at his eyes. “I don’t want to leave,” he says, small and tired. “I want to stay.”

Cleo pulls him against their chest, and he buries his face in their shoulder and his hands into their clothes, and his shoulders shake. 

“Good,” Cleo says, sounding a little shaky herself, as Bdubs tucks up against his side and sighs a little in relief. “So do I.”

The sun has long since set, and Scar can feel his eyelids drooping as his emotions finally catch up with him. He feels hollow, but in a good way. Like there’s finally room for something better to take its place. 

They’re still hugging, still standing in the dark in front of their cobbled-together clock tower, and somehow, Bdbubs starts snoring. He’s fallen asleep, leaning against Scar’s side, still standing up. 

“I think it’s time for bed,” Cleo says, laughing quietly, and Scar cracks a genuine smile for the first time in a while. He carefully feta goes himself from Cleo and scoops Bdubs up in one smooth motion, heading for the door. It’s missing something; maybe a doormat. 

When he turns to check on Cleo, she’s still standing where he left them, but she’s staring at the Bad Boys mansion with a stony face and clenched fists. It’s almost like she’s angry at one of them, for something. Scar can't think of anything recent that would’ve justified her anger now. 

“Cleo?” Scar calls, uncertain, and they jolt a bit, turning to look at him. “Are you coming?”

With one last glance at the mansion, she sighs and follows him inside, ruffling his hair on her way by.

“Welcome home,” she says, and Scar feels something in his chest piece back together. 

And, well. That would be a pretty good thing to put on a doormat.

[theinfinitedivides]

going to be channeling the absolutely unhinged energy of SRK not only taking over most of the characterization planning for his role (and his squad's!!!) in Pathaan but also writing a 1700-page document on the action genre in his journal for all of my future academic endeavors, tyvm

[mayspicer]

Ok, the boss is no more! There were some super stressful moments but surprisingly we all survived o:

My animal companion got hit with disintegrate, but we had hero points to make him avoid it. I would cry actually, because disintegrate means no resurrection x_x

The war is prevented! At least this one, because Cayden's party is right at the center of a much bigger one just starting. Today we saved the country. Cayden is trying to not even save the whole world, just maybe slow the whole thing down and save as much people as possible...

[muntitled]

Condom or No Condom: Dreamy Edition

-' 7dream x afab!reader

-' Which dreamies are wrapping it up

-' cw: +18, mdni, Name calling, Breeding Kink, Coercion, Degradation Kink

Missed Renjun <3

# Mark | No Condom

-a very shy boy at times but his kinks are anything but

- the type to verbalize his interests in different kinks with small actions so you'd really need to pay attention

- Mark would intentionally forget to buy condoms

- Recently he'd be staying inside you longer.

He'd already be easing you out of your clothes, leaving wet kisses along your soft abdomen as you begin to tug on his long brown strands.

You'd already been wet for him a long tine ago, Mark just needed you especially pliant for when he could really start talking his shit, "You know how good you'd look with my baby inside you?" Mark's panting heavily, "Dude, seriously,"

Your hips would stutter upwards without you even meaning to, quickly prompting Mark to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"You like that idea, yeah?"

You'd watch through hazy eyes as Mark pulls his cock just enough to line it up at your entrance. "Want me to hit it raw? Huh, Pretty Girl- fuck-" Just saying those words out loud has his cock twitching eagerly. Mark would be a heaving mess as he presses hich cock into your cunt. The sensation of your bare skin against his would give him brain fog, making him tremble as he kissed against your neck.

"Fuck, I'm gonna breed you, baby-" he'd kiss you again non stop, "Gonna breed my baby..."

# Renjun | Condom

- he can be persuaded into forgoing one but you'd need to construct an incredibly good argument (no you wont)

- the moment the idea falls from your lips, Renjun can't help the desire that runs through his stomach

- still, he'd try to be a good boyfriend. A responsible boyfriend.

"Why are you so scared to fuck me today?" You'd whisper into Renjun's ear, wholly frustrated from this make out sessions that has lasted for way too long. "We're not high schoolers, Ren, why aren't you inside me?"

He'd sigh in frustration as his threw his hand backwards on the pillows scattered around your bed. His hands naturally going to your hips.

"Condoms-" he'd sigh in frustration before peeking up from her palm of his hands

"I forgot to buy more-"

You had continued kissing up the side of his neck. Renjuin shivered when your tongue slithered out to lick a long stripe down his neck. "Thats fine."

His eyes are wide and so incredibly hungry when he swallows and asks. "Thats fine?"

"Thats fine," you'd nod. "Im on birth control-"

"Shit, why didn't you say this sooner-" he'd grumble

# Jeno | No Condom

- As soon as you're dating he'd forgo buying condoms altogether

- he actually thinks it's weird and unnatural not to have raw sex with his girl who's both tested and loyal

- this would also spur on his breeding kink

Jeno's teeth sink into your collarbone as he fucks you roughly against the wall. Like a dog in heat, the sound of your body snapping together is the only thing that fills the entire room.

"Such a pretty slut," he'd muttered through clenched teeth. "You only let me fuck you like this?" He'd have his palms locked around your neck as he watches you wrestle to stay conscious, "You only let me fuck you like this?" He'd repeat, this time with a much firmer voice.

Your lips trmeble as you say, "Only you Nono-"

"Fuck, I'm cumming-" and he would. The thought of you belonging to him being more than enough.

# Haechan | No Condom

- A menace in disguise

- For the better part of the relationship he'd entertain you and your 'we need a condom" narrative

- Boring

- He'd roll his eyes

- Until one day he just stops buying them altogether

- And then he'd throw away the condoms you kept in your house too

- And then he'd throw your birth control pills down the drain

He's whispering the most vile things into your ear as you sat on his lap, legs spread open as his fingers repeatedly stab your cunt.

His voice is low, in the way you like and your eyes are squeezed shut as you picture every filthy thing he's saying to you.

"God, Hyuck-"

"Listen to how wet you are- you want me to stick my cock inside you, huh? You wanna squeeze this tight pussy around Hyuck's cock?

"Fuck I'm, so close,' his thumb circles your clit, "I'm gonna fill you up so good, babe I promise-" you'd be done for, cumming everywhere as your body spasmed around his fingers.

"F-Fuck-"

"Great so we're on the same page then?" He'd ask,

"Huh?" You'd crane your lightheaded-head backwards, watching him with hazy eyes.

"No more condoms? We're on the same page"

"Hyuck when did i-"

"Exhibit a- he'd say, showing you his cum covered fingers glistening with your arousal.

# Jaemin | No Condom

- Jaemin considers himself a perfectly cautious guy. He is reliable and responsible, thank you very much.

- He just didn't really see much need for a condom anymore.

-He's growing tired of pulling out everytime

- He's a romantic

- He needs to feel close to you.

- When you slip up and tell him you're on birth control he's absolutely done for.

- He'd been dreaming about this since you started being intimate.

- since the thought of spurting his cum inside you had been rendering him absolutely feral

"Sorry," Jaemin said, lowering his iPad as he stared at you from across the couch, "What"d you just say?"

"I'm on birth control- hope that's okay-" your eyes would nearly fall out of your sockets as your boyfriend begins stripping right in front of you.

# Chen Le | No Condom

- He's thought about it... of course he's thought about it

- Chenle isn't too open about Sex until it's happening right in front of his eyes

- Only when the environment calls for it, would you even feel comfortable enough suggesting something so lewd

- the thing about that is, although he might not voice all his sexual interests allowed, there will be signs

"Jesus, what the fuck did you say to me?" Chenle had removed his headset, swiveling in his chair to stare at you wide eyed. From your spot on his bed you roll your eyes, as you tap away at your screen. "Oh so you're too busy gaming with your friends whenever i ask anything important. But the second I tell you I wanna feel you inside me, then you can hear me,"

Chenle's hand rushes to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpants, lest he cums right there. He murmers in mandarin before severing the line as he rests his headsets on the table, fully gaining his attention. "Oh my god you're such a fucking slut-" he smirks as he slowly stands from his gaming chair. You swallowed thickly as he talks towards the bed. The environment being apparently perfect enough for Chenle's mouth to spew whatever it wanted.

"You wanna be my little slut huh? Just mine?"

# Jisung | No Condom

- a very shy boy

- a very perverted boy

- of course he's thought about hitting it raw before

- he's gotten off the the idea of breeding you ever since you became a couple.

- it was be the biggest thing on the forefront of his mind

"Wanna feel you- Jisungie," you were grinding yourself on his lap, prompted by his trembling hands guiding your hips on top of him. Jisung's mind was rotten with all the dirty things he'd dream about doing to you. This being at the top of his list.

"I need you inside mee-" you'd whisper in his ear, prompting him to gasp as his hips stutter upwards into yours. You could feel the size of his bulge underneath his clothes. You could feel the desperation with which he grinded his cock along your crotch, hoping for even the tiniest bit of friction.

"You wanna do me raw, Sungie?"

The second those words leave your mouth, a wet spot begins to form in his pants as he cuts accidently.

"F-Fuck-" he couldn't stop himself.

Despite this, Jisung's cock is still hard.

[m0llygunn]

a job well done (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: long-term admirer, recent tutor — you find out eddie's failing gym. in an ode to help him, your expertise expands beyond just textbooks — to your fortune, he teaches you something you've been dying to learn too

contents: 18+, smut!!!, porn with plot, lots of ball action <3, oral (m receiving, mentions of f receiving), pet names and praise (baby, good girl), somewhat-inexperienced!eddie, tutor!reader an: i made an $8k mistake irl so heres 8k words that i wrote to forget about it (just kidding (not abt the mistake, that's very real) i started writing this in july 2023 but recently rewrote most of it to make it into a big ol' one shot-ish thing) wc: 8.5k

“You’re failing gym?” you gasp, jaw dropping as your eyes scan over his report.

“No!” he replies, trying to steal the envelope and its contents from your hands. You turn your body just in time for him to grasp at nothing but air. 

You started tutoring Eddie about a month into the semester. He’s been a willing participant for the most part and that’s why when he kept coming up with excuse after excuse for why he didn’t have his midterm report you knew something was up. 

You took it upon yourself to do some investigating. Nothing invasive, just when you got to his place for a regular tutoring session, you decided to look through his bag while he was in the bathroom. On his bedroom floor, filing through the bags endless messy contents, you eventually came across the familiarly coloured yellow envelope and helped yourself to a peek at what he was keeping a secret from you. 

Mere moments later, he was back. He immediately noticed what you had in your hands and crashed to the floor trying to get it away from you. Evidently, a failed attempt. 

“You have a — oh god, not just a D, a D minus, Eddie.” 

“That’s not failing,” he mumbles under his breath. You wave him off before dropping his report to the floor in front of you. He grabs it, crumples it into a ball, and petulantly tosses it to the other side of his room. 

“You never even told me you were taking gym.”

“Cause how’re you supposed to help with gym?”

“The tests! There’s a whole health portion, I could’ve been helping you with that,” you say, getting worked up over it. Eddie’s been doing so well, this was truly blindsiding.

“Yeah… cause I really want help from you with the health portion,” he grumbles sarcastically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” he shrugs. 

If you weren’t paying attention, you might think he was angry — maybe even being mean. Luckily, you’re always paying attention to Eddie Munson, and you see the way his face flushes to a bright, crimson red. His annoyance is actually just embarrassment — which is good — at least he has some level of remorse for his failing grade. You can work with that. You take a breath, exhaling it slowly, forcing yourself to calm down. 

“Show me what you’re working on.”

“No,” he shakes his head, reaching into his bag, shuffling around some papers before tossing a heavy textbook your way. “Let’s just do math.”

“No, you have a B minus in math now, that doesn’t need help. You need help in gym.” you reply, tossing the textbook back at him. 

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you do.”

Sitting up to your knees, you reach into his bag once more, taking out his binder and dropping it to the floor in a pointed thump. He mumbles some kind of disagreement, spine going stiff with his hesitancy to let you go through his stuff some more, but he doesn’t make any attempts to physically stop you. 

You flip through the disorganization that you’ve told him countless times to organize until you come across a diagram of a penis and a vagina. Bingo.

“Told you,” he mumbles, scoffing to himself. 

“Told me what?”

“Why would you want to help me study that?” 

“Uh— cause it’s part of your class and I don’t want you to fail,” you say matter of factly. “Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.” 

Bright red continues to flourish across his skin, affecting the apples of his cheeks all the way down to his throat. He turns bashful, eyes locking down on the carpet. 

Eddie’s shy — not often, but he is. You wouldn’t think so from the way he acts at school and in most public atmospheres, but get him in a room, one-on-one, and he’s all blushed cheeks and shy touches. It’s sweet and it’s one of your favourite things about him — but you don’t have time for sweet shyness right now. He’s failing gym for christ sake — gym.

“So, how do you want to do this?” you ask, slapping your hands to your thighs. Eddie startles, jolting before his wide eyes find yours. 

“Do what?”

“Study this,” you motion to the diagram on the floor separating the two of you.

“I— I’m not… we’re not—“

His eye contact goes rogue again, diverting anywhere else — everywhere else that isn’t you. Shy, shy, shy. Too shy. More shy than normal. And you have an inkling that it has to do with the subject of the conversation at hand. 

“Oh my god, Eddie. This is basic human anatomy. I think we’re grown up enough to handle a little penis and vagina,” you state, tacking on a laugh. 

You get a hint of Eddie's true personality beyond his shyness — it emerges through a quirk of his lip, the corner of it tweaking upwards into the hint of a smirk. 

“A little penis?” He parrots, his smirk fully emerging now. This boy.

“Cue cards? Should we do cue cards?”

He groans, body deflating. “You know I hate cue cards.”

“Okay, so let’s just go over the parts for now, then we can move on and do something else.”

You clear out a bigger area on the floor, making space for your study session. Eddie helps by kicking back stray articles of clothing and then picking out what looks like spilled weed from the carpet and collecting it in the palm of his hand. You’re a touch more productive, taping little pieces of paper over the diagram labels. When you’re done, you sit up admiring your work. Eddie stands, dropping his little handful of greenery onto his desk before sitting down on his bed. 

“Do you want to do it up there or down here?” You ask. 

The slight double entendre isn’t lost on you, you heard it before you even said it. Now knowing how shy Eddie is about this stuff, you couldn’t help but push your luck, and the blush that spreads across his cheeks makes it entirely worth it, especially while you deadpan and pretend you have no clue. 

“I’ll come down there—“ He says and you watch him physically recoil as his words set in. You resist your laughter. 

“Come, Eddie. Faster,” you tease, laughter starting to bubble up. A smile breaks through his embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You like seeing me suffer?”

“Me? Teasing you on purpose? Never.”

With a shake of his head, he joins you on the floor, leaving a large gap between the two of you. “Can we not do this, I already know this stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Eddie Munson is well versed in human anatomy?”

“I’m — I’m not going to answer that,” he crosses his arms. 

With a clap of your hands, you ignore his pouty demeanor. “Okay! Let’s just do this, the quicker you memorize everything the quicker we can not do this.”

With both of the diagrams set up, you give him the option of starting with the penis or vagina first. He chooses the easy answer, opting to go with the penis. 

One by one you point out each part of the penis, asking him for the anatomically correct name. You quickly understand why he’s failing. 

“Okay, and this one is…?”

“The head,” he states. 

“I mean… sure,” you nod hesitantly — “but the little arrow is pointing there — the glans. This one?”

You continue going through the chart, teaching Eddie the proper names for everything. When you finally graduate to the diagram of the vagina, Eddie is physically squirming in his spot. 

“Eddie, relax. Seriously. We’ve all seen a vagina before.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here, are you hot?” He groans, standing up and tripping his way to the window, slamming it open with a grunt. 

He’s barely made his way back before you have a thought.

“You’ve seen a vagina before, right?” 

He freezes — just for a moment, but you catch it. On his way to return to his spot on the floor he pauses, then continues moving as if you haven’t asked him a question. When he sits, you quirk a brow. 

“Yeah!” He answers. His voice tunes so high, it begs to crack.

You nod skeptically. You wouldn’t say he’s lying per se, but something seems off. Something that you’re interested in getting to the bottom of. 

“Let’s take a break, okay?” You offer.

“Yeah, a break’s, uh — good.” He exhales, letting out a breath of relief. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, fanning it in and out, getting some air flow on his skin. It’s very suspicious and you have to assume —

“So, you’ve never seen a vagina,” you say.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I have! I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re squirming like one.”

“I’m not!”

“There’s nothing wrong —”

“I’m not!” He says much louder, cutting you off. 

You believe him, seeing the full depth of sincerity in his amusedly large, and overly serious eyes. 

“Okay,” you nod.

“I’m not,” he insists once more, tone leaning towards stern. 

“I believe you, Eddie.”

The two of you sit quietly in your respective spots. You could busy yourself with getting some more studying stuff ready, but somehow — even though there was some verbal finality — this conversation doesn’t seem over. 

And with an inhale from Eddie, it’s not.

“I’ve just never been like…” he pauses, thinking, “I’ve just never been all up in there.” He makes a crude motion with his hands, both palms splayed out flat in your direction, moving outwards like he’s spreading something out. 

“You’ve never eaten a girl out before?”

“What are we doing?” He says, dropping his head into his hands, scrubbing at his cheeks with both palms. 

“You don’t have to answer. Seriously, if I’m really making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. Swear.”

His chest inflates with a deep breath, then his head pops up. “I have but only for like a minute, in the dark, parked outside of the hideout after a gig,” he confesses. You raise your brows, surprised.

“You work quickly. A minute, that’s impressive.”

“No… Jesus, no,” he winces. “I fucking wish. We got interrupted and… yeah she never wanted to hang out after.”

“Oh,” you hum. “That sucks.” You tilt your head at him, frowning apologetically. 

“Yeah. She, uh, I’m pretty sure she had a boyfriend but I didn’t know when we… yeah.” He concludes his confession with a shrug before sitting back to lean against the side of his bed. 

“That really sucks. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, tacking on a laugh. It’s not a nervous laugh. It’s genuine and you take his lack of nervousness as permission to continue the conversation. 

“So… Do you have a tactic?”

“Tactic?”

“Yeah. Like, most guys use the alphabet on the clit thing, which is awful by the way, don’t do that.”

“I think…” he raises his brows. “I think, maybe, just being overzealous is my thing. I don’t really know — I haven't done it enough to have a tactic.”

“Overzealous is good…” you nod, “as long as it’s strategic.”

Eddie meets your gaze. He’s intrigued — “Elaborate?” he asks. 

“Like, sure if you want to go to town and eat the pussy, go for it, but the only place it really counts is the clit — of course everything else is nice too, but the clit is definitely where it matters,” you nod to yourself, punctuating your statement. “And—” you add on, raising your hand, bringing together two of your fingers to mime the curling motions of getting fingered. “I like when they use their fingers too. It's a lot better like that.”

Eddie goes silent. He looks like he’s thinking, maybe even committing your words to memory— but it’s an odd look he has on his face. One you’ve never seen before from him.

“Sorry, did I say too much?” You laugh, trying to diffuse. Eddie looks at you, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“Why the fuck are you tutoring me in going down on a girl right now?” He laughs. 

You smile, appreciating his amusement. Tilting your head boastfully, you accept his comment like a compliment. “Just a natural born teacher, I guess,” you tease. 

He nods, humming agreeingly. He doesn’t say anything more but you’ve got a handful of curiosities burning through your back pocket, and when in rome…

“Are we done with this conversation,” you ask, “or can we keep going ‘cause I might have a few questions for you?”

“Hasn't this whole conversation already been an interrogation of my experiences?”

“But this might be your only opportunity to teach me something, Edward.” You jet out your lower lip, pouting it, rounding your eyes at him — trying your best to keep this going. 

He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“Are you about to ask me if I can move my dick without my hands, because the answer is yes but it’s not full control.”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, but very cool.”

“Sorry. That’s usually what girls ask.”

That has been a curiosity but your questions… your questions are much more… sophisticated? 

“So can I?” you ask. 

“Can you?”

“Ask you questions?”

He bites his lip, pointedly making you sweat it out. With a dramatic sigh, he gives in. “Go for it.”

You sit up straighter, very pleased with his answer. 

“Balls,” you state. Eddie’s eyes widen immediately — you ignore the regret that flashes across his face. “Do you like them being touched? Every time I’ve done anything with them, the guy kind of, like, recoils and it feels like I did something wrong.” 

“Jesus…” he clears his throat with an awkward laugh. “You’re really going for the big questions, huh?” 

“The big questions?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively. 

“No, Jesus I’m not implying my balls are — holy shit. My balls are normal sized, that’s not what I meant.” He continues to laugh through his embarrassment, cheeks heating right back up to that very cute, bright, red colour. 

“I’m just teasing you, Eddie. I’m sure your balls are lovely and perfectly normal sized.”

He hums appreciatively but it gets stuck in his throat, coming out as a high pitched croak. He clears his voice, nodding as he raises a hand to the back of his neck, wringing it nervously.

“You don’t have to answer, but I would appreciate knowing,” you say, softly, sympathetic — leaning into apologetic. He nods again, and you can tell the gears are spinning in his head as he thinks over his answer. 

“They’re just… sensitive,” he swallows. “But… I do like them being played with, or sucked, or licked… or whatever.” 

His eyes focus on the far wall, not out of nervousness or shyness this time, but more like he’s giving his words some real thought. You appreciate it and wait patiently for him to continue. 

“I guess I would have to say that it’s personal preference, so ask?” he continues unsurely, eyes still focusing elsewhere. “I mean, no guy is ever gonna be mad if you ask to put their balls in your mouth — or… whatever you want to do with them.” He looks at you with wide eyes as he suddenly gets nervous again. You wave him off, letting him silently know that ‘balls in your mouth’ is not an offense to you.

“Could you cum from someone playing with your balls?”

“Holy shit,” he gasps, laughing. His hand that was wringing his neck drops to his lap in a heavy thud. At the same time, he brings up both knees, hugging them halfways to his chest as he mulls over his answer. “Um? Maybe? But, I think a big part of it is a visual thing — like, it adds to the hotness when they’re into the balls?” He finishes, adding an unsure inflection to the end of his remark. You nod, narrowing your eyes into a squint as you absorb what he’s saying. 

“So it doesn’t feel good?”

“It does,” he quickly corrects, “just anything on the head feels way better.” 

“Okay… good to know.” You nod, moving on. “And dirty talk. You really like that? Like, when the girl’s going on and on about your ‘big cock in her tight little pussy’, is it not weird?”

“Jesus, you really aren’t holding back with these questions.” He smiles through the blotchy redness growing down his neck all the way to the collar of his shirt.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you promise, dipping your face lower to catch Eddie’s gaze. He holds it for a second, before letting his eyes roam the room. 

“Dirty talk is hot, obviously, but… it’s not when it’s rehearsed shit like that. It makes it feel like they’re performing — and maybe I’m just doing a piss poor job and they are performing — I don’t know, but I’d rather hear about what you actually like that I’m doing. Even if you’re telling me to go faster or harder or whatever. That’s fucking hot.”

“Alright, so be genuine. Cool,” you nod. 

“You done with questions?” He meets your gaze with raised brows for a fraction of a brave second before quickly looking away. 

The thing is, you’re not done. 

“So, hypothetically, if someone you didn’t like played with only your balls, and it wasn’t hot— like nothing about it was hot, would you still cum?”

He doesn’t give you the same surprised initial shock as he did with all the other questions. This time he just lets out a long, evenly staggered breath through puffed out cheeks. 

“I think…” He hugs his knees closer to his chest, rubbing both his palms along his shins quickly, filling the silence with the sounds of skin on denim. 

You can see the edge of his words in his expression, like he wants to say something but is holding it back. Whatever it is, you wait patiently — you do sit up a little straighter though, eagerly leaning inwards, listening with baited breath to his quiet, pensive hum.

His lips twitch, mouth opening then closing. With a loud exhale, he lets go of his shins, letting his knees drop from their upright position, and with that, his resolve breaks.  

“Fuck it” he curses — “Probably. Sometimes I think that the wind blowing the wrong way could make me cum. Like, I’m fighting for my fucking life to not get hard right now.”

He ends his speed-run confession with a pant, chest shallowly heaving with each breath. Excited wings beat inside your chest, dipping down to your belly as you absorb what he's just said to you. 

“Really?” you ask, blinking wide eyes at him. His breathing evens out, and he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he shrugs shyly — cutely.

“You know I like you, right?” 

His face falls. “What?” His brows press together, furrowing with confusion and you really don’t know how you could have been clearer about this whole ordeal.

“Eddie,” you smile. “I’ve told you like a million times that I like you — like earlier, I told you barely an hour ago before we got started.”

You said it quite plainly too; ‘Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.’ 

“Yeah, but I thought you meant as a… a person? Or a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh — not at him… well, a little bit at him, but this is just so ridiculous, how could he be so clueless. 

“I love my friends but I don’t think I would fill all my free time teaching them math and all the anatomical correct names of the different parts of the penis.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, they’re good people but that’s not exactly my idea of fun,” you tease. “Of course I’m serious, Eddie. So if you wanted to make a move… I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

At this point, after a confession as straightforward as that, you’d hope for movement — anything — even him getting closer to you, moving in for a kiss at the very least… but he stays sat in his opposite spot, his binder with the vagina diagram laid out flat, separating the both of you. 

Maybe you read this wrong — backpedal. 

“Did I just make this weird? Should I have not said that? I like tutoring you too, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting something from you just because I’ve been helping you.” You ramble apologetically, shrinking into yourself as you feel your whole body start to flush with icky embarrassment.

Eddie’s spine goes rigid as he sits up pin-straight, shaking his head emphatically.

“No! I like you too,” he interjects, leaning towards you, putting a hand on your knee. “Even before you started tutoring me.” 

“You do?” You sigh a breath of relief. Meeting his eyes, you smile sweetly, ignoring the whiplash that still has your stomach pinched in a half knot.

His voice gets soft with his confession — “Why do you think I didn’t want to sit around looking at penises and vaginas with you?” he laughs quietly,  “I was terrified of getting hard and scaring you away.”

The mention of him getting hard has your eyes flickering downwards for a split second. You can’t tell, but you tease him anyway — “And how’s that working out for you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m hard…” He trails off, smiling nervously, leaving you with a confirmed suspicion. 

“Should I make a move?” 

“Well, I’m not opposed.” He says it like it’s a joke — you know he’s being funny, breaking tension or whatever, but you don’t laugh. You perk up, tummy filling with fluttery feelings because that’s permission.

Permission to crawl the short distance between the two of you.

Permission to help yourself to his lap — pulling your skirt up high enough to straddle his upper thighs.

Permission to let your hands feel from his shoulders, down to his pecks. 

Permission to be this close to him — close enough that you can see every shy detail, every cute freckle, every nervous flutter of his lashes. 

Best of all — it’s permission for an intimacy you’ve been waiting for — longing for.

You sink yourself against him and — “Oh,” you gasp, “you weren’t kidding.” 

Through the thin cotton of your underwear, you feel the hard curve behind the zip of his jeans. It has you biting your lip, holding back your grin. 

His eyes coast your features, narrowing in on the tweaked up corners of your lips. He ghosts a quiet ‘yeah’, dipping his face downwards, hiding his own coy smile. 

You just won’t have that — you bring your hands to his cheeks, tilting his chin upwards, encouraging him to look at you. He lets you guide him, lets you wash your gaze over his features — lets you rake your eyes over every detail, even when his skin grows pink and you know he wants you to be looking anywhere else.

But you can’t help it. The rosy tint to his cheeks looks too warm, too inviting. His lips are just too pink, too bitten. And most of all, his eyes have become too deep, too capturing, especially when the usual gold in his brown has resolved to being just the thinnest ring, glinting and shimmering around absorbing black orbs.

“Your eyes are really dark right now,” you observe aloud. 

“Yeah?” He asks and you nod your head. You watch him as he lets his own gaze search your face. He swallows, coming to his own conclusion. “You just looked amused.”

You smile. You are amused but — “I’m not just amused.”

“No?” 

“I’m also really turned on.” You feel it in your belly, multitudes of warm winged flutters, sitting low, radiating heat throughout your whole body. You lean in closer, watching intently as his brows rise, moving to hide beneath his bangs as he processes your second confession of the evening.

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

He swallows thickly, and that golden ring in his eyes gets the faintest bit thinner.

“I do.”

You sit more comfortably, bringing your hands back to his chest and letting your bum press fully to his thighs. He lets out a near silent groan as your front sinks to his and when you adjust your hips, his hands dart to your sides, holding you tightly. 

“First,” you smile, batting your lashes at him. “I’m thinking about kissing you.” A soft swoon washes over Eddie's face, eyes turning soft for you. His eyes blink down to your lips, but you have more to say. “I’m also thinking about your balls in my mouth.”

The softness steps back, shock taking over. “Jesus christ,” he curses yet again, drawing out each syllable in a low groan. 

“And since I’ve been sitting here, I can’t help but think about how your cock would feel inside of me.”

“Fuck.” He meets your gaze, eyes rounding, jaw going slack. His chest begins to rise more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier. 

The feeling of him between your legs is undeniable now — he’s hard, very hard, uncomfortably hard. You let your hands slide up his chest, to his shoulders, letting your fingertips graze along the warm skin of his neck. He blinks heavily, eyelids growing weighted, swarming with evident lust. It makes you excited, makes you want more. 

You lower your voice to a breathy whisper, leaning in closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.  “How’s the dirty talk, Eddie? Am I doing good?” You purr. His fingers pinch into the flesh at your sides as you shift once again, rolling your hips just enough to feel that hint of pleasure between your thighs. 

Eddie stifles his moan. “S– so good. You’re doing so g-good,” he stutters. His breath hitches as you press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and then another, moving downwards to his neck. 

“What are you thinking about?” You pull away, looking at him through your lashes. You barely have a second to react before his hands are on your jaw, tugging you into him. 

It catches you off guard at first as his lips mash to yours. It’s entirely overzealous, bidding his earlier statement true by multiple definitions. It’s not terrible, but it is desperate. 

Flattening a heeding palm to his chest, you pull away just the slightest bit, letting your lips faintly graze his. 

“Slowly, Eddie.” you whisper. 

His interrupted desperation manifests as a quiet huff against your lips. Regardless of how hard he is beneath you, and how badly he wants to mash his mouth to yours, he nods, noses bumping together as he does.

This time you lean in. You guide the kiss, moving slowly, tenderly, and he follows your lead, moving gently, catching on quickly. Your upper lip presses between both of his and it's so delicate, so earnest, that it makes your heart thrum. It's exactly what you needed, and you reward Eddie with a quiet hum, letting your hands wrap behind his neck, pressing your chests together. 

His breath fans over your skin as he hums back, letting his hands glide to your lower back, hugging you closer. His lips massage yours, slowly, and he takes his time, letting you melt into him entirely. 

When you feel the pressure of his tongue licking across your lower lip your anticipation really sets in. You open your mouth, rolling your hips upwards as you move in closer to him. With a huffed, eager grunt, and with fingers kneading bruises into your skin, he licks into your mouth completely contradictory to it all, still giving you softness in the kiss. You’re elated by it all, swept up, enraptured by him being so sweet to you.

You sigh breathily as you have to pull away. 

“That was really good,” you fawn, dropping your head to rest against his shoulder. You let out another sigh, smiling contently to yourself. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time — really too long, if you’re being honest. 

Eddie hums an agreement. You intend to go further than just a kiss, but you give yourself a moment to bask in it all. Just a moment, that’s all you need. 

And in the next moment, with your wits gathered, you wiggle your hips. Eddie’s palms press tightly against your back and he lets out a sharp gasp that melds into a whimper. You giggle a quiet apology. 

“Too much for you?” you tease.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, his warm cheek pressing to yours. “M’just really hard right now.”

He is — you can feel it, and you can feel the mess growing between your own thighs. 

A simple solution; you hint at rolling your hips another time. It’s hardly any friction, just testing the waters. You’re surprised when Eddie pulls you inwards, guiding your hips, encouraging you to move. He lets out a low groan as the squish of your thighs pass over his length, one that you hardly register over your own gasp as you get your first real hint of pleasure.

With his help, you build a slow rhythm, grinding to the curve in his denim, one that has your eyes fluttering shut and Eddie tensing, letting out meak whimpers and low moans. It's nice, it really is, but as nice as it feels for you, you weave a hand between the two of you, suggestively placing it on the buckle of his belt.  

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes,” his voice comes out as a heaved breath. Very eager to continue.

“After you cum, how long does it take for you to get hard again?”

“Sh-shit — it depends. Sometimes —” he swallows thickly and you hear the gulp in his throat — “sometimes it’s barely a few minutes.”

“I want to try out what you taught me, but I want you to fuck me too.”

“We can — yeah we can do that.” His voice wavers as he bites back his excitement, trying to play it cool. Despite that, you feel the overzealousness in his pants, twitching with enthusiasm. 

You press a chaste kiss to his lips before scooting back on his legs, weaving your hands between the two of you to pop open his belt. Just as you unweave the leather and toss the heavy buckle to the side, holding the button under your thumb, Eddie’s hand meets your waist — not stopping you, just getting your attention. 

“Can I…” he starts. You look up at him, pausing your movement. He continues, “can I try what you told me too?” His eyes barely meet yours, growing bashful all over again. 

“Of course you can,” you say sincerely. You finish unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down while leaning in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t gotta be shy, Eddie. I like you already, a lot.” 

He nods, but you can still see a hint of cautiousness in his expression. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. I want you to be comfortable with me. Anything you need, anything you want, you can tell me.” 

He nods. His mouth mulls for a moment, but he nods a second time, assumedly coming to a conclusion. “Can we move up to the bed?” he asks. 

“I’d like that,” you smile and he smiles back.

Just as you lift your leg to get off him, you let out a surprised yelp as he does the bravest thing he’s done yet, both hands grabbing firmly at your bottom, tugging you into him and up as he pushes himself off the floor. He moves the both of you up to the edge of the bed with one strong flex of his legs and your stomach swirls with the rush of it all. 

From there, it's a giggling tussle of limbs, him pulling you up the bed, you pulling his pants off. Eventually, you both settle, him pantless, sitting with his back to the wall where his headboard should be, and you, by his side, knees pressing to his thigh. Your fingers wiggle with excitement as you take the thin cotton of his boxers, lacing them just under the waistband. 

You shimmy in your spot, shaking your hips, letting out a happy hum as you begin to pull them down. Your belly fills with good nerves, butterflies, and your mouth salivates. When you get them down as far as you can without his help, he silently chimes in, lifting his hips, hooking his own thumbs into the material. With a quiet humph, the fabric passes his length, freeing it to bob against his shirt-covered belly. 

Tempestuously red. Furiously flushed. Severely erect. Poor Eddie. Happy you. His tip is blushed to a deep crimson, glistening with the pearlescent sheen of precum. It has your body flushing hot everywhere — from your cheeks all the way south to where you grind yourself down onto the backs of your heels just to feel a pinch of salvation. 

Somewhere between where your ogling started and where you had to physically swallow the gathering saliva in your mouth, his boxers got discarded entirely, your own shirt disappearing along with them — because it is just so hot all of a sudden.  

If you weren’t completely blinded by your impeding tunnel vision, you would have seen the way Eddie gawked at your newly revealed skin, absorbing every inch, taking in every feature to your body. You would have seen the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and the fresh cherry red blush spread to his cheeks. You would have seen the way he had to forcefully peel his eyes away from your chest when he felt your fingers press into his bare thighs as you situated yourself between his legs. But you didn’t have a chance to notice all of those details, not when you felt the thrilling thrum of anticipation bubbling up in your bloodstream. 

“You ready, Eddie?” You ask, grinning at him. He blinks slowly at you, no answer, making your smile falter.

“You look pretty,” he blurts out, much to your delight. “Really pretty. All the time — not just now because you're about to — you’re just beautiful, s’what I want to say.”

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly surprised. Eddie on the other hand, cringes at his own rambling, face scrunching in defeat. You like him even more for it — “I think you’re beautiful too, Eddie,” you smile. “And not just because I have your pretty cock in front of me.” 

Eddie huffs a soft laugh and you gleam, pleased with yourself. 

With actual consent, you take him in your hand. Gentle at first, easing him into your touch. Just barely grazing your thumb over the tip, you smear the slick precum around, before sinking your fist to his base. He lets out a tensed moan, exhaling — exhilarating. That quiet, throaty noise has you lighting up, already feening for more.

Leaning down further, arching your back, you gather your saliva in your mouth before letting it spill out in a single string over the tip of his needy head, falling down just to be caught by the upwards rise of your fist. This time he sucks in a sharp breath and you live for it. 

Closing the distance between your mouth and his cock, you lick the tip gently, pressing your tongue to the river of precum that sits in the curves of his slit, relishing in the saltiness that makes your mouth water effortlessly. You hum, feeling the pulse between your legs grow deeper, more intense. You push your hips back, angling them, searching for any sort of relief. 

While it doesn’t satiate the need between your thighs, Eddie notices your squirm, and brings a splayed palm to your side, letting it curve to your skin. It settles in, warming you, encouraging you to distract yourself in such a beautiful way by taking him into your mouth. 

You let your tongue swirl. Flick. Caress. Your lips graze before closing, and you suck. Cheeks hardly hollowing, the noise he lets out makes you want to keep being gentle — draw this out, make this last. 

But like a devil on your shoulder, you want to skip forward. You want his balls in your mouth, that’s the guise of this whole encounter, isn’t it? To practice what he’s taught you.

Jumping right to the chase, abandoning his desperately swollen cock, doesn’t strike you as the way to go about this, so you continue to be gentle. Pulling off the tip, kissing him up and down his length. Pressing your lips where needed and drawing circles and lovey hearts across his skin with the pointed angle of your tongue.

It's not fruitless. Every noise, every groan, every heavy breath, pleading whimper, fills you up. It fills you up until it has you leaning your body into his hand on your rib cage, needing to feel him wherever you can, while taking him fully into your mouth. Swallowing him down, deeply hollowing your cheeks, gliding your lips and flattening your tongue until your nose presses to the wispy patch of coarse hair at his base. 

“Fuck— fuck.” Eddie groans through a strangled breath. 

His hand leaves your ribs and you whimper at the loss, only to be reunited with the physical contact as he takes hold of your head with both of his hands, pulling you up. You whine, chest collapsing with defeat. You pout as soon as his cock leaves your mouth. Looking up at him, he looks worked up and frayed — all a shivered mess — but eyes sincerely apologetic as he catches your disappointment. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He pants heavily, catching his breath while you catch your own. Your pout lessens, and instead, your pride sets in. You did that to him. 

Wiping your gathered tears, you place a tentative hand on his length, watching him for any protests. His head knocks back into the hard wall, but he never loses sight of you, now looking down the angular slope of his nose, watching with amorous, lusting eyes. 

You dip down, reapproach, but this time you give into your own desire, indulging yourself.

Lifting his cock, you nose down his length. His eyes turn wide, but still, no protests.

“Can I put your balls in my mouth?” You ask, doing just as he told you to do, embellishing your simple sentence with pleading, fluttery lashes and persuasive, pinched together brows. 

His lips press into a purse as he swallows, and then they part with approval. “Yes,” he says. You watch as his tongue swipes along his plump bottom lip, and you can’t help but smile up at him. 

Appreciation sits on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it, you show it. Bowing your face low, you lick up the centre of his sack, flattening your slow moving tongue with an oath of sincerity — this makes you burn. For a moment, you believe that you’d be content if this was for you and you only, but then you meet his gaze, and you see the way he burns too.

His eyes devour you — your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb barely touching index, your chin settled deep between his thighs. You burn identically and it makes the swirl of butterflies in your stomach rise high, beating heavily in your chest. You get lost for a moment, but a thumb on your cheek, sweetly swiping softly against your skin, brings you right back.

“Pretty girl,” he hums. 

You tilt your head, nuzzling into his grip, humming a tender thank you. His thumb swipes again, just under your eye before settling behind your ear, sitting there with no intention but to be tethered to you.

It’s sweet, and you return the gesture, pressing two kisses, one to each side. You shift your focus, returning back to the moment.

Head still partially in the clouds, you do something daring without thinking, and you suck one of his balls into your mouth. Eddie lunges forward, bending at the waist, nearly folding in half as his stomach tenses harshly. He whimpers, and you pull back immediately.

“Sorry!” You shift, looking at his contorted expression. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He quickly relaxes himself, patting your cheek as he settles, unclenching his thighs that had tightened at your sides.

“No — no.” He shakes his head, catching his breath “Do it again.” He gently guides you back down. “I was just distracted, caught me off guard,” he explains.

Distracted like you were. You understand, and you let him guide your face back down. 

This time you’re careful. With his eyes on you, you start again, licking, feeling the silky skin with your tongue as you gauge his reaction, peering up at him through your lashes. He nods, and you carefully take him into your mouth, letting your tongue roll cautiously along the velvet skin. 

You’re careful not to do too much, but you grow more confident when you see the way his mouth falls open with his own appreciation. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Just like that. Good girl,” he praises, groaning as you suckle delicately. His cock jumps in your loose fist, reminding you just how long it's been since you’ve paid it any attention. Tightening your grip, you run your fist up, then down languidly, multitasking in a way that has Eddie gaping, jaw slack, mouth parted wide, eyes owlish and filled to the brim with heated astonishment. 

With your mouth, you switch to his other side, doing the same, rolling your tongue exploringly, seeing what has his stomach tensing and noises pulling from his lungs. 

As you let your thumb run over his leaking head, he lets out a throaty groan. His thighs tense around you once more, but instead of backing away, you lean into it, embracing the new-found way to make him squirm. 

His breathing quickly becomes rapid as you take more of him into your mouth, sucking more confidently, and pulling away every now and again to press deserved kisses. Your fist moves quicker, focusing on the tip — purposeful, as you remember what he taught you. 

You suck, and glide your hand in smooth strokes, over and over, showing him just how much you like him. If he didn’t believe you before, he has to now. 

With a strong, devoted rhythm built, the skin against your tongue eventually begins to pull taut. He throbs in your hand. You know before he says anything, even before his hand can flex its grip on your cheek. You pull away, letting him fall from your mouth with a quiet pop. He lets out a worn sigh of relief as you sever the threads of spit from your mouth to his balls and shift, moving back to his wired-up cock, twitching at just the sensation of your breath on his over-flushed tip.

Rearranging yourself, you sink your fist, moving it low to his base, and then you adjust, moving your hand to cradle his balls in your palm. His stomach flexes and he lets out a pitiful whimper — he's so close, even while you're barely touching him.

“Please,” he rasps through a strained breath. 

You have nothing but appreciation for the man in front of you, reduced to pleading. You want nothing more than to satisfy him.

Gentle, a thing of the past. You take his cock in your mouth deeply. Swallowing his thickness down, taking him as far as he fits, pressing him to the very back of your throat. Your eyes water, and you breathe heavily through your nose, never once forgetting to massage him in your hand.

His chest heaves, and his fingers weave their way into the hairs at the base of your neck, tugging — communicating. His helpless moans draw out, getting longer and deeper, drawing out each and every flutter in your belly, adding to your fire. 

You can’t believe you’ve been sitting around, tutoring him, teaching him math when you could have been doing this. This is much better — much, much more fulfilling. 

You rise and fall, bobbing quickly, and he encourages you, helping you find the pace that brings him to his edge. He swells in your mouth, and draws upwards in your hand. You hum, encouraging him to let go.

“I’m gonna —” he tries to speak, but a rogue whine cuts him off. He sucks in a sharp breath — “I’m cumming, I’m —” Panic invades his voice as his grip in your hair turns harsh, pulling, stinging your scalp. You hum again, and then you feel the spill. 

The warmth of his cum invades the back of your throat, loading your senses with the distinctly musky taste and a bitter-flavoured swell of sweetness in your chest. Pleased, you swallow it down, and ask for more with the purse of your lips on his overworked tip. His hips buck up into you as you happily swallow everything you can, lapping it up with your appeasing tongue. 

His body relaxes until you don’t stop. Then he’s flexing again, sucking in harsh, gasp-like breaths, using his hands in your hair to guide you away from his over-sensitive cock. 

Both his palms cup your cheeks and you rise, straightening out your spine, walking your knees up the mattress to be closer to him. His hand falls to your knee, encouraging a bend, welcoming you back into his lap. You happily take a careful seat on his thighs. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie gushes unapologetically. 

His body slouches into the mattress, but he continues to beakon you forward. You follow his weak, weary pull and he guides you to his lips, attaching his mouth to yours in a lazy kiss. His beholden tongue greets yours, unaffected by the lingering flavour of his seed that coats your lips and mixes with your spit. He devours it gratefully. 

“That was —” he starts, pulling away just to peck your lips again — “So, so— I don’t even have words.” His hand slides loosely across the expanse of your bare waist as he presses a frenzy of chaste kisses to your lips, making you giggle.

“I did good? I thought I hurt you for a minute.”

“No— shit, you did so good, baby.” Eddie hums, fondly pressing his cheek to yours as he hugs you closer.

You feel his praises blaze at something inside of you, thrumming through your bloodstream, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t highlight your own neediness, the one left abandoned between your thighs. 

Despite the restlessness that grows in your twitching hips, you try to relax, focusing on the sentimental feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, letting your body slink into his, fitting seamlessly against him until his breathing returns to a steady rate. You patiently wait for him to make the next move — especially after him letting you lead most of this evening. 

Just as you’ve let your eyes flutter shut, resting them for a peaceful moment, a kiss to your shoulder has your excitement kicking up in your lower belly, waking up those warm, winged creatures once again. He presses another kiss, and then another, following the slope of your shoulder. Down the curve, to your collarbone, high on your chest, kiss after kiss until his lips meet the plumpness of your breast that spills over the cups of your bra.

The swell of your breast, across, to the centre, his lips find your sternum, and you keen into it, unafraid of coming off as desperate. 

It’s barely anything, just innocent pecks, but it has you impatient, tilting your head back, curving your body to offer up more skin to him. He hums a warm tone, affectionately following the path of your sternum, nosing his way down your cleavage, sighing a deep, warm breath against your skin, adding a few extra heated degrees to your body temperature — you thank him with a breathy moan.

His hands move to your sides, tickling along your flesh, leaving goosebumped skin in their path as he traces along the band of your bra, fingertips gliding until they meet the clasp.

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip as he finger paints small swirls along your spine. You push yourself closer, needing more.

And he gives you more. The band tightens around your ribs as he finds the edge, and you hold your breath.

One clip comes undone easily, granting you a hint of relief. Two follows, leaving just the third hook stuck standing between you and the promise of pleasure.

Then he stops — worse actually — he doesn’t just stop, he completely abandons the clasp on your bra as his head pops up, nearly clipping the edge of your jaw. He pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head to his shoulder.

It surprises you, making your heart pound for an entirely different reason.

“What—” you begin, but his heedful palm spreads across the plain of your upper back, halting your question, making you pause. Unsure and curious, you turn your face, pushing against his grip on you, trying to see what’s wrong.

His face is contorted into a flat, focused look as his eyes fixate on the closed door of his room. You’re totally confused by what has pulled his attention, but then you hear a clatter from the living room of his trailer. You turn to look at Eddie. 

His eyes pinch shut with disappointment. “No,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder in defeat. 

“Is that —”

“My fucking uncle,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Oh,” you say quietly, trying to fight the unresolved neediness of your body from turning you into a slouching ball of disappointment.

“He's not supposed to be home yet,” he groans, and it comes out huffed, like he's annoyed, but you know it's not directed at you. Part of you is relieved to hear that upset edge in his voice, because you know how easy it would be for most boys to shrug it off when they already got what they needed.

His palm swipes across your back, rubbing it in a soothing way before he pulls away, finding your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. 

You shrug, it's not like this is his fault. “It’s okay,” you promise. 

“It’s not.”

You smile. “It is,” you say, delighted by his sincerity. “This just means we’ll have to pick up where we left off another day.”

“But you didn’t get to cum.”

True but — “I still had fun.”

He dips his face, chin bowing downward, bitten lips jetting out with his generous empathy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and you giggle at his niceness. He might be more upset than you are, and you love it.

“Eddie, you know me,” you grin. “You said I did a good job, and there’s nothing better than the satisfaction of a job well done,” you beam, and you’re very pleased when you get a good chuckle from Eddie.

“Next time?” He proposes with a raised brow.

“Next time,” you agree.

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merci buckets hope you liked if you did make sure to hit! that subscribe button and leave a like down below (aka comment and reblog <33333)

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[sutorus]

BAD IDEA RIGHT? BEST FRIEND'S DAD!TOJI for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: you and megumi are old friends, but a recent development (called growing up) has made you aware of just how hot his dad, toji fushiguro, really is. you sit on your desire for years until one night, you get an idea. 

PAIRING: best friend’s dad!fushiguro toji x reader

WC: 5.1k whoops!

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORDS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, age gap! power dynamics, slight daddy kink, degradation, spit (like a lot it's a Thing here), oral (m! receiving), unprotected relations, slapping, gaping, size difference/size kink, creampie, toji is Nasty and a pretty bad dude lol 

A/N: this is nasty and very descriptive i’m so sorry i really sinned here. anyway enjoy!

you and megumi have been friends since school. after all, it was inevitable that a friendship would form between the only two kids whose parents consistently forgot to pick them up after class. 

nods of acknowledgment quickly developed into trading pokémon cards, sharing samanco waffles, cheating off each other during tests. 

it was the most meaningful relationship you had in your life, the one other person who really got you and the situation you were in, and before you knew it, you two were being admitted to the same college, like you’d talked about all those years ago. 

in the meantime, megumi’s dad had… mellowed out. from what you knew. 

sure, he was still gone for weeks at a time, neglectful, irresponsible and womanizing, but one final falling out with their family seemed to have lifted a big weight off his shoulders, and he became more present in megumi’s life, less resentful. you knew he wasn’t a good guy, but you also knew he was trying, in his own way. 

besides that, you also couldn’t help noticing other things about the man. you first started paying attention when you were in high school, always hanging out at megumi’s place to play video games or study. 

toji would come home sometimes, smelling of smoke and sake, tonguing the scar on the side of his lip. plopping down on their shaggy sofa, legs spread wide, thick thighs straining the fabric of his pants. you would give megumi some excuse about getting something from the kitchen and just watch toji, lazily browsing channels with one hand inside his sweats. 

it wasn’t a big deal. but it never quite went away, your infatuation growing with your desperation the more the man hung around. you did everything you could to get his attention. 

you wore the frilliest, shortest skirts, left dirty dishes on the sink, showed up too late at night drunk and stumbling “looking for megumi”, acting out so you could try to get some reaction out of toji. but he never seemed to give you a second thought, annoyance being the closest thing to an emotion on his face every time your eyes met. 

but you were no quitter. you knew one day you would get what you deserved. maybe not today, but… eventually.

you approach the fushiguro household’s front door, fishing out the extra key megumi had given you from your backpack pocket. you two had a study session today but he’d texted you telling you he’d be late and to just let yourself in, so that’s what you do. 

with a sigh, you set down your laptop on their coffee table and sit down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. before you can finish getting comfortable, a tall, broad figure is looming over your face and you almost jump out of your skin. 

“what the f—oh my god,” you laugh in embarrassment. “you scared me, fushiguro-san.”

he doesn’t react, his eyes boring into yours. “me? you’re the one breaking into my house.”

you roll your eyes, pulling your legs up below your body. “megumi gave me a key. we’re supposed to study today, do you know where—“

“he’s with that itadori kid. don’t think he’s coming back tonight,” toji moves to sit down on the loveseat, turning the tv on. the old, boxy thing crackles to life, a boat race playing on the screen. toji adjusts his body in attention. “so you can fuck off back home.”

“um,” you start, but nothing else comes out of your mouth. you let your eyes wander all over his lax form, and you can faintly make out his abs below the raggedy shirt he’s wearing. it makes your stomach turn. 

without taking his eyes off the screen, he addresses you again. “you know where the door is.”

an idea starts to form in your head. a really, really bad, tempting idea.

you discreetly take off your sweatshirt, leaving you in just your undershirt, no bra. you hope toji can scent the whiff of perfume you exude when you move, scooting closer to the edge of the sofa. 

“nah, i think i’ll just study here. my parents are home today and they’re too… y’know.”

“not my fuckin’ problem,” he picks at his teeth, spreading his legs wider. your desperation is growing with each second he spends not looking at you. 

you lift up your bag, something clinking inside. it's a bold move, but it's now or never.

“i brought booze. we could just share some and then i’ll go.”

that at least gets a reaction. the man snorts, finally glancing over at you from the corner of his eyes. you instinctively push your chest out, feeling eager. 

“is that what you do with my son under my roof? get shitfaced in the house that i pay for?”

“well i paid for the vodka so i don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you make a point to pull out the bottle from your bag, swinging it around. 

toji’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. you know he doesn’t like to be challenged, absolutely hates smart mouths. you should be in for a treat. 

“who the hell do you think you’re talking to, kid?” he stands up and snatches the bottle from you, turning it around in his — big, veiny, deliciously calloused — hand and laughing. “vanilla flavored? fuck, you really are a kid.” he says it like the realization excites him. 

you can feel your face flush.

“are you gonna turn down free alcohol, toji?” it’s risky, dropping the honorific. you know he doesn’t like it, can see it in his face, but he doesn’t say anything. 

instead, he unscrews the top with ease and takes a swig, grimacing at the taste. you watch as his throat works, adam’s apple bobbing.

his arms are huge, you can’t imagine he was ever shaped like megumi is nowadays, slender and frail. toji is tall and broad and big, with a permanent 5 o’clock shadow on his defined features. 

he grabs two whiskey glasses and sets them down on the coffee table — no coasters —, pouring some vodka in both of them. it was most definitely not your idea to do straight shots tonight with megumi, but you will not go through the humiliation of asking for a soda to mix it with. 

you’re desperate to have toji view you as the adult you are, no longer megumi’s awkward middle school best friend. you know you’ve grown up well; all you need is for toji to see it too. 

you drink in silence for a bit, the only noises coming from toji being his disappointed grunts as the boats he bet on fall behind. you type away at your laptop, not really being able to focus with the heat rising within you. 

he refills both your cups a couple more times, but makes no effort to talk.

you slowly but surely start to get antsy, your determination wavering and giving way to a funny feeling one can only experience by drinking with their best friend’s dad who they’ve wanted to fuck for like, ever. 

so you bite the bullet and with the liquid courage flowing in your veins, you strike up conversation. 

“y’know, toji, i’ve always wanted to ask,” his head lolls on his shoulder to look at you lazily and disinterested. “what happened to megumi’s mom? he doesn’t talk about it.”

“yeah, well. me either,” toji replies. you take a deep breath. 

“you’re gone a lot. megumi is alone a lot.”

toji scoffs.

“thought that was what you were here for, hmm? megumi’s done well for himself,” he finally, probably for the first time in your life, gives you a proper look over, his eyes traveling all over your frame, tucked into the armrest of the couch. “scored himself a nice little bitch.”

you let out a strangled noise. you’re fighting laughter when you exclaim, “i’m sorry?! you think megumi and i have a—like, a thing?”

toji just shrugs, stretching one leg out in front of him. “i figured. why else would you loiter around my house so much?”

oh, if he only knew. 

“no, no. it’s never been like that. megumi’s not really my type.” toji hums inquisitively, and you take that as a sign to continue. “i’m into more… mature guys.”

toji eyes you knowingly, but seemingly amused. 

“that right?” you nod. “fuckin’ kid like you even know what to do with a man?”

you raise an eyebrow. you’re a sophomore in college, well into your twenties. he can’t be serious. “surely you know i’m not a kid anymore. surely you d—“

“surely my ass,” he exclaims and oh, he’s a little terrifying like this. toji downs however much was left in his cup and turns to you, pointing with the hand holding his glass. “you’re a full of shit, foul mouthed, rude brat. get the fuck out of my house, you’re pissing me off.”

you’re used to toji’s outbursts, not because you know him well but because every time you see him, seldom as it is, he always loses his temper, sooner or later. 

“i think,” you take another sip, feeling loose. “your old ass wouldn’t be able to handle sex. like, actual sex, not those rich hags you who just lay there for you and give you money in the end. if you had to put in any real work i bet your heart would give out you slimey pi—“

you can’t finish your sentence because you can’t breathe, suddenly. your eyes widen, chest spasming as your oxygen gets cut off mid-sentence. toji has one of his huge palms covering your nose and mouth.

you look up at him with watery eyes but he’s not looking back, he’s chugging vodka straight from the bottle again.

he puffs his cheeks and moves his hand to cup your jaw, smirking around a mouthful of alcohol. 

you catch your breath quickly, the hand that was clawing at his falling limply on your lap. toji holds your face, his grip unforgiving as he leans over you. his form is so, so much bigger than yours, towering over you completely, and all you can do is look up at him with a blank expression. 

his thumb pries your mouth open with ease, the digit hooking behind your bottom teeth as toji’s face gets closer and closer. on instinct, you close your eyes. 

soon, hot, stinging liquid is pouring steadily into your mouth. toji swishes the rest of the vodka between his cheeks — on purpose, you’re sure — before spitting it directly on your tongue.

it’s disgusting, everything about it makes your stomach churn, but it also makes you squeeze your legs together, chest rising and falling rapidly as you swallow without having to be told to. 

“ya talk too fuckin’ much, brat,” he grumbles. ironically, you’re at a loss for words. “someone needs put you in your place already.”

“you,” your voice cracks and nearly fails you, but you’re determined. it surprises him, that you’d have something to say. that you’re still game. you can see it in his face, in the way his hands come off of you. “i want you to.”

toji’s expression is hard and unchanging. his fingers go back to your face, two of them slipping inside your lax lips.

your breath stutters as you inhale, instinctively sucking the digits and working your tongue around them.

toji grabs his cock through his pants pointedly.

“fuckin’ slut… that what you want?” you nod. he takes a step forward, knees hitting the couch. “is that why you walk around my house looking like a fucking whore?”

a whine dies in your throat at the sweet, sweet recognition.

he noticed.

he noticed and it bothered him and you really couldn’t bring yourself to care that he was your best friend’s father right now because he was tenting his sweatpants and your mouth was watering at the sight. 

“please…” you paw at his waistband, pulling on the drawstrings. toji laughs at your desperation, voice growing gruff. 

he buries a hand in your hair, fingers closing around your locks tightly and making your eyes sting with tears. slowly, he pushes your face into his crotch, so close that you can feel it pulsing, can feel every ridge, can feel that he’s not wearing any underwear.

god, you can smell him, and it makes your head spin, your mouth huffing out hot breaths and wetting the front of his pants. 

you hook your fingers in the back of his sweats and pull until they’re down tight around his thighs. you have to maneuver the fabric over the head of his erection, earning a hiss from the man towering over you.

his dick springs up, slapping you in the face and leaving a smear of pre across the bridge of your nose. you think toji snorts at that but you can’t be sure. you’re too mesmerized.

he’s so, so big, the skin darker and flushed, tight, heavy balls and the head, angry red, peeking out from the foreskin.

your throat goes dry at the thought of it inside of you, inside any of your holes, because you know it’ll destroy you forever. and you want it. 

toji doesn’t have the appeal that most men his age do to most girls your age. he doesn’t make you feel safe, he doesn’t offer financial support, he doesn’t care about your well-being, he doesn’t have his shit together. and to make matters worse to you, he’s your best friend’s dad, who your best friend doesn’t even like that much, whose presence has been totally indifferent to megumi for most of his life. 

it makes you burn in shame to know you’re about to have a man 25 years your senior in your mouth.

you readjust your position on the couch so that you’re sitting on your knees, angling your face with his cock. it’s curved, pointing up, and you wonder how much of it he’s gonna wanna stuff down your throat. judging by the pure evil glinting in his eyes, it’s gonna be as much as possible. 

you take a deep breath, steadying a hand around his length. it’s concerning that you can just barely close your fingers around him, but you put that thought aside to focus on pulling the skin down gently so you can wrap your lips around the tip. 

toji sighs in relief, his grip in your hair tightening.

you begin to work your head up and down, licking the underside of his cock to gather up saliva. 

“thaaat’s it, what a good little bitch. got a sweet little mouth on ya,” he whispers, hips thrusting slightly to work his cock further into your mouth. “yer gonna take all of it? or are ya all talk?”

you whine, gripping the base and sliding further down his length. he’s already hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water and your stomach seize. you pick up the pace, twisting your wrist rhythmically as you suck him. 

“don’t swallow,” he threatens, forcing his cock deeper into you, the head sliding into the opening of your throat. “lemme see how messy this slutty face can get.”

you choke audibly, eyes smarting with tears, makeup smudging. you look up at him with furrowed brows in a silent plea of mercy. 

toji’s having none of it.

he puts one foot down on the sofa, next to your legs, giving himself the leverage to start fully fucking your face now. he wraps both hands around your throat and thrusts his hips violently into your mouth, his thumbs pressing down to feel his length in your throat. 

“ahh, fuck,” he throws his head back, reveling in your desperate gurgles. you feel like a fucking ragdoll, like a fleshlight, unable to control the noises you make or how much dick you take. “takin’ me so well. who taught you to squeeze your throat like that, huh? so fuckin’ slutty.” 

you sob around his cock, nose buried in his pubes. he’s impossibly hard, impossibly wet as thick strings of spit and pre hang from your lips, dripping down to his balls, falling to the floor.

toji keeps fucking your throat relentlessly, granting you mere seconds between thrusts to inhale a desperate breath that immediately starts to burn in your lungs. 

he’s a fucking sight though, above you. chin tucked into his chest, veins bulging and biceps flexed, nostrils flared as he watches you devour him. 

he pulls out suddenly, leaving you choking for air. tears stream down your face, spit bubbling out of your nostril. you look all wrong, like you’d been put back together by someone after being utterly demolished.

“open your mouth,” toji orders. you obey and he grabs his cock, slapping the head against your tongue a few times. he slides his length in and out for a bit before he starts jerking himself off. “suck my balls.” 

you take that moment to swallow down the saliva that had pooled between your teeth, tucking away the wet strands of hair that frame your face.

toji’s lifting his cock towards his belly, fisting the head and flicking his wrist. he looks at you expectantly, and you understand it’s time to prove yourself once again. 

you place a gente thumb right below his shaft, where his sack hangs. your tongue dips in between his balls, shyly at first, just slightly tracing the shape of them before you pop one into your mouth. 

toji groans, the hand on his cock gaining speed. you squeeze your thighs together; you’re so wet that it makes you uncomfortable. you lean forward on your knees, steadying yourself with your palms planted firmly on his thighs. 

you’re sucking his balls earnestly now , one then the other, then both at the same time, angling your head up and working your tongue up and down the wrinkled skin.

toji’s loving it, maybe more than the blowjob, and it makes you feel like a toy all over again, in an even more humiliating way because now you’re not even allowed to touch his cock, he’s just getting to use your mouth anywhere he wants. 

it’s so fucking hot that it makes you dizzy. you hollow your cheeks, giving his nutsack a good suck before gingerly lifting his balls. you sneak a glance up at toji, hoping to catch him by surprise when your tongue dips even lower, approaching some pretty controversial territory. 

it works. his breath catches in his throat and his knee kicks out instinctively.

he grabs your hair immediately, pulling you away from him. 

“fuck,” you look up at him smirking, lips smeared with saliva and snort. but you don’t even care how debauched you look right now, as long as you can keep the upper hand. “you’re a nasty little bitch, aren’t ya?”

he leans down to kiss you deeply, messily, inhaling loudly through his nose. toji finishes stepping out of his sweatpants and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing what you’d been imagining for so many years. 

you run your hands over his chest, his abs, down his hips, his v-line. he’s so fucking hot, got bulging muscles you didn’t even know existed in the human body, and scars you can’t even fathom the origin of. 

he stares at you, looking bored. “get up.”

you do, legs shaking and prickling with pins and needles. now you can fully feel the scope of your arousal, how your panties stick to your core uncomfortably, how the wet tops of your thighs rub together. 

toji sits down on the sofa and you waste no time getting on his lap, clawing at his chest and leaning in for another kiss. he’s unforgiving even like this, so much bigger than you, his hand on the back of your neck and his mouth on yours. 

“arms up,” and when you comply, he’s pulling your tank top off. “good girl.”

you shiver, instinctively wrapping an arm around yourself. toji tsks at that, easily taking both your wrists in one hand and pinning them behind your back. he grabs your tit with the other, popping as much of it as he can in his mouth. 

you groan, fighting against his grip to get your hands on his hair, his shoulders, anywhere. toji relentlessly sucks on your nipple, nibbling and circling it with his tongue.

when he pulls off, he lands a swift slap across your boob, ripping a groan from you. 

“such a good fuckin’ slut, look at that body.”

he slaps your ass, this time, tugging your shorts over your butt. you help him get it off of you and then, finally, you’re straddling toji’s cock, no layers in between you two, just your dripping core on him. 

you think, belatedly, condom, but then toji is pulling you in for another kiss and for all you know megumi could come home any minute and you wouldn’t want to waste time like that. or so you tell yourself. 

his hands guide your hips to grind over him, soft mewls coming out of you and being buried into the crook of his neck. 

“pretty little girl, gonna ride me? hmm? gonna ride this old man’s cock?” you whine, nodding.

you press your front against his so you can lift your ass up and guide the tip into your entrance. you don’t expect to be able to take it all, but at least like this you can control the pace and how much of it is going into you, the only thing keeping you from panicking at the sheer size of him. 

the head of toji’s cock doesn’t slip inside so much as it pops inside, the ridge locking just past your opening.

it’s too big, and even though you’re soaking wet, it’s still a stretch. you both groan in unison and you realize, this is it. this is your fantasy, you’re fucking toji fushiguro, megumi’s dad, your best friend’s dad. 

your legs tremble as you hold yourself up, too soon to sink down more on his cock. toji’s playing with your nipples but you have a sneaking suspicion his patience isn’t going to last much longer. 

you give it a valiant effort to take more in and it feels like being ripped in two. you clench your jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple. 

“fuuuuck, so fuckin’ tight,” toji spreads your ass cheeks with both hands, rubbing the thin skin where you two are connected. he thrusts up, feeding your poor pussy more of his cock, and you let out a scream. “take it, c’mon.”

“unghh—can’t, toji, hang on—“

“‘course ya can,” he fucks up into you again and you sob, nails raking down his chest. he hisses and slaps your ass in punishment. you realize you might really cry.

“i can’t, it’s too big, too much—“

“shhh,” in an uncharacteristic display of affection, toji kisses the furrow between your brows, snaking a thumb between you two to rub your clit. 

you throw your head back, body torn between seeking more pleasure and running from the pain. you can hear how wet you are as toji fucks in and out of you, your plush walls hugging him so well, weeping around him. 

he speeds up and you bury your face in his chest, moaning wantonly into his skin. toji lets out staccato grunts, working his cock further into you with each thrust. 

“any scrubs your age givin’ it to you like this?” he breathes out, grabbing your ass hard and moving it up and down his length for you. you whine, drooling on him. “yeah, that’s right. fuck, take it, that’s a good girl.”

“ahh, toji—“

“that’s not my name, whore,” he fists your hair and drags your head back until your eyes meet. “try again.”

“fushiguro-san—“ that earns you a hard slap on your ass. you yelp — wrong answer. 

“toji-sama—“ another slap, and this time he grips the reddening flesh viciously. you whine, squirming in his grip. 

“little braindead cumslut,” he wipes a tear with his thumb. “who’s fucking this tight pussy right now? huh? tell me who's ruining this slutty cunt.”

“d—daddy?” 

toji smiles, humming, his grip on you softening as he leans in for a kiss. “that’s right, sweetheart. show daddy how much you want it.”

it’s amusing to toji, you know it. he just wants to humiliate you because he’s aware of how badly you’ve wanted this. but it does something to you, it’s serious to you, it’s so fucking depraved and sexy to you. 

he lifts you up with ease and lays you back down on the couch. you feel so empty suddenly that it makes you want to cry, like toji has already carved a home inside of you for his cock that no one else will ever be able to fill. 

he wastes no time getting on top of you, hooking a hand under your leg and lifting it up onto his shoulder. your eyes widen immediately, a protest dying in your tongue. this position… his cock… it’s, god, it’s gonna be—

toji plunges in in one violent, perfunctory thrust. you let out a scream, your heel kicking toji square in the back as your body rises up from the couch. he’s all the way inside now. 

you can feel him bruising your cervix, his balls, wet with a mixture of the two of you, slapping against your ass, his hip bones drilling into you. 

“you’re so deep,” you look at him with panic in your eyes, chest gone cold at the overwhelming pleasure. “you’re so deep.”

toji laughs, pulling out to spit on his cock. he grabs your ankle and sets it on his shoulder. “yeah, baby, daddy’s all the way inside now. feels good, doesn’t it?” 

“fuck. oh fuck,” you let out shaky breaths, allowing toji to lay more of his weight on top of you. your knee is by your head now and somehow in this position his cock seems to hit even deeper, to curve up exactly in the right spots that have you struggling to breathe. “you’re gonna break me.” 

“takin’ me so well. just a natural slut aren’t ya,” he’s fucking you so fast now, wet, slapping sounds resounding across the whole house. 

there’s a thick creamy ring at the base of his cock, frothy and bubbly with how much you’ve been gushing for him. toji presses a thumb against your clit and rubs tight little circles, making you squeeze against him like a vice. 

he grunts, speeding up his movements.

“so sensitive, this cute little pussy. you a virgin?” he slaps it a few times, your wetness sticking to his fingers with every pat. “gonna cum soon, whore?”

you whine, nodding. you wrap both arms around toji’s neck and pull him closer, open mouth awaiting expectantly.

toji grins, spitting onto your tongue before leaning in to suck it. 

“toj—daddy,” you moan against his mouth, “daddy, i’m close.”

you don’t recognize your own voice. it’s slutty, desperate, pitchy, juvenile. it's too far gone.

toji works your clit over and over again, fucking you harder than you’ve ever been fucked. he splays a hand over your stomach, kneading the place where his cock is nestled inside of you and hitting a spot that makes you lose control of your body and words. 

“ah, ah, ah, oh god toji fuck daddy make me cum, please please can i cum—“

“oh, fuck,” his thrusts start to become erratic and you know he’s close too. you clench around him, one leg wrapping around his hips to make sure he stays inside until you're done. “cum on daddy’s cock, come on. make a mess, little girl.”

you throw your head back, burying it into the pillows as your entire body thrashes with your orgasm. you clamp around him so hard that you can't even tell where he ends and you begin. 

toji takes no mercy on you, his messy cock plunging in and out of you fast. 

“gonna fill up this pretty pussy, yeah?” you shake your head desperately, one hand punching his chest. he can’t finish inside of you, right? but why do you want it so bad? “no no no, don’t fuss now baby. you want daddy’s cum inside you, don’t you? wanna give megumi a baby brother? fuck yeah i know you do fuckin' take it whore fuuuuck, fuck i'm coming—”

he thrusts once, twice, three more times, knocking all air out of your lungs and the most ridiculous moans out of your mouth before he’s spilling into you, locking your legs like a fucking pretzel and biting down your neck. 

you can feel it pulsing, spurting inside of you. you can feel both your heartbeats in your abused cunt, both of your juices combined and oozing out of you. 

once you catch your breath, toji pulls out of you languidly, with a yawn. you two made a fucking mess, a sticky puddle on the couch right below your ass. 

toji eyes it disinterestedly, much like how he’s eyeing you right now. your sweaty, messy, fucked out self, nearly melting on the fushiguro household’s sofa. 

“ah. are ya on the pill or what?” he asks, like he just now remembered. after a few seconds you nod, a little incredulous. “heh. good.”

you slowly sit up, reaching for your sweatshirt to at least cover yourself up. you sneak a hand down to your cunt, fingers sliding through the mess there to dip inside you. 

fuck, you’re gaping. toji well and truly ruined your pussy. it makes you panic a little bit, but it also makes pride swell within your chest, knowing you took it, all of it. 

toji finally addresses you. 

“i’m gonna go take a shower,” he looks behind his shoulder, sighing. he points at you. “we left the fuckin’ tv on. if this shit racks up my bills you’re gonna have to pay me back.”

you guffaw. “me? pay you how?”

he smirks. 

“got one more hole i haven’t wrecked yet, dont’cha?” he flicks your forehead. you just sit there, incredulous, trembling legs, halfway to horny again. from the bathroom, toji calls out, “let yourself out. oh, and leave the vodka.”

A/N: lmfao! i got nothin to say in my defense. reblogs r very much appreciated

[mv1simp]

Into It ♥️ Part 1 of 3

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

i'm into it, yeah, says she wanna fuck me later, girl i'm into it

the one in which you’re newly dating your gorgeous boyfriend, max verstappen, after months of pining and flirting. he’s the perfect gentleman, so romantic and treats you just right! now how do you tell him that you’re desperate for mad max to come out and rail ur insides without sounding like a freak 😚

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut but this time with some plot lol, reader essentially is just trying whatever tactic she can to seduce her bf and make mad max come out in bed, size kink, dom/sub elements, 4k WC

PART TWO HERE ♥️ PART THREE HERE ♥️

You look up blissfully at your boyfriend, Max, from where you’re tucked into his side, his strong arm scooping you against him and keeping you warm. You’re rewatching an old classic, Shrek 2, as you wind down from your dinner plans with your friends earlier than evening. Lando and Daniel had joined as well, teasing you and Max mercilessly about how you two were finally together and that the whole F1 grid had been placing bets on when you would make it official.

You had flushed in a combination of embarrassment and giddiness, unable to hold back a matching laugh with Max who had looked over at you with an adoring gaze, his own heart warm with happiness about finally being able to call you his own. You two had run in the same Monaco circles for years - with him as a driver and you on the McLaren legal team. Though initially you only saw glimpses of him through paddock interviews or social media posts celebrating his multiple winning streaks, the two of you had become a lot closer the past couple years through his friendship with Daniel and Lando. Soon enough you were joining them at weekly Padel sessions, leading to you and Max exchanging funny cat memes or popping online to decimate him and Lando on a Call of Duty stream and then eventually onto deeper conversations, from his latest breakups with his model girlfriends or quiet ramblings with a bottle of wine outside a booming party about the pressures of demanding fathers.

Of course, tongues were wagging anytime you two were seen together - especially when Max had his first time in years being single for months before you had gotten together. You couldn’t deny that you had always thought the older Dutch man was incredibly handsome and funny, always full of interesting facts about niche topics, and you found his intensity and passion for his racing career so attractive, as a high powered professional yourself as a lawyer for a luxury car brand’s executive board. But you had always curbed any growing feelings you had for Max, paranoid that it would compromise the strong friendship you two had developed. Besides, given his affliction for dating vogue models, and his respectful gazes or polite touches compared to the much more flirtier ones from other drivers on the grid, you had never thought max considered you attractive.

But somehow, despite both your busy schedules, despite max being across the globe, you always ended up calling each other first to share sad, happy, or even just boring news. You had never once imagined that after winning his most recent championship the first person he came looking for in his celebrations that night was you, his face flushes from champagne and hugging you tightly, his eyes shining with warmth as he told you he couldn’t have won it without you and suddenly you could no longer deny the rapid palpitations of your heart when you looked up at him. And as he looked at you, thumb gently brushing across your cheeks, warm breaths mingling together as your faces drew closer, he couldn’t deny himself any longer either - Schat, all I’ve been thinking about is what I really wanted for my prize instead of this trophy. Can I kiss you now?

And the rest was history. Fast forward a few months and it’s still so surreal to call Max your boyfriend, you think, as you come back to the present, watching him fondly as he chuckles at the movie. Dating him has been a dream - he’s your first serious relationship, your standards too high to waste time with any of the subpar guys you had gone on first dates with before - and wow, did Max know exactly how to knock all of those standards out of the park. He would always drive and pick you up anywhere you wanted, in his sleek luxury cars that had pedestrians gawping, one large hand on your thigh and asking how your day had been. You had literally stopped taking your wallet out anymore as Max always slammed down his black Amex at any opportunity to pay for you - dinners, trips, jewellery and luxurious shopping sprees - and although the staunch feminist in you had initially disagreed you couldn’t help but feel so cared for, so looked after - knowing all you needed on a night out was one hand around his arm and the other clutching a pretty little Chanel purse he had picked up for you at last month’s race weekend, with a matching Dior lip gloss inside. If you were ever having a hard day at work he would always order your favourite foods straight to your apartment, where he would meet you and bitch and vent alongside you about whichever client had been giving you grief.

And my god, the sex - THE SEX with your man had been absolutely amazing. Considering the difference in your past number of relationships, max was keenly aware that he had a lot more experience than you and was so unbelievably sweet and patient - letting you take all the time you needed to go slow and work up the confidence gradually to ask for what you wanted for him. Your first time together had been incredibly romantic, a night at a private house he had booked out for the week on the Italian coastline. After a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine you found yourself in his lap on the outdoor chaise, soft kisses turning more and more heated, max whispering are you sure, liefje? If you’re not ready-

to which you had cut him off with another deep kiss, pleading for him to make you his once and for all ❤️ His eyes had flickered with a deep intensity at your possessive statement before softening out to adoration again as he gently unlaced your dress and trailed kisses down your body, worshipping you. you’d both cum embarrassingly faster than you’d have liked, high off the feeling of one another, max cleanly finishing inside a condom he threw away before carrying you in his arms to the bedroom inside. Since then, you’d both figured out you had a combined very high sex drive, using every opportunity in your schedules to make love, max never hesitating to always make sure you came first, either on his fingers, tongue or cock. You had the perfect boyfriend. Truly. You couldn’t ask for anything more, yet -

- yet, here you were, feeling like an absolute bitch about the recurrent thoughts that had planted in your mind as you watched max come out of the bathroom freshly showered, getting ready for bed after finishing a gaming stream with his mates following your Shrek 2 viewing. The issue was that your boyfriend - your incredibly hot, sexy, tall Dutch boyfriend - was so stupidly enticing but so oblivious that he has no idea what he did to you. You bit your lip as you looked at him, hair dripping wet, distractingly saying something to you while texting on his phone - but your mind was only fixed on how big and strong Max looked. Your boyfriend was much bigger than you, almost towering over you at 6”1 with your 5”1 frame. His athletic training currently during the season meant he had been looking extra delectable lately, defined abs, thick muscular thighs and a broad shoulder and back that narrowed down to a narrow (or as Lando joked, slutty) waist, highlighted now by the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips that did nothing to hide the sizeable bulge in between his legs. It was undeniable that he was packing, to the point where you had called it his third leg after first seeing him naked, making him laugh but also take even more care everytime he entered you - you were a lot smaller than his previous partners, after all. He always made sure his pace was gentle and slow, avoiding fully entering you too much in worry of causing you pain. Truly, your boyfriend was too sweet - everything he did was to avoid causing your any pain or distress - which is why you felt too embarrassed to ask him directly to be rougher with you when he was simply looking out for your comfort. It has been perfect for you initially, but now you felt more adjusted to his size, and each time you slept together you felt yourself becoming more and more desperate for Max to be just a little bit rougher, a little bit more controlling. What would he think when his usually sweet, happy go lucky girlfriend admitted she actually fantasised about him completely ruining her? So, of course, you being you - an ambitious feminist - have decided to hatch a conniving strategy to seduce your boyfriend into giving it to you just right!! 💕

Starting tonight - you had already planned to spend the night at Max’s, relaxing after the hectic work week you had both had. Often, you wore his comfortable hoodies that dwarfed you and smelt just like him as you cuddled in bed. Instead tonight you wore an angelic pink lace Agent Provocateur nightie, bows and all, pushing your cute tits up on display for him and complimenting your caramel skin perfectly. Enough to drive Max crazy, right? Sitting against the plush pillows, you had been reading one of your steamy dark romance novels - your latest outlet these days while you manifested getting some back breaking sex with Max - but of course had ended up distracted by the sight of your himbo boyfriend emerging from the shower.

-Schat? So what do you think? Max finally looked up from his phone, making you come back to reality and realize you hadn’t been answering his question. Max’s eyes widened seeing your pretty little form on his bed - he had never seen you wear an outfit like that in bed before. He cleared his throat, inconspicuously shifting his stance so you didn’t notice his hard on at the sight of you when you hastily stumbled to reply - Oh sorry maxie, I missed what you were saying, just a bit tired after today

Max immediately came to your side in bed, looking guilty. Of course Schat, sorry, I’m keeping you up with my gaming stream aren’t I? You had such a long week already, we can go straight to bed now. You cursed your own slip up - of course, your sweet Max would put your comfort first over what you were sure looked like mission successful given the rapid hardening of his bulge you had zoned in on.

You try again as Max dims the bedside lamps, taking your book gently away from your hands and setting it to the side. You lean softly in next to him, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, tits right up against his hard biceps so that your breasts are basically cushioning his arm right in between them. Your nightie rises up your legs, showcasing your soft, luscious thighs for him. Max smiles lovingly at you, cradling your face before peppering your cheeks with baby kisses. You look so pretty, sweetheart. So sweet to wait for me before falling asleep, mein Schat.

You lean in further, lips pouting in an effort your boyfriend would finally catch the hint but instead you found yourself gently maneouvered and tucked into his side, his large hands rubbing soothing circles along your back as he placed a final kiss on your forehead. Goodnight, darling. Your eye twitched at his definitive words, perplexed at how your plan had been so unsuccessful, but you sighed and wished goodnight to Max, falling asleep and already plotting for another day.

A couple of weeks later you decided to up the ante. A sexy, bold crimson red lingerie teddy set, practically see through and showcasing your tan nipples through the lace and mesh, and a pathetic excuse of some lacy red panties to match. You smirked as you eyed yourself in the mirror - sure, it was quite a forward look, but you had found yourself becoming increasingly more desperate for your boyfriend’s attentions after attending his Monaco race today. You did your best to attend the races you could but with your own demanding schedule often struggled to make it, so were very excited to support your boyfriend this time - especially as you had been keeping track of how this season was difficult compared to earlier years given the poorer quality of the RB car. Your eyes had widened at seeing the events this weekend - a string of bad luck events. First, his engine had stalled during free practise, making him lose precious practise time, and then a red flag had been called as he was finishing an almost perfect qualifying lap, ruining his chances of pole, and finally during the actual race he was clipped on the side by one of the Aston Martin’s, making him spin out but still incredibly go on to get P2. It was amazing result given everything, but what caught your attention was a side of your boyfriend you had only every heard whispers about emerge on the track. In the past, you had only attended races he had easily won, appearing calm and collected throughout the weekends as he cruised to P1 - easily overpowering everyone else. Today though - Mad Max, his fans excitedly cheered and paddock staff gossiped, Mad Max is finally back!! In his villain era!!

And your Max was indeed seething at everyone - competitors, his strategy team, the stewards for not giving Aston Martin a penalty - and you had listened in on the radio to hear him angrily swear and yell to his engineer, seen him aggressively overtake and defend his place on the track, and finally seen the stormy expression on his face as he emerged out of his car, clearly pissed with narrowed eyes as he stalked off to his driver room without a word, not even sparing a glance at you or anyone else. Sure, you should have felt a little hurt that he hadn’t noticed you or seen the perfectly planned designer outfit you had arrived wearing, sending the paparazzi into a flurry, but you completely understood that his career was first on the line today and he needed some time to cool off. And honestly, instead of feeling bad for Max - the sick, twisted part of you couldn’t deny that he had looked sooo sexy completely dominating on the track, authoritatively giving orders over the radio and confidently outmanoeuvring his rivals. You had to catch yourself from biting your lip or squeezing your legs together as his rough accented tones got more and more angry throughout the race over your headphones, imaging what it would be like to be pinned down by his strong arms, to have him lean down behind you and whisper naughty things in your ear, to ask if you liked being a dirty little-

“Oh! Y/N! Can we get a quick word?” The sky sports reporters interruption hastily put an end to the illicit thoughts you had been having. Quickly trying to school your expression into something much more PR friendly, you flashed a dazzling smile, “Of course!”. As expected they tried to rile responses out of you to condemn Max’s aggressive performance. But you had stood for none of it, honestly and clearly stating that your boyfriend had driven very capably and fairly given the circumstances and you were extremely impressed with his performance. “He’s a triple world champion after all. Did you just expect him to roll over and not defend his title? If you don’t agree with it then no need to watch it. At the end of the day he’s the one driving the car over the finish line while everyone else is speculating hypotheticals.” The reporters thank you for your input, stumbling for words at your strong defence of your boyfriend. You wandered off before they could say more, catching up with Max a couple hours later when he had debriefed and collected his trophy, looking a lot more chilled out than earlier.

Hey, Schatje he mumbled gently, leaning down to kiss you on the lips after pulling you from a conversation with the other WAGs. Max! you had exclaimed brightly, congratulating him on his win and letting him know just how proud you were of him. You knew he would be tired - we could go to the red bull celebration yacht party for 30min, show our faces, and then play hooky back to ours? I already put in a dinner order for your favourite lamb kebabs.

Max smiled down at you - you knew him so well, always knew what to say and when he wanted to relax. Sounds amazing, Schat he voiced in agreement. Later, after eating dinner at home, Lando sent him a trending insta reel with the caption “Mate, she’s too good to you, you bagged a queen.” Max grinned, expecting some fanmade memes about you and him as he clicked the link (he has seen all the Queen Y/N and he’s just…Ken Max tweets already. You were a well liked figure on the paddock for years with your well mannered speech, excellent dress style and courteous relationships with most of the staff.)

He was suprised to instead see an interview post race of you defending him staunchly, shutting down any opportunity the reporters used to manipulate your words. He walked into his bedroom to find you conveniently waiting for him in bed again, nose buried in one of your romance models, and started laughing at how effective you were at putting the media clowns in their place. Thanks for sticking up for me always, liefje. You smiled back at him with pure adoration - of course Maxie, that’s the advantage of dating a lawyer, right?

He agreed enthusiastically, so caught up on now yapping about the race as he climbed into bed with you that he didn’t even notice the sexy little outfit you had planned just for him, covering you up with his soft duvet before you could properly twirl around and showcase it for him. Your eye twitched again as he yawned in between statements, grabbing your waist and bringing your back in against him, spooning you while his voice gently trailed off, falling asleep.

Meanwhile, your mind was running at 100 miles a minute, a scowl on your face. This was ridiculous, you had gotten all dressed up in an overpriced beautiful outfit just for your boyfriend to get distracted by a 3min interview you had done with an asshole reporter and then fall asleep instead of ravaging you?? You had tonight would be the perfect night, for you to be the one to support him for once, be the perfect outlet for his stress, to use you and manipulate your body for his own pleasure…heat pooled in your gut at your dark thoughts, and you grow wetter between your legs at the mental image of max having his way with you. Maybe it still wasn’t too late. Sighing gently, you closed your eyes, pretending to drift into sleep but moving your plump, barely covered ass behind you to gently grind up on your boyfriend’s cock, which was now rapidly hardening with your practised movements. You sensed Max had awakened when you felt his arms tighten around you, keeping you still in an effort to stop you from exciting him to much while you were still asleep and he couldn’t act on it.

Mmmhmm, maxie, feels so good~ you moaned, still keeping up the facade of having a wet dream, breathing getting heavier and pushing your tits against the edges of his fingers that were wrapped around your waist. You felt him exhale sharply as he came into contact with your hardened nipples, a smirk on your face. Your grinding had managed to push the duvet partially off, exposing your red lingerie in the moonlight - surely this would be enough to drive any man crazy!!

You heard him sigh behind you, shifting slightly and inadvertently pushing his cock against your skimpy underwear as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck - and you had to hold back a squeal with how hard and big he felt against you, this was it, he was finally going to give in and fuck you awake while he thought you were having a wet dream, he could slide it right in, you were ready for it, for him, you were soo wet already just from imagining it, this was so hot-

Your fantasies are quickly shut down as max easily used his strength to turn you around so your face was buried into his chest again, your ass now devastatingly much too far away to get any action, and began rubbing your shoulders soothingly to get you to fall into a deep sleep again. You almost combusted at the action before deflating and accepting defeat once more. Your kind boyfriend of course would never toe the line of having sex with you in a dubious way were you were asleep. You wanted - no needed, to bring Mad Max out in your bedroom, and you were determined to do whatever it took.

Over the next few weeks you threw countless strategies Max’s way. Leaving your dirty romance books out in plain view, sometimes even opened up to a page right in the middle of a jaw dropping sex scene. Lacier and lacier bralettes and panties left everywhere to prompt him. “Accidentally” deleting his best SIM race time record on his rig. But nothing seemed to be working - max diligently tidyed up the stray underwear, reshelved the books, and generously forgave you for the SIM error before setting a new record later that night instead of fucking you angrily like you had planned. You got more frustrated as both your work schedules became busier, leaving you less time to connect with him. Fuck, last weekend - last weekend you had even thrown out all your boxes of condoms before jumping into Max’s arms when he had come home, laughing and eager to see you. One thing let to another and he was as eager to be inside you as you were to have him inside you, voicing It’s been too long Schat, I’ve missed your sweet body so much, so beautiful for me in between kisses as he reached for the bedstand drawer to grab a condom - only to find it empty. You pretended to have a confused look on your face (truly, you deserved an Oscar for your performance this past month) before oh so innocently suggesting Maxie, we- we don’t have to use one if you don’t want, I’m on the pill -

And there it was - a brief darkening of your boyfriends’ normally loving ice blue eyes, his sharp gaze on you at your suggestion of doing it raw for the first time - before he schooled his features back to normal and gave you a sweet kiss, It’s okay Schat, you’re too sweet, you don’t deserve to feel uncomfortable for my sake, I’ll just grab some from the corner store, da? He was off you before you could protest, promising he would be back soon as you blinked away tears of frustration and denial that yet again your plan had failed. When he finally entered you later that night, ever so gently, condom and all, you closed your eyes tight and imagined how each vein and ridge of his thick cock might feel when fully buried inside you to the hilt, if that goddamn condom broke, if he spilled all of his thick, creamy cum inside you, so much that it spurted out the sides, leaking everywhere, claiming you as his and no one else’s, making such a filthy, filthy mess-

- you came harder than you had the whole month, burying your face in Max’s shoulder to contain the scream that threatened to spill out. You sighed as you came down from your high. Fuck, you needed a drink.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Follow along for Part 2 of this 3 part series to see if dear reader will finally manage to uncockblock herself and release Mad Max!! 😚😚

[lecsainz]

A headcanon of Percy Jackson x reader daughter of Zeus, where he has been in love since the first day he saw her, and he had also recently arrived at the camp, please

˒ ⌕ SHE IS LIKE THUNDER

parings: percy jackson x zeus!reader

an:I know I disappeared, forgive me 🤧, but picture me writing this at 3 AM, dying of sleepiness after watching the last episode of PJO, AND ANNIE USED THE NICKNAME 😭 THIS EPISODE IS STILL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO PROCESS!!!!

summary: the one where you're a daughter of zeus, exploring your relationship with percy.

( my last work || my last work for riodanverse || go to main masterlist )

You and Percy crossed paths during one of your training sessions. Luke was giving Percy a tour of the camp, and when Percy laid eyes on you, he halted abruptly, as if struck by lightning. For some inexplicable reason, he felt an urgent need to know who you were, as if the gods themselves demanded it.

Percy's eyes widened as he observed you from across the training grounds. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing a finger in your direction. Luke suppressed a chuckle, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Her? Oh, that's Y/N, daughter of Zeus." Percy squinted, trying to decipher your actions, as you accidentally summoned a small lightning bolt that fizzled out near your feet. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Does that happen often?" Luke grinned. "Only when she's particularly excited, which, by the way, is most of the time. You should see her during thunderstorms!" Percy blinked, watching as you waved sheepishly, causing another faint spark to crackle in the air.

You and Percy found common ground in venting about the gods upon his arrival.

"Hey, little thunder, how's it going?" Percy grinned. "Don't call me that," you replied, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm good too, thanks for asking, Lightning Rod," Percy joked, emphasizing his newfound nickname for you.

Attempts at using your powers together proved futile, as water and electricity didn't exactly make for a harmonious combination.

According to Percy, Cabin 3 was way too big for just him, and assuming you felt the same way about Cabin 1, he started a tradition. At 12:00, he'd show up at your cabin, asking to share it, turning into a routine of hosting pajama parties in each other's cabins.

After you discovered that your half-sister, Thalia, had been turned into a pine tree to save her, Percy couldn't resist teasing you about it.

"Do you think your dad would turn you into, what, a fountain? Or maybe a cherry blossom tree would suit you?" Percy grinned, enjoying the opportunity to rib you. "Jackson, shut up," you retorted, rolling your eyes at his antics. Later, when Grover and Annabeth intervened, trying to keep you two from frying each other, Percy couldn't resist a parting shot. He had soaked you with water from a nearby forest stream during the mission, leaving you drenched and fueling your desire to electrocute him. "Next time you want to electrocute Percy, make sure I'm not around," Annabeth teased as they separated you, noticing your soaked state. Grover, being the peacekeeper, started singing the song of friendship, encouraging both of you to hug it out and apologize. Percy, however, observed that you were shivering from the cold as you walked. Realizing this, he handed you his jacket, concerned. "You'll catch a cold if you stay wet like this," he said, offering you warmth amidst the chilly aftermath of your water-based altercation.

Since neither you nor Percy admit to having feelings for each other, you find yourselves in constant teasing and banter.

During a mission, you two start a squabble because you want to lead everything, and he just wants to do his thing or isn't paying attention to what you're saying. Grover and Annabeth exchange glances, seeking a way to mediate.

It takes a long time before you muster the courage to admit you have feelings for the son of Poseidon. You decide to confess first because, knowing Percy, it would take ages if you waited for him.

"Percy, I need to talk in case we don't get out of here." "Spark Plug, we're getting out of here; trust me." "I like you, Seaweed Brain." He stands there in shock, mouth hanging open, unable to believe that you like him back.

After Percy managed to confess that he also liked you, you enjoyed teasing him about his stunned reaction. But deep down, you were terrified that he might have said he didn't like you back.

Percy becomes incredibly protective of you.

"Touch her, and you'll be dead."

You love stormy days and spend hours on the beach with Percy because he can control the water, ensuring you both stay dry.

"Isn't it beautiful?" "What, little storm?" You pause, gazing out at the tumultuous sea, the waves crashing against the shore. "It's like the ocean is in harmony with this storm. It's as if they understand each other, finding peace in the chaos." "Maybe," Percy finally responds, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Maybe storms and the sea have a way of finding peace in chaos because they understand that even in the wildest moments, there's a certain kind of order."

You appreciate the profound simplicity of his words, and in that moment, he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. For the first time in a long while, you feel at home

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 4

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (vindicated!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, player wants to sock a certain 3D character in the face  A/N: Here’s part 4! Also, a taglist at the end of this post! Just lmk whether you'd like to be added/removed, no sweat ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Happy reading!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7

You swiftly pull up Reddit. And then Twitter (X) on another window. You’ve got to find answers.

Typing in “sENTIENT SENTINCE SENTIENCE LADS ML HELP” in the r/LoveAndDeepspace subreddit search bar, along with keywords that have anything to do with “breaking the fourth wall” and “recent major updates” on X, you quickly scour for anything that comes even close to your current situation. 

Immediately, you see a bunch of mix-match results, some even dating as far as the first month of the game’s release. Your eyes skim through blocks of texts, hoping there’s a comment–or a tweet–somewhere that could shed some light to this conundrum. 

Already, you see some discussion on sudden fourth wall breaks. But you’ve seen posts like this before, and they’re most likely pertaining to the way their LI’s gaze falls directly on the player’s line of sight when they’re in Dynamic Pose mode in Glint Photobooth. 

The common suspects for this are usually Xavier and your resident headache (Sylus). It's one of the “known” bugs of the game, even so far as being choreographed, almost, from the way players intentionally pose the MLs at certain angles to attain the likeness of sentience.   

You remember the first time it happened to you, way back when the Photobooth feature was just recently introduced. You were taking photos of Xavier–letting him pose freely in dynamic mode so that you could capture a more organic look, when his eyes “met” yours directly. 

Of course like any other (delusional) player, you entertained the novel idea of actually being noticed by the videogame character you’ve formed an unhealthy attachment to. Got excited, squealed over it, felt an instant doki-doki on your kokoro—the whole shebang. 

… Along with probably hundreds of other players who’ve experienced the same thing. 

So, yes, these instances occur more frequently than one would think. Not really what you’d call particularly noteworthy. 

Then you see the threads from players who swear that their LIs really understand how they feel during their tête-à-tête sessions. It sounds promising, and you spend a few minutes reading through their "testimonies."

—Until you surmise from what you’ve gathered that all of them only appear like they do. How Rafayel, Zayne (and yes, even Sylus) seem to know what they need to hear, from how accurate their generated responses are. 

Keyword: generated. So, no. They still aren’t anything more than glorified soundboards with really good timing, however attractive it may be to think otherwise. 

Ooh, that one sounds a little too bitchy, even for you. 

It’s got nothing to do with the players, nor has it anything to do with how the game works, really – bugs and all. Fuck, you were one of those people who milked the fantasy over the same coincidences once upon a time. You were. Before the coincidences started to be anything but. 

Before you had to worry whether you still have your mental faculties in order.

With every–misleading–post you stumble upon, you feel yourself becoming more restless. There’s a fervent glaze in your eyes and your typing’s getting diabolically worse. (you could barely read that last search input–bitch, how are you fit to work?) You’re sure that if you looked in a mirror right now, you’d look as deranged as you feel.

Xavier “bug” that looks so real omg?? Skip.

Sylus – New Voiceline? You check it out. Yeah, It’s just one of his newer–programmed–voicelines. 

Conversations with Rafayel got ~too real~ all of a sudden. You wish that yours had stayed the way they’ve always been, but alas. 

Stop feeding into my delusions [Zayne] challenge: Failed. Oh? You’re almost done reading the first paragraph of the Redditor’s post, when you catch sight of the latest update below: 

Resolved. Uninstalled the game. Multi-banners are getting too expensive (See my other post). Okay, you respect that. Hear that, Infold—

You’re slowly losing hope. Clearly, your case is kind of… mayhaps a tiny bit… different. From the rest. Dare say, exceptionally so.

To what end, you don’t know. You’re left with more questions than answers, and the primary enigma isn’t giving you much to work with.

Without anything else left to do, you resort to mindless scrolling. You’re swiping up, scrolling endlessly through the Top Posts of All Time, and it feels like you’re about to reach the end of this damn subreddit… When an unassuming post from a deleted user catches your attention. 

It only got a few upvotes, and barely enough comments to gain traction. Unless one’s desperate enough to have been looking as hard as you are, it just looks like one of the many random dead posts from months ago. Nothing special. 

Even the title is unassuming: I think the game’s broken??

You start to read.

Hi, so uhhh I’m 2 months in the game and everything’s been going well and all… Until a few days ago. IDK if this is a bug ?? but my Rafayel’s been acting so weird lately….. Ik I’m gonna sound delusional, but it’s like he’s actually aware of me ME. Not my MC. 

He’s got a bunch of new dialogues, and they’re all so accurately specific it’s creeping me tf out LMAO. IDK how the devs got THIS much info on me (like is this even legal) but they do. Or at least, Rafayel does? That sounds rly stupid out loud but yeah lol. Oh and he doesn’t even let me switch between MLs anymore. The game just… crashes? whenever I try to. 

Always been a Rafayel main (he’s the reason why I installed the game in the first place) so I was REALLY ecstatic over what I thought were new updates from the game… buuut when I tried looking it up, I can’t find any related news from the official LADS channel(s) about recent patches or updates with this feature, and no one seems to know what I’m talking about??? 

I feel like I’m going crazy… Literally as I’m typing this, Rafayel’s spamming me with notifications. He’s so fucking clingy… I love it??

Plsplspls if anyone’s experiencing the same thing, comment or DM meee. I need someone to talk to, aside from the fishie lmao no matter how much he insists that he’s enough omg (?!?!!)

Holy shit—you can’t believe it. This… this is exactly what you’re looking for. 

The six comments under the post ranged from calling it complete bull to outright mocking the OP, and you understand why the post didn’t get any more popular. 

For a brief moment, you feel a certain kinship with the original poster. A tinge of… shame (?) washes over you as you scan through all the negative reception; it’s as if the harsh insults were hurled directly at you instead.

How fun. There goes your fleeting idea to post the same question on the forum, if all else fails. 

Speaking of. Your eyes quickly dart to the small text just above the title to check their username—but to your utter dismay, you see (and remember) that it’s from a deleted account. 

The user no longer exists.  

God, that can’t be it.

You spend a solid twenty minutes trying to look up ways to retrieve information–contacts, socials, anything–from deleted accounts. No dice. 

Deep in your gut, you know that whatever else you could possibly find on both apps wouldn’t compare to what you’ve already come across.

You’ve officially hit a dead end. 

-

-

-

With heavy limbs and a downtrodden spirit, you haul yourself up from the floor—just to turn around and collapse face first on the sofa. A deep, drawn-out groan escapes you as you shut your eyes for a moment, trying to calm yourself down from all the stuff that’s been boggling your brain. 

It doesn’t seem like you’ll be finding a solid answer to your question (questions–in plural) any time soon. So what else can you do? 

Well, aside from putting away your groceries–the currently-thawing fish and the condensing bags of pre-cut veggies aren’t going to store themselves inside a freezer anytime soon. A loudly meowing ball of fur has also been relentlessly clawing at your leg at the foot of the sofa for the past five minutes, demanding to be fed and petted. 

Whoops. You hastily push yourself back on your feet to address these pressing tasks pronto.

..

…

…..

 (Now that’s out of the way—)

You swipe your phone open–yet again–as you flop back onto the couch. And, maybe, you’re a glutton for punishment. Maybe you’re just a little too over the excitement of the unknown factors in play. Or maybe, you just want another shot—to try one last time–

What you know, though, is that whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed about stuff at work, or you need something to distract yourself with, you open the silly otome game on your phone to make yourself feel better. 

So—that’s exactly what you do. Even if that silly otome game’s now the reason why you’re feeling so goddamned stressed at the moment. 

Go figure. 

The game boots up. You sullenly glare at the loading bar as it progresses from 35%.... 

68%.... 

95%......... 

Once again, Sylus_v1.0 (!) greets you from the center of the home screen, looking exactly the same as he did last when you opened the app, which was–damn, has it really been over three hours already? 

“At this hour, the day is just getting started,” he remarks nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes drift to whatever’s on his left. 

You give him a dead-eyed stare; slightly wary, but overall unimpressed by the act. “God, I hope the fuck not.” 

There’s no new content since your last proper login, as far as you can tell. At first glance, you see some of the regular, daily badge notifications, but nothing really stands out to you. There’s no unexpected red dot on the mail icon this time, nor is there any on the Hunter Info tab. 

So far, so good. 

With slight hesitation, you begin to speak, even if you aren’t sure whether your intended recipient can actually hear you or not.

“Um, so. I’m really kinda freaking out right now and–” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the frustration building in your throat. There’s an edge to your voice as you speak your next words, “it’s because you’re–you’ve been giving me mixed signals. I–I don’t know what to think anymore-!” 

He remains unmoving, showing no signs of having registered what you just said. You sigh. 

“Ugh, it sounds like I’m talking to an actual boyfriend or something. This is driving me nuts.” 

Still no response. 

“Can’t you give me a sign?” You whine defeatedly, trying to catch the eye of the pixelated man on your phone who’s resolutely looking at the right side of the screen. Is he purposely avoiding eye contact or what? “Like… I don’t know–blink twice if you understand what I’m saying right now.” 

He blinks. Once. Fucking—

Does he think this is some kind of joke? 

“I’m gonna poke your dick off,” You threaten him menacingly, your pointer finger at the ready to commit assault. “I swear, I’m gonna do it—” 

Wait. Was that a twitch on his lips? 

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him, critical in your scrutiny for any sign that might reveal the truth to this stupid charade he’s putting on. Because it’s a charade. It has to be. 

All of a sudden, embarrassment colors your cheeks as it dawns on you what you just said to him. What you’re poised to do. Fuck, you just wanted to get a rise out of him. Test the waters or some shit. Then again, if he’s actually aware– if he CAN actually hear you— 

Quickly, you retract your finger away from where it hovers precariously centimeters above his crotch area. “Right. Sorry.” 

Scrunching your nose, you press the Agenda icon on the corner, resignation sitting heavy in your chest. Since it doesn’t look like you’re getting any answers tonight, you might as well just do your daily tasks while you’re in-game, right? 

So you go through the motions of ticking off each task on the list half-heartedly, collecting the subsequent rewards one by one; just enough to reach the hundred star mark. 

It’s petty, no doubt irrational, but you steer clear from anything that would require you to interact with him. You start off with what’s easiest to complete: gifting Stamina, spending Stamina, spending more Stamina, and buying items from the Shop. 

Speaking of items… You try your best to act indifferent as you catch sight of the staggering number of red dias that has recently come to your possession, there on the upper right corner of the screen. Before you could even recall the other materials so kindly gifted to you the other night, you immediately exit the Store window to go about your business after you’ve finished collecting today’s free loot. 

You breeze through the Bounty Hunts and Core Hunt stages with excessive use of the Auto Pursuit option, rinsing and repeating until you’re almost out of energy. You don’t want to risk playing an actual battle, since your strongest Memory Cards are from the man you’re currently giving the cold shoulder to.

Also, you have no idea what to expect once you enter combat mode–and right now, you can’t be damned to know. 

Before you know it, you’re done with the daily Agenda. Close enough, at least. You didn’t even have to interact with the white-haired male LYLA wannabe to get the hundred golden stars. Go, you. 

Without anything left to do, you’re back to staring at the–now seated–man on the homescreen who’s still intent on avoiding you. There’s Mephisto perched on his finger, appearing in a plume of black feathers, projecting a holographic screen for the Onychinus leader to scroll through whatever evil juju he’s been up to lately—the very picture of calm detachment. 

Almost a minute passes by. 

You can’t help it. Poke. Pokepokepokepoke—

“Once you’re trapped in life’s banality, the only thing left is “staying alive.”"

“Oh, for the love of—is that a hint or not?!”

You really wish you could’ve talked to the person on Reddit about this. Ask them whether their version of Rafayel had also been this difficult, this uncooperative. It can’t be that different from what you’re dealing with, could it? 

Just a chance to talk… You brood wistfully. To know what’s happening to them right now. Ask them for advice on how to provoke some type of reactio—

Suddenly, something clicks in your brain, and you almost bite your tongue to prevent the spark of anticipation from showing on your face.  

"Alright, you win," you concede with an exaggerated sigh, raising your arms over your head to appear as if you’re simply stretching away the stiffness in your muscles. You try to inject as much reluctance in your tone. “You’re really not going to budge, huh?” 

Again, you’re met with radio silence—not that you’re expecting a response at this point. 

(Well, not yet.) 

“That’s fine…” You trail off deliberately, drawing lazy lines across the screen with your pointer finger, until it stops right before the small message icon on the left. 

With feigned innocence, you muse, “Hey, I wonder how Xavier's been doing lately.” 

…

A beat. You almost believe nothing would come out of your last, and obvious, attempt at goading him but then— 

Sylus throws his head back with a sigh, casting an almost exasperated glance at the ceiling. He flicks his wrist dismissively, and Mephisto vanishes in a puff of dark smoke. There’s an unsettling fluidity in the way his gaze shifts toward you; disconcertingly lifelike, when his eyes finally–finally–lock onto yours. An intensity behind those red eyes that makes the look feel unnervingly deliberate. 

Your breath catches in your throat. There it is. The reaction you’re looking for.

A weary amusement frames the way he tilts his head sideways–with the way the corners of his mouth curve into a mocking smile, eyes never leaving yours.

He raises an eyebrow up as if to say, now what?

“I knew it,” you whisper shakily, eyes widening into saucers. “I fucking knew it.” 

“Mm, took you long enough.” 

Before you could even react to that, Sylus flashes you a two-finger salute and winks.

The game crashes. 

“Oh, no, you don’t—" you growl, not wasting any second tapping the game icon again. It doesn’t even give you a chance to reach the main menu before it glitches, and you’re back staring at the widgets on your phone’s home screen. “Motherfucker.” 

You keep trying. 

And with every attempt, Sylus, freak of nature that he is, responds with another system crash. On the eight try, you succeed on entering the game and you feel a sense of relief seeing the loading bar—before, lo and behold, it crashes once more. 

Your left eye twitches. Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath for a solid fifteen seconds before sharply exhaling through your nose.

You jab a finger on the icon of his dumb face again. You ought to change that shit as soon as this game of chicken lets up. 

“You’re gonna let me open this app, Sy-Sy,” You sang with faux cheer. “Or, swear to god, I’m uninstalling this thing before you could even—”   

… It loads successfully before you could even finish your sentence. 

“Alright, alright.” 

There he is; closer to the screen now, wearing a faint smile, as though trying to stifle a full-on grin from breaking across his face. He looks thoroughly entertained by the entire situation, like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“You–you—” Sputtering, you glare at him, betrayal in your eyes. “You’re a fucking ass!” 

“And you’re an absolute delight to play with, kitten,” Sylus coos at you, his smirk widening. But when he catches the trembling jut on your bottom lip, the amused glint in his eyes softens into something that almost seems sympathetic, and dare you say–apologetic? 

“For what it’s worth, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I couldn’t resist teasing you a little—but looking at you now, I see I might’ve taken it too far,” he murmurs, bowing his head slightly in a show of contrition. “I’m sorry, little dove.”

You press your lips together, your gaze darting away from the screen. “I thought I was going crazy.” As opposed to now? “B-but, um–it’s all good, I guess.”

A flush creeps up your neck when you hear him chuckle. 

Fuck, this is really happening, the hysterical thought rushes to your mind, unbidden. Chat, what’s the plan?

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 <3

[ailoda]

updated: 28.12.24

ᯓ★ smut

Delirium (✘): stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you. - avenger!reader (@flowersforbucky) (warning: sex pollen, i.e., dub-con, explicit verbal consent prior)

Special Girl (❤❅✘✧): being friends with benefits definitely has its perks, especially when the friend in question is as hot as Bucky Barnes - but when you're feeling insecure about the arrangement, Bucky makes it clear to you that you're more than just a friend. @kinanabinks) (warning: mentions of neglectful childhood)

Scary? My God, You're Divine (❤✘): your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? - mob!au (@sinner-as-saint)

Sting (✘): TattooArtist!Bucky praising you during a session. (@adrinktostopyourthirst)

Fling (✘): your tattoo artist left you hanging and you’re fed up enough to come and collect his excuse. (part two)

Blurred Lines (❤❅✘✧): when choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you. (@ellemj)

Closer (✘): you’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough. (@tom-holland-parker)

Water Proof (✘): Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that his arm is water proof. He'd been in water with it before. Turns out his arm can handle water, but not p*ssy juice. (@vivwritesfics)

Book Boyfriend (✘): Bucky is better than any book boyfriend. You'll prove it to him. (@navybrat817)

Making Time (✘): You're busy, your husband is busy but there's always time to play. - CEO!au (@jobean12-blog)

In Your Arms I'm Born Again (❤✘): you want to find out exactly how many times is too many times for the super soldier. (@bonky-n-steeb)

new! What Are Friends For (✘): when you threaten to swear off men for good after your last bad date, your neighbour and friend offers to help change your mind. (@gogolucky13)

new! Down Bad (✘): Bucky using his metal hand as a vibrator. (@flowersforbucky)

new! I Hate You (✘)): after ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with. (@ellemj)

[lockefanfic]

Alarming

The following is 3.2k words of pure unedited filth that could be a part of the Business Trip storyline but could just be the product of an hour of BFH-inspired viewings of Momo’s most recent Strategy fancam but anyway here we go I put some words together I am writer I can write I swear -

---

You had a bit of a love-hate relationship with the iPhone’s alarm jingle. More often than not it was a source of frustration or anger, given its tendency to rip you unwillingly from the warm, comfortable embrace of sleep. It was too often a herald of reality, a reminder of adult responsibilities like spending the next eight hours exchanging your time for the money necessary to afford a cell phone alarm in the first place.

But these days you weren’t so upset at the familiar jingle and the way it interrupted your gaming session. How could you be, knowing what this particular alarm was for?

You quit your game mid-session, not even bothering to leave the match, leaving your virtual special operative frozen on its digital battlefield, an easy kill for some sweaty thirteen year old. Even before the console has fully powered down, you’re already on your way up the stairs to the bedroom.

Hirai Momo is waiting for you on your bed, wearing a silk robe that reached the top of her thighs and no further, leaving those long, toned legs of hers bare. She is on her phone, no doubt having just silence the same alarm notification as the one that brought you to her presence. With a wry smile she makes a few taps on her screen, likely placing her phone on Do Not Disturb. 

“Come here, then,” she says, casually, as though she weren’t inviting you into your bed dressed the way she was.

“I plan to,” you answer, earning a giggle from your wife as you rid yourself of your t-shirt and join her on the bed, crawling atop her.

She smiles into your kiss.  It is soft and intimate. Her lips are sweet and sticky and taste vaguely of the strawberry lip balm she loved so much. When the kiss finally ends the two of you stay there for a moment, faces inches apart. She smiles, and you do, and there is nothing there but love.

You kiss her again, this time more passionately. This time your tongues find each other, duelling between lips and teeth. Your arms wrap around your neck and she spreads her legs to allow you between them, your body pressing against hers and it all feels so soft and comfortable and safe. It feels like home.

You’re the one to break the kiss this time, and this time there’s no intimate, romantic eye contact. You dive instead into her neck, your lips and mouth finding all the soft, warm spots there that you knew she loved. She sighs softly, her cheek pressed against the side of your ear so the sound that leaves her lips heads straight into your ear. Wordless, breathless, hopefully the first of many.

You kiss a path down her neck, to those collarbones of hers, to the little dip between them that she’s told you the anatomical name of multiple times because you keep forgetting. Because honestly you didn’t care what some 14th century physicist decided to call it. You knew only that it was a part of Hirai Momo, love of your life, and that was it, that was enough. 

The silk of her robe stops you from going any further - a flimsy barrier but one nonetheless. You feel her hands lift your head from her upper chest until you are hovering above her, eyes finding and locking with their counterparts. There it is again, that perfect, intense intimacy; an intimacy you’d built over years of dating and a couple of years of marriage, the kind that allows you both the ability to communicate without words. She cradles your head in her hands and she smiles warmly and as corny as it might be there just aren’t any other words to describe it - your heart melts.

Her hands leave your cheeks, and without breaking your gaze she undoes the flimsy knot that keeps her robe together, pulling the folds apart to reveal her body to you.

You remember the first time you saw Hirai Momo naked, all those years ago. You hold that memory pretty close, honestly, because it was one of those moments in your life that you weren’t sure could ever be topped. She was a one night stand, then, the result of one too many glasses of old, expensive grape juice at a bar. That night you seared the sight of her in your mind because that was all she was, all you thought she would be.

Little did you know that she would be who she was, all these years later. You see her practically naked now beneath you and your reaction now is the same as it was back then - sheer, utter, awe.

She is perfect, as she was back then - all curves and valleys and muscle. She’s round breasts with tight nipples and she’s a flat, toned stomach and she’s long, perfect legs that go on forever and feel perfect wrapped around your head or your waist.

She’s as beautiful now as she was then. Even more so, honestly, because of what she is. Not some half-drunk, ill-advised one night stand with a co-worker, no, she is so much more than that. She is your wife, yes, but she is your soulmate, something you weren’t entirely convinced existed outside of fairy tales and silly romance stories written by amateur authors on the internet.

The smile on her lips turns into a giggle. “Stop staring,” she says, “and start fucking.”

It was just like her, just like Momo to turn an intimate moment into something a little less serious and a little more lewd. It was a defense mechanism of hers, you’d come to learn. She wasn’t the most open person with her feelings sometimes, not because she didn’t possess said feelings, but because she wasn’t quite sure how to articulate them. And so she often diffused those situations with humor.

You share a smile, but it softens quickly and becomes something else altogether. The humor becomes passion again. 

You dive into her body, first into those wonderful breasts of hers, so round and full and perfect. You take a rosy nipple into your mouth and Momo gasps in response, her back arching off the mattress, taken aback by the feel of your lips and tongue on her when she was expecting you to take the more circuitous route around her chest. Your other hand finds her other breast, not wanting to leave it idle, and soon her gasps turn into soft moans that fill the bedroom.

You take your time on her chest, knowing how good it made her feel, to say nothing of your own desires and needs. She had a body to die for but her chest was something special, and you had no trouble at all lavishing her round mounds and taut nipples with all the attention you both needed.

She’s a squirming, writhing thing now, her legs grinding against your crotch, searching for friction, for relief. Her thighs press against your hips and even while your mouth is latched firmly around a stiff nipple she grabs one of your hands by the wrist and brings it between her legs.

She’s wet and ready and dripping and you never, ever tired of the feel of her on your fingertips, so slick, so hot. You drag a fingertip from her base to her clit and she shudders at the feel of you.

“Fuck,” she gasps, the first full word she’s able to manage in a very long time. 

It turns into a longer, drawn out version of the same word moments later when your fingers slide inside her, only a single knuckle deep, two fingers wide. Stretching her, opening her, feeling her wet readiness on your digits. Your fingers continue the same languid pattern, starting at her base and sliding up her slit to her clit, circling the tender bud with your fingertips.

She moans, the sound soft and musical and causing your lips to curl into a smile around her breast. You release the tender bud from between your lips and look up at her, that same smile smug on your face.

“You like that, baby?” you ask - the most rhetorical of questions.

Her eyes, half-lidded in pleasure, tell you what her answer is. She backs up said answer by grasping your head again and crushing your lips with hers. If the first kiss was intimate and the second passionate the third is needy. She tells you with her lips what she cannot articulate with words. 

She breaks the kiss, and your heads hover inches apart, eyes locked on each other as your fingers play with the increasingly drenched flesh between her legs. She whimpers and sighs and moans and you watch all of it, watch every quiver of pleasure as it courses through her cheeks and lips. Her eyes shut and flutter open and remain half-lidded and sometimes her brow furrows as though she’s in pain or deep concentration but you know it’s neither, it’s pleasure, it’s wonderful and it’s taking over her body.

Her hand finds your forearm, her nails dig into your arm and it’s almost painful. 

“Gonna cum,” she gasps, eyes shut. “Gonna cum.”

“Do it, Momo. Cum for me,” you urge. You find her lips, give her a soft kiss, inhale the moans leaving her lips. Her hips buck, her thighs quiver around your hand. Your fingertips, incessant and merciless, continue to circle her clit, their pace neither increasing or decreasing but staying steady, just the way she liked.

When she cums it is a sight. Her back arches and her mouth opens in a scream that never comes, frozen open. Her nails dig into the skin of your forearm and the sharp pricks of pain are nothing compared to the pleasure you find in helping Momo find her own. You watch, enraptured, as her orgasm courses through her body. She’s quivering and sweaty and dishevelled. You never tired of it. Never would.

When she comes down from it her cheeks are flushed and her hair, her newly cut, blonde waves, cling to the side of her face by matted sweat at her temples.

“Fuck,” she gasps between her teeth. “Fuck.”

You smile. Her hand releases the deathgrip it had on your wrist and your fingers leave her aching clit. She brings your glistening fingertips to the space between your faces and she licks her slick juices from them.

“Fuck me,” she says, inbetween darts of her pink tongue that gather up the wetness on your fingers. “Cum inside me.”

“I will, Momo.”

She gives your fingers one last lick, releases your hand. The intensity in her eyes is clear.

“Breed me.”

What you would have given to see the reaction of your younger self if you’d told that poor schmuck that one day his one night stand would become his wife, would perhaps become the mother of his children. But here you are, and here she is, and you’re married and about to start a family.

You press yourself between her warm, spread thighs and bring your tip to her entrance. You slide your head up and down her slick lips and the contact rips wordless sighs from you both, sighs that turn into deep, primal moans when you finally slide inside her.

She’s wet and hot and tight and every possible adjective in the English language could not fully describe how it felt to be inside Hirai Momo. It felt amazing, better than any other physical sensation you’d ever known. Her legs close around your hips and her arms wrap themselves around your neck and you’re one being. You kiss her, deeply. Your lips leave hers and your faces hover inches apart as you begin to slide and out of her slick, hot cunt.

It’s soft and slow and passionate this time. You both loved the hard, rough sex - Momo herself had been ever keen on adding a hand wrapped tightly around her throat or handcuffs binding her wrists to the headboard - but now was not one of those times. Tonight was about more than that, and the conversation your bodies were having with each other made it clear what this night was really about.

She sighs and moans, wordless, breathless sounds directly into your ear. She loved her dirty talk, but much of it was absent tonight. Often sex in your bedroom was punctuated with filth or demands or name calling.

Tonight there are asks. Requests. Pleas.

“Fuck me, please,” she gasps. “Fuck me, give it to me.”

“I will, Momo. I will.”

“I’ve… I’ve been a good girl, right? I have. I want it. I want your cum. I need it.”

“What do you need, Momo?” you ask, another question that needed no answer. “Tell me what you need.”

“I want, I need,” she says, which were full, adequate sentences in and of themselves - but you knew what you wanted to hear. What you needed to hear.

“What do you need, Momo," you repeat, insistent. "Tell me. I need to hear it, need to hear you say it.”

“I need you to breed me,” she spits, breathless, desperate now, needy. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up with cum-”

“Fuck, Momo-”

“-breed me, make me a mommy, leave a baby in my tummy baby, baby please-”

“Fuck,” you gasp, tearing your ear from her lips, as though you were afraid if she went on, babbling in your ear, that you’d cum too soon. But you wanted this to last, wanted to draw it out even longer than your usual sessions. You plant your palms on either side of her head and raise your upper body from hers. Throughout it all you are pumping between her spread legs, the silken, slick embrace of her cunt tight around your cock.

Detached somewhat from her, you watch with lewd fascination as her body is rocked by each thrust into her cunt. Her breasts - perfect, round mounds - bounce hypnotically, flesh soft and creamy, taut nipples still glistening with your saliva. Her abs clench and tighten, her thighs flex and work. Your gaze wanders further down, to the spread lips of her pussy, tight and wet and slick. Your cock glistens in the split seconds it spends outside of her body, catching the low light of the bedroom before it is inside her again.

When your eyes return to hers there is an intensity in them that takes you aback. Those were eyes you’d seen often twisten in pleasure, slave to her body’s whims, but now they are serious, intentional, even as they are occasionally shut or half-lidded by a sudden spike of pleasure. But they always open again, always find your gaze and hold it.

“Harder,” she says, the word half-moan and half-gasp. “Please. Fuck me harder.”

Your body moves of its own accord. Your hands, planted on either side of her head, leave the mattress. Sitting on your heels for a moment, you pull her body back towards you, embedding yourself inside her to the hilt and drawing a gasp from her lips. Then your hands find her knees, snaking beneath them and pushing her legs back against her body, folding her almost in half atop the bed.

You lean over her. She is bent in half and with her legs against her arms, knees almost touching her shoulders, she is helpless, unable to do much more than simply take your cock.

You fuck her. hard and merciless, your cock drilling into her body to the deepest parts of her. 

“Oh god,” she swears, “oh god, you’re so fucking deep, oh fuck, oh god!”

“Fucking take it, Momo,” you spit between gritted teeth. “Fucking take my cock, take my cum.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, the word leaving her mouth like some natural reaction, some primal response from somewhere in the deepest, darkest parts of her. “Fucking cum inside me, please, cum inside me and give me a baby, breed me, get me pregnant-”

“Jesus,” you hiss, your turn to swear. “God, Momo, you’re so-”

“Fuck, please, breed me, breed me, cum inside me-”

You groan then, something dark and guttural leaving your throat in reaction to the pleas of the needy young woman beneath you. Her cunt flutters and pulsates and every movement either of you make drives you crazy, chases sanity from your mind and replaces it with something altogether scary, something that makes you slave to its whims and desires - the desire to leave a part of you inside this woman, to make her yours in the most primal way possible.

“Momo, I-”

“Inside me, please, please, breed me please-”

“Gonna cum-”

“Give me a baby, breed me please-”

The sight, the feel, the sound - the connection - it’s all too much, and you bury yourself as deep as you can inside Hirai Momo’s quivering, trembling body and let go. Your cock pulsates and spills warm, hot cum inside her, filling her up, leaving her cunt slick and messy, making her yours.

You stay there, frozen, her body still folded in half, feet helpless in the air. Your foreheads touch, the contact somehow grounding the both of you, bringing you both back to Earth, back home. She is still a mess around you, the pleasure still coursing through her body. Your bodies work hard to feed starved lungs. Your sweat drips from your forehead onto hers, another mark of your bond.

You open eyes you hadn’t known you’d closed. And there she is, eyes already finding yours. The softest, most intimate of smiles finds its way onto her lips. You kiss her softly, your lips playing tenderly with each other as you slowly release her legs from her chest. She wraps them around your waist as you settle atop her, your half-hard cock still embedded inside her creamy, messy cunt.

When your kiss breaks you look at each other again, and when she smiles it’s a little softer now, a little less intense. 

“Wow,” she says, softly, thereby winning the award for the most understated reaction that night. It brings a smile to your face and it becomes a soft giggle that she returns. 

You slowly ease yourself from her body, both of you wincing at the loss of the most intimate of connections. You fall on the bed beside her and she cuddles up to your side, but not before finally ridding herself of her silk robe, now sweaty and messy and in need of a turn in the laundry machine.

You bring her close, and she nuzzles into your neck as your arms wrap around her. You feel her lips curl into a contented, soft smile to mirror the one on your own.

“I hope they’re all like that,” you say, softly, earning a soft murmur of approval from Momo.

“Me too. Doc says we should try every day for the next couple of nights, so…”

“Well if it’s doctor’s orders, I suppose we don’t really have much of a choice.”

Momo raises her head from your neck. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are tired but there is love there. There is love everywhere.

“Mmhmm,” she agrees. “I think we can find a way to make it happen, I suppose. So same time tomorrow?”

“The alarm’s already set.”

You smile. You bring her close. You tell her you love her. She does the same.

----

Author’s Note: This is completely unedited filth that you shouldn’t use as a measure of my writing skill because it’s trash but BFH! BFH! BFH!

Momo too hot.

[loganswdc]

every day i learn something new about logan sargeant and his racing career, not just about his performance in f1 but in f2 and previous series, too. and every day i end up so sad because he genuinely has so so much potential and can do so much but he keeps being give a poor hand of cards. this guy out qualified his teammate in f2 TEN TO FOUR. and who was his teammate?? liam lawson. liam joined redbull’s driver academy in february of 2019 while logan only got to join an f1 team’s driver academy in october of 2021. that team was williams. which, as we know, hasn't exactly been the best performing team in recent years. oscar piastri got to join an f1 team’s driver academy in january of 2020 (the renault sport academy, later rebranded as the alpine academy). liam and oscar both got the opportunity to do f1 tests for YEARS prior to their f1 debuts in 2023. liam had 4 and a half years of experience in f1 cars before 2023. oscar had 3 years of experience in f1 cars before 2023. even if it was just testing and practice sessions, it's still something.

what did logan get? one measly fp2 session, post-season testing, and then jumped right in to pre-season testing in 2023. he already had a seat in williams then, so with the experience from before the pre-season testing in 2023 he got to do maybe 800km of testing in an f1 car. the others — in this case i mean oscar, liam, and heck even nyck de vris — had opportunities to drive f1 cars and gain experience for YEARS before logan. if you look at nyck de vris: he got signed to the mclaren young driver programme in 2010. he joined the audi sport racing academy in 2016.  granted, he left the mclaren programme in before the 2019 season and left audi after the 2019 season, too. but he then went to mercedes as a reserve driver and tester for 2020 and afterwards. this means he got just about a DECADE AND A HALF of teams putting their time and energy into training him to join f1.

logan got a year. one. single. fucking year. that is entirely incomparable to the other rookies from 2023, who had so much more experience before hand. and yet logan was jumped into f1 and the expectations were so high for a guy who hasn't had the chance to train and learn and gain experience.

and yet when we look at the 2022 f2 season, logan sargeant, a rookie, was 1 point off from his teammate —the one and only liam lawson — scoring p4 in the championship. he outqualified his teammate 10 to 4. he was the first american to win an f2 race (that is, of course, following the rebrand from gp2 to f2, but regardless, that’s still an important thing to note and an achievement of his that should be celebrated).

logan sargeant has so much potential and if only williams would show him a little more faith unlike what they’ve been doing, if only they’d give him the same upgrades as alex, if only they wouldn’t force him to drive a car 15kg overweight from that of his teammate’s car, if only they wouldn’t force him to use outdated rear and front wings from the season prior. then perhaps he would have a chance to show what he can do. perhaps if he wasn’t stuck in a team with a crap car who have shown zero faith (which has been vehemently obvious since the circus in australia) in him and made him absolutely miserable, a shell of himself — which you can clearly see in recent interviews and photos of him — then maybe he’d be able to show how good he really is. and maybe if williams hadn’t been so adamant about taking him out of f2 so quickly and let him develop for one more year, we’d be seeing headlines that say “logan sargeant, first american f1 driver on the podium since michael andretti in 1993.” and perhaps we could even see him winning races.

no matter what someone says about his current f1 performances — though most base that solely off of where he ends up on the grid rather than looking at his actual driving and seeing how good he is as a driver considering the crap circumstances he’s in — logan sargeant is a better driver than what everyone says. he is trying so insanely hard to get a car that is miles off from the rest of the field to place as high as humanly possible. no one can say that if you put another driver in that car that logan is driving they'd be doing better than he is now. the fact is, they wouldn't be. he's been given an absolute tractor and is expected to score points when that car isn't built for getting in the points. and yet logan managed to get p10 in the miami sprint race — which should be recognized and commended. because he was in an awful car and he absolutely shined that day. that was just the start of showing what he could do. but he hasn't been given the same resources as alex, those being the upgrades, so what more can he do compared to what he's doing now?

and i am actually sitting here crying as i type this because this is a driver who is giving it his all even when the entire world is against him, even when his entire TEAM is against him, and he is persevering to the best of his abilities. and i know exactly what it’s like to sit here, wanting to reach for your dreams and show everyone how good you are, but to have only your closest friends and family on your side, rooting for you. what it’s like to look everywhere around you and see everyone calling you crap and saying you should quit and that you aren’t and never will be good enough. to look around and see your closest friends and family cheering for you, yet feeling like crap because you aren't doing as well as you would want, feeling inferior to everyone around you.

news flash: logan sargeant is and will always be good enough. he just needs the opportunity to show it, and williams is ruining that for him.

and yes, i will defend him with my life. people who try to say otherwise can try to do the same hours — the WEEKS — worth of research that i’ve done about logan and his career because he IS a good driver and HE DESERVES BETTER.

any hate comments towards logan will be deleted, because i have neither the time nor the energy to deal with that and argue with logan haters. i've said all of what i know and can remember about him and his career above, and will add what i can as time goes on and i remember something else or learn something new. if you have the time to hate on logan, you have the time to do your research and examine the fact that he has the potential to do well, but is not in a position for that because of the abhorrent circumstances he is currently in.

thank you for coming to my ted talk. edit: i'd also really recommend reading this twitter thread!! it goes into some more depth on logan and his f2 / f1 career, and even a little bit about his f3 career. it's very informative and articulates much of logan's career and why he is a better driver than many believe very well. https://x.com/herrocult/status/1795747913588761027

[cinnamanz]

# HEAD OVER HEELS .ᐟ — yu jimin

pairing — yu jimin x female reader

after most of her relationships ending up in heartbreak, jimin foolishly swore to never fall in love again. you, of course, just had to charm her.

"god, what the fuck am i doing here?" truly, jimin didn't know how she got here, getting dragged out of her bed and thrown in minjeong's back seat like some modern day kidnapping. “of all places?”

minjeong only sends her a small smile, eyes flitting over to where the school's volleyball team warmed up before the last match of the regionals. "you needed to get out of bed. thank me later."

jimin rolls her eyes as ningning and aeri arrive with popcorn in hand, passing them to a beaming minjeong along with her wallet. "oh, you're here! what a miracle!"

"oh, please." jimin shrugs off a laughing aeri, while ningning scans the older's outfit, baggy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, along with her glasses and hair pulled up into a messy bun.

ningning clears her throat. "so... how- how are you dealing with all... this?" the break-up was recent, a mere two days ago, and clearly, jimin wasn’t taking it well. everyone around her treaded carefully with the situation and handled it like a fragile piece of glass, and she’d had enough.

“shit. but i— ugh, i don’t want to talk about it right now.” jimin responded, noting how the court in front of her was the finals game of the volleyball season, the famed university they went to playing against their notorious rival. “let’s just watch this. that’s why you brought me here.”

minjeong nodded in understanding, though the rest of the girls seemed concerned and stared at her for about a few seconds before following suit, ningning already reaching in the bowl of popcorn in her hand, before passing it along. “who do you think’s going to win?”

minjeong hummed as she grabbed a handful of popcorn while aeri scrolled through her phone, snapping a quick photo of the court and posting it on her story. “i think we’ve got this in the bag. we did well throughout the season.”

“mm, but we’re talking about—” as the two droned on about volleyball, jimin couldn’t help but be zoned in on the player with her hair up into a ponytail, swept back tightly as the ball between her hands spun and was sent flying through the air and across the other side of the court, a loud bang echoong in the gym.

“hey, who is that?” the words have left her mouth before she could fully realise that she’d stood up from her seat and leaned over the railing, peering down at the player.

“hm? oh, her?” a small smile stretched itself across minjeong’s lips. “that’s y/n kim. vice captain of the volleyball team and right-side hitter. she’s got a mean right arm.”

“huh.”

“why, interested in her?” aeri’s voice pipes up as her eyes raked over jimin’s figure that leant over the railing, looking wholly interested in the warm-up session. “i’ll give it to you, jimin. you’ve got great taste. but… y/n, hmm, how do i put this? y/n is kind of your cliché jock. she’s real sweet though.”

ningning’s lips puckered into an ‘o’ shape, fingers snapping. “oh, right! you had that month long situationship!”

jimin raised a brow. “you did? how come i’m only hearing about this now?”

ningning flashes a sheepish smile. “well, we kind of were keeping it in the down-low.” god, this was interesting. but jimin would rather die than admit that she’d found ningning’s situationship with you (who she thinks is quite attractive) morbidly intriguiing. the girl’s had a lot of them, so why should the one with you be any different?

“see, the whole time we were talking—”

“heads!”

oh, shit.

pacing in front of the nurse’s office with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, you couldn’t help but grimace at the sight of the nurse’s ice pack pressed on the back of jimin’s head. god, you did damage.

“i am so, so, sorry. i didn’t mean to hit you, nor did i know that the ball was going to bounce off the floor too hard and hit you on the back of your head.” you’d rushed out in a breath, all panicked and— it’s kinda cute.

“it’s fine.” jimin had dismissed your words like it was nothing, which it probably was or she was just so sick of your antsy behaviour and the hit on her head had taken a massive toll on her that she wasn’t bothered at all to do anything about the forming lump on her skin. ouch.

“really. calm down.” god, who knew that when minjeong had dragged her out of the house and flung her into her backseat that she’d end up sitting in the nurse’s office longer than she’d stayed at the gym.

“i’m just— this has never happened before and i feel so bad because it looked like it hurt and—”

“—y/n, calm down. i’m fine. you need to take deep breaths.” what was meant to be a simple statement ended up with the other girl obeying, earning a raised brow from her. why are you obedient? it was odd, or maybe she’s just been around too much distasteful mem that such a simple action made her heart warm.

“i’ll stay here with you until you’re feeling better.” you’d mumbled after taking deep breaths, pulling up a chair and sitting near the edge of the chair.

“what? you’re going to miss the game! and it’s against our rival school—”

“— it’s fine. i’d rather look after someone i injured than play against those egotistical bastards.” your eyes are sparkling and oh my god why do you look like a golden retriever? no wonder aeri had interest in you.

she huffs. “fine. have it your way.”

your team ended up losing that night by just a smidge. though, on the bright side, you got a pretty girl’s number!

“this is the third time this week.”

“maybe she likes you.”

“or she feels bad about hurting you?”

“no, i think it’s because she likes jimin.”

“guys, please.” jimin raises a hand to quiet to girls, shoving the chocolate box and flowers in her bag as she slammed her locker shut, hastily speedwalking down the hallway.

“hey— jimin, wait up!” the three struggled to keep up with jimin’s pace, who was seemingly eager to get out of school the moment the bell rang, feet gliding across the polished floors like a woman on a mission. which she was, in a way.

“why are you walking so fast—”

oh, you’re there. oh god, you’re there.

you leant on the side of your motorcycle, looking like every other walking toxic red flags yet something from the way you’d perked up upon seeing her enter your line of vision made you a whole lot distinguishable from the rest.

“jimin!” oh, god. oh, hell no. god, you smell good. wait, you’re right in front of her?! “care for a ride?” and how is she supposed to say no to that?

you’d been driving around for twenty minutes now, her arm still wound tightly around your waist as she pressed her body against your back, heart pounding harshly against her ribcage and she couldn’t differentiate if it was from the fast pace that you’re cruising the highway on or from the lack of promixity between your bodies.

after what seemed like ages, you’d come to a slow stop and her arms slowly unravelled around your mid-section, standing on wobbly legs as she struggled to hold in the puke from the fast speed. oh god, jimin. keep it in.

she was too busy trying to keep her lunch in her stomach that she’d failed to notice you setting up a picnic under the tree that overlooked the hill they were on, shooting her an oh-so-sweet smile that she’d flopped onto the fabric like a fish out of water.

god, the view was gorgeous. “uh, i brought you here because i still feel bad about hitting you with that volleyball.” you don’t really beat about the bush, huh? “and i was hoping that bringing you here and asking if i could continue to keep giving you flowers and chocolates would make up for that night?”

jimin blinks, the situation all too sudden yet somehow exhilarating with the way you were practically *fussing* over her while she’s too busy flushing and struggling to get ahold of her shit. “i, uh, sure.”

“great!” there’s that smile.

days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and oh, before jimin knew it, she’s horribly head over heels for you. no wonder you attracted so many people. you were so incredibly addicting that once she got a taste, she couldn’t get enough.

fuck. no, no, no, no. she can’t fall in love again. no, it’ll just end up like last time. no, but you’re so sweet, and nice, and caring— but the last guys were like you too. the only difference is, you’re not a guy. you’re not some foolish guy who’ll play around with her feelings and give her false hope. you’re actually considerate, and you actually care about what she thinks, and you actually put her first for once in her life.

god, this is quite literally the bare minimum and, what the fuck is that beeping?

jimin heaves a deep gasp and wakes up, body taut as she sat up hastily on the bed, space empty beside her, wide eyes blinking as she was left to simmer in silence before tears built up in her eyes and oh, she’s crying. were you all just a dream?

the door creaks open and you walked in, dressed in the baggy pyjama she’d bought you a few months ago for your birthday, your lips parting for a yawn that was interrupted upon seeing her figure swaddled in blankets that stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights, tears drying just a bit. “jimin?”

you were here. you were here with her, with your arms wrapped around her body and comforting her, whispering the sweetest of nonsense as she melted against you. christ, she’s horribly head over heels.

guys i'm not gna lie to yall rn but idek what this oneshot what supposed to be. i js like of sat on the couch and js started typing whatever came to mind.

masterlist.

[mayspicer]

Girl help I really need to do the test tasks for a new job or else my life is gonna get very bad real soon, but all I want to do is draw ttrpg characters.

[pinkberrytea]

Astarion is nervous, possibly even afraid that he is about to lose something—that you are about to lose something, something precious and dear to him.

I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.

Enjoyment beyond the death drive—beyond the self-imposed regulation of pleasure. He wants her, so desperately, so ardently; yet she escapes through his fingers like fine sand, falling on the ground and dissolving in the dirt above his grave.

Astarion x Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 3k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: this is the sequel to la petite mort! while it was initially intended as a standalone oneshot, i wanted to expand on the themes introduced in the original. hopefully it lives up to its predecessor! thank you to the wonderful @xxnashiraxx for giving this one a read, i love you dearly friendo!

tags: blood drinking; hurt & comfort; possessive behavior; masturbation; hand jobs; body worship; dry humping

“Astarion…?”

His name slips from your lips before you even open your eyes, your consciousness slowly returning as you are suddenly woken from restless sleep. You feel his naked chest pressed flat against your back, his cold skin robbing you of the warmth of yours; his strong arms encircling your waist, hands roaming your sides; and his fangs, sank deep into the crook of your neck as his wet tongue laps up your crimson, which leaks from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his jaw and onto your shoulders. There is no pain—rather, the sensation is almost pleasurable, familiar, which comes as no surprise considering it’s been months now ever since his nightly feeding sessions became a daily occurrence. You don’t even bother setting up your tent anymore; upon leaving the Shadowlands, he’d begin routinely insisting that you sleep in his, heedless of your mutual agreement to abstain from more carnal proclivities for the time being. “Oh, darling, wouldn’t you say it’s much easier for me to dine with you this way? As hard as it will be for me to keep my hands to myself, I did give you my word,” he’d say, and true enough, you had yet to go beyond very heated kissing and groping—regardless, here he is now, avidly drinking from you while grinding the throbbing bulge inside his pants against your rear.

“Shh. It’s alright, love. Go back to sleep.” Astarion unlatches from your bruising vein to whisper the words in your ear, and you are almost tempted to do just that, but it’s far too late; ignoring him or the erection poking at your backside is no longer an option, and he probably realizes that too, having stopped gliding his hands up and down your torso to gently rest them on your arms instead. You are wearing his shirt, a habit you’ve taken to in recent days—at first you’d lie and say it was because you didn’t want your own to become soiled with blood, though in truth you simply enjoy the intimacy of sharing clothes and the comfort of being enveloped in his scent. Despite seeing right through your excuses, Astarion didn’t seem to mind at all; quite the opposite, he appeared to enjoy the fact that you’d start sleeping clad in nothing but his shirt and your underpants, since oversized as it is, the length would be enough to cover your crotch and thighs. He likely didn’t factor in your agreement, of course—while convenient in most other circumstances, the ease of access wouldn’t exactly be conducive to chastity, so to speak.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you groan and twist your body to face him. He moves one of his hands to your scalp, lovingly running his slender fingers through your tousled hair and planting a bloodstained kiss on your temple. When he finally pulls away to meet your stare, a shiver unexpectedly runs down your spine; his pupils are blown out, almost completely eclipsing his sanguine irises, yet you can undeniably see something primal and hungry lurking in their depths. The candle you had lit before turning in for the night burns bright still, and the light of its dancing flame bounces off his sharp teeth, which had been puncturing your own flesh but moments ago. How easy it is to forget what the heart wants to deny—whenever the true nature of his vampirism rears its ugly head, you find yourself questioning your blind trust in him. Yet like a passing breeze, just as soon as that sliver of doubt weasels its way into your mind, it’s then gone; foolish though it may be, you don’t fear the darkness in him, not now, not when he first put a knife to your throat. 

“You’re not a victim. Not a target. Not just one night it’s better to forget.”

Tentatively, you reach out to lightly stroke his cheek, the pads of your fingers ghosting over his ivory skin. His eyelids flutter close as if by instinct, and he quietly leans into your touch, looking almost vulnerable for a moment. Ever so delicately, you trace the lines on his face, his high cheekbones, his cupid’s bow, his plush lips, which are parted still. It amazes you how his features can be at once so edged yet so soft, much like the man himself, in a way. No, you don’t fear him, even if he has given you no reason not to other than a heartfelt confession.

“I—I could help you, you know,” you hear yourself mumble, almost bashfully, a faint glow spreading across the bridge of your nose and warming the tips of your ears. “With that, I mean.” Astarion furrows his brow and his eyes flit back open in confusion, only to slightly widen as you coyly motion with your head towards his obviously tented pants. He looks down at his groin and then up at you, unsure of what to think, much less of what to say. It’s not often that he is left wanting for words, but then again, you were ever one to drag him out of his comfort zone. 

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you little rascal.” Despite the initial shock, he quickly regains composure, almost too quickly. His expression abruptly changes, gaze laced with seduction and lips quirked upwards into a practiced smirk. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the first one of us to acquiesce? I’ll admit your innocent facade had me fooled, but you’re quite the needy thing underneath those big round eyes and blushing cheeks, aren’t you, darling?” he teases, voice lowering an octave, its cadence measured to an almost unnerving degree. Your mouth becomes dry and your stomach coils into a tight knot as you immediately recognize his sudden shift in attitude, a side of him you’ve come to know all too well and that disturbs you still—yet even more worryingly, his otherwise perfectly poised countenance seems to enshroud an emotion that had never been there before: anxiety. Astarion is nervous, possibly even afraid that he is about to lose something—that you are about to lose something, something precious and dear to him. 

“I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”

“No! That’s… I didn’t mean it like that,” you blurt out, heart fluttering in your chest, so loudly you are sure he can hear it. While you have never gone over the terms of your agreement or discussed them in-depth, you had always assumed that physical intimacy wouldn’t necessarily be off the table, especially the kind of intimacy that would require nothing of him. Although perhaps therein lies the problem—someone who perceives everything as transactional would naturally fail to accept that another would be willing to give without taking. Remorse washes over you as you realize your mistake, which you promptly try to mend, much as the guilt bars you from looking him in the eyes. “What I meant is… I can take care of it. For you.”

Astarion’s eyebrows slowly slide up his forehead and he studies you intently for what seems like an eternity, clearly taken aback. Before long, he finally breaks the silence, humming quizzically and untangling his fingers from your hair. “Hm? Is that right?” he hesitates, only to yet again flash you a sly smile, a much softer one this time, ruby irises twinkling with something akin to melancholy. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Despite provocatively purring each word, the tone with which he speaks is remarkably gentle, almost uncertain. Bringing a hand to your chin, he cups it delicately and tilts your head upwards, prompting you to meet his stare, its flirtatious edge now replaced with wistful warmth.  

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

You inhale sharply, your brief show of boldness having obviously run its course, and the pink flush coloring your ears deepens into a bright red. His smile widens once he notices your nervousness, and he brings his face even closer to yours, so close you can feel his lashes tickling the delicate skin under your eyes. His cool breath caresses your lips, the metallic scent of blood—your blood—wafting up your nose. Still cupping your chin, he at last closes the distance between you, covering your mouth with his and hooking a leg over your waist to pull your bodies flush together. With the swell between his thighs now nudging your belly, he starts leisurely rolling his hips, resuming what he had been doing before rousing you from your slumber.

“Hnng…” As you bury your fingers in his silvery curls, melting into the kiss and relishing the taste of him, Astarion lets out a muffled moan, low and throaty. Wetness starts pooling between your folds, though instead of indulging in the sensation, you try to ignore it to the best of your ability—tonight is not about you, and you want him to know this. Regardless, he can obviously smell your arousal, but far from causing any upset, it only serves to entice him further; sliding his free hand down your back, he firmly grabs one of your buttocks with a bruising grip upon reaching your ass, kneading it roughly. All this time, he’d been graciously accepting your generosity, and then some—he’s not about to stop now, not when for once he knows he hasn’t manipulated you into extending your kindness to him.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had to decide what I wanted.”

“Mngh—Astarion…” you mewl into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside yours, fangs nipping at your bottom lip without breaking skin. You press one of your palms to his chest, feeling the firmness of his pectorals under the soft pads of your digits before gingerly sliding them downwards, raising a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Drawing small circular patterns, you slowly glide your blunt nails across the valleys of his ribs, his navel, and finally his lower abdomen, teasingly grazing the waistband of his pants.

“My, such a good little helper you are,” Astarion breaks the kiss to murmur against your reddened lips, and moving his hand on your chin down to grasp your own, he encourages you to venture under the waistband. Your fingers now intertwined with his, you let him guide you to the hardness pushing against his smallclothes, which are damp with precome, much like yours are damp with slick. You can feel the outline of his length through the thin fabric, and he unceremoniously has you both fist it, wiggling his hips so that his pants drop below the plump of his behind. 

“Such a good, selfless little helper…” he croons, sliding both of your hands up and down his still covered cock. With every pump, his groans grow huskier, small beads of sweat pooling in the creases of his forehead. His eyes are now closed, his mouth slightly parted, and his hold on your hand is strong, if not binding. Your dripping sex wantonly clenches around nothing at the sight of him, so hopelessly focused on his own pleasure; gods, how desperately you wish to be stretched open around his enlarged girth, stuffed full of him until you are both flailing for purchase, panting and screaming each other’s name. He may not be ready for that yet, but as your imagination wanders, you tell yourself that there’s no harm in picturing him taking you from behind, balls swinging and hitting your ass as he thrusts deep into your slit with reckless abandon; your lips wrapped around his flushed cockhead, one of his hands mercilessly tugging at your hair as he sings you praises; you bouncing on his lap, buttocks slapping against his legs with each bob of your body.  

“Astarion…” you moan, rubbing your thighs together to get some relief from that small amount of friction. His cock jerks under your combined hands, so hard now that his smallclothes are pulled back enough to reveal the swollen tip. How sweet is the sound of his name on your tongue, how sweet is the scent of your desire when he is the one you yearn for. Just as you fantasize about him, Astarion too keeps replaying all sorts of scenarios in his head—he hates that he can’t have you yet, that he can’t pin you to a wall or throw you on a table and fuck you until you beg him for mercy; he hates that he can’t watch your cute little tits jiggle as your tight cunt swallows him whole, that he can’t coax pretty noises out of your rosy lips and make your eyes water as you come for him. He hates that his lust for you is tainted, that his lust for you is what inspired him to choose you as his target in the first place. Most of all, he hates himself for having disregarded you as a beautiful fool; for having underestimated his own susceptibility to falling in love, for having even fallen in love at all. 

“You’re a vision. And you’re so much more than that.”

“Gods, I want to be inside you…” Astarion grunts, letting go of you to pull down his smallclothes, finally freeing his weeping erection. It glistens in the candlelight, red and hungry, and you waste no time wrapping your fingers around its base. A muted whimper falls from his lips once your warm skin collides with his, and he rolls his hips into your hand, to which you respond by lightly squeezing him, drawing pearly, sticky liquid from the twitching crown. “Gentle, darling…” he whispers, though his half-lidded eyes, hazy with want, show no sign of aggravation—despite the commanding tone of his voice, it’s safe to assume that the instruction is not so much a complaint as a suggestion. Regardless, you obey, stroking him softly and setting a sensual pace to your movements.

“That’s it. That’s it, love. Good girl…” With his newly freed hand, Astarion tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his long fingers against your cheek before inconspicuously running them down the elegant column of your neck. His gaze is immediately drawn to the fresh set of bite marks maculating your otherwise perfectly smooth skin, and he absentmindedly licks his lips upon noticing the ruby droplets blooming from the small wounds. His cock throbs against your palm as he lowers his head to plant a loving kiss on the spot earlier claimed by his fangs—which he then sinks again into the still seeping artery. This time, you feel a sharp sting, but as soon as he starts sucking, the pain fades away; he wraps an arm around your upper body to hold you in place as he drinks, cradling you against his chest, and his other hand quickly finds one of your breasts under your—his—shirt. Trapping its puckered peak between two deft digits, he pinches it playfully, and you are unable to stifle the whine that subsequently forms in the back of your throat.

“Asta—aah…” You try to remain focused on the task you’ve been entrusted with, tightening your grip on him to remind yourself that he is the priority, not you. This in turn causes him to moan against your neck and shove his hips forward; taking his reaction as a cue, you speed up the tempo of your strokes, which are now almost synchronized with the vigorous bobbing of his Adam’s apple. His hand on your breast gropes it passionately, all five of his fingers now splayed across its soft swell and digging deep into the squishy flesh. He wonders if it’s a deliberate act of provocation, or if you really are so naïve that you wouldn’t notice his ravenous stare whenever your nipples pebble and become visible through the white sheerness of his shirt. Knowing you, it’s probably the latter; he’s yet to meet anyone as oblivious as you are, and while he has learned to accept that this side of you is not necessarily a weakness, it also awakens in him a protective instinct—a possessive instinct. You may be prey, but you are his prey; his to feed on, his to fuck, his, and nobody else’s.

“Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.”

Astarion bends the leg hooked around your waist to pull you even closer to him, and from the way his groans increase both in frequency and in volume, you can tell he is about to fall over the precipice of ecstasy. The glossy sheen of sweat covering his pale skin makes him look like a marble sculpture, an otherworldly creature, yet the ferocity with which he feasts on your crimson reveals him not touched by the divine, but consumed by sin. It’s almost ironic then, that sinful as his longing for you may be, it feels so pure, so sacred. Tension coils low in his stomach, and for once there is no guilt, no disgust, no contempt; only rapture, as if he were an apostate and your love a haven, a promise of sanctuary.

“But I know that this?”

You pump him one last time, and with a guttural growl, Astarion comes in your hand, spurting out ribbons of his seed all over his own abdomen and thighs. Unlatching from your neck, he doesn’t bother pulling away, bloodied lips still pressed against your heated flesh, and his hand that had been under your shirt joins the other as both of his arms fold around your midriff. You let go of his softening length to run your fingers through his curls, closing your eyes and trying to catch your breath, tiredness suddenly weighing down all of your limbs and anchoring them to your bedroll. Lulled by the gentle pounding of your heart, he too empties his mind and lets himself be engulfed by the warmth of your body, so soft, so inviting, so very alive. Your taste still lingers on his tongue, your lifeblood now mixed with his within his veins—as his happiness trickles down in rivulets of scarlet, yours soars into the starry night sky. 

“This is nice.”