#“The way his calloused hand fit yours perfectly?”

[cinnamxnangel]

sigh

I don’t want to break up | T. Kageyama

synopsis; he didn’t mean it when he said he wanted to break up, and now he’s showing up out of nowhere to apologise

word count; 718 + 3 smau

warnings; hurt/comfort, no prns used, breaking up, apologising, first time writing kageyama so probably ooc.

The dingy clouds hovering over the crestfallen sky released threads of despondent blue that collided with the wet—almost muddy ground.

The earth was thick with the earthy scent of petrichor and damp soil. It wasn’t your lucky day, quite the opposite. The rain collides with your skin, sending a shot of shivers up your arm. Wet clothes clung to your figure like your own skin, accentuating the smallest of curves and lines, making you feel almost naked. And it clearly did nothing to shield you from the soaring wind.

You cursed your luck as you took cautious steps, not wanting to end up in a puddle filled with nature’s secrets. It was hard to see. The small droplets of rain stuck to your lashes, obscuring your vision.

It was quiet, set aside the piercing sound of the rain. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to him. How is he? Is he doing okay? Does he regret it? Did he find someone else?

What about the sweet kisses you shared? The way his calloused hand fit yours perfectly? The soft sighs he let out every time he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck.

Your cautious steps turned to almost enraged ones. With every step, you felt like you wanted to scream. Scream and cry and yell and beg him to come back. A life without him seemed unreal. A life without him seemed impossible.

You were so focused that you didn’t even realise you’d bumped into someone’s chest. Someone’s toned chest, sending you a step or two back, but your wrist was gripped to prevent any further stumbling with a familiar hand. An awfully familiar hand.

“Sorry I—“ You look up to apologise, but the words refused to come out after that. Your eyes dampen and a feeling of suffocation clogged your throat to the brim as you stared into his eyes.

He looked like he didn’t sleep a twink for the last 2 weeks. Ink black strands of hair fell into a cascade of disorder, laying astray in many different directions you didn’t even know exist. Eyes almost bloodshot, outlined by a red rimming that you wanted to kiss so badly. They were slightly swollen and tinged with a delicate hint of pink. You almost threw your heart up.

Your throat went dry. Your hands were trembling. Was it with need? With anger? With hurt? That you couldn’t tell. You did miss him though, there is no denying that. But like wise, you could tell his hands were trembling. And you wanted to cradle them in your own and kiss them, whispering words of comfort until the tremors cease to exist— to tell him it’s going to be okay. But you didn’t.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” his gaze shifted away, unable to meet yours. A faint hue of red painted his pale cheeks and flushed the tips of his ears.

You furrowed your brows, lips slightly parting in confusion. His long fingers—the ones that were gripping on your wrist a few moments ago covertly slid into the palm of your hand instead, seeking refuge within it

He began fidgeting with your fingers, a subtle dance of his fingers against yours, a silent conversation in touch. The tremble was as evident as ever.

“I don’t…I don’t want us to break up,” he muttered—almost whispered. His voice carried a tinge of distress from within, his gaze still not able to meet yours.

His hand switched from fidgeting with your fingers to intertwining with them, the callousness of his finger tips apparent as he traced nervous shapes on the back of your knuckles.

It was a natural reflex, the way your hand let go to cup his cheeks, caressed them slightly, tracing the delicate pink under his eyes, then pulled him into a desperate kiss.

His lips against yours—the way they tasted, salty with anxiety and sweet with desperate need—he didn’t hesitate to kiss back for a split second. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time Kageyama did this—and it certainly won’t be the last time. It will take some time for him to reprogram himself, that you knew. But what you also knew was that you’ll always be there for him—you’ll always be the home he will find solace in, and for that, he counted his lucky stars.

[rqnarok]

old man!logan is in denial

fem!reader. fluffy-angsty. suggestive themes.

old man logan can't be gentle. how could he possibly be something that was killed out of him after almost 200 years of living? 

every time you lay down, you don't get soft fingers grazing lightly along your scalp as you sleep on his lap, no. you get a large, calloused hand brushing back your hair so he can see your pretty beautiful features better because it was annoying him. he can't hold your hand—don't be stupid—he'll crack your smaller bones in half. that being the sole reason to stop himself from fucking thinking about playing with your dainty fingers and pressing soft little kisses to them.

he is not soft! he’s a killing machine! he knows nothing except anger and fury and hatred. so what is this strange warm fluttering sensation in the hole in his chest that's bothering him? why does it feel good? why is it making him crack a fucking smile underneath his scruffy beard? 

when he curls his weight around your sleeping body, don't be mistaken. he doesn't want to feel the way you fit perfectly against him. logan’s just.. trying to eat you whole. he is not trying to get closer to you at all, no nope he's actually attempting to steal your happiness. 

every single time he kisses you and doesn't suck your blood out from your lips, he reasons that he's merely practicing self-control. which ‘forces’ him to leave featherlight kisses that make you giggle oh so sweetly. knows deep down that he'd tear his chest with his own claws if one even dared pick at your skin. 

logan’s not a soft man. he’s killed countless with the hands that you play with, with the claws you curiously trace. he tells himself that you mean nothing to him, that he could walk away and forget you any moment now.

but he knew it was all a lie that he planted within himself. 

because he wishes that his fingers were softer so that they may be more pleasant upon your skin. and because he wishes that his lips were less chapped so that you may kiss him more more and more. 

or because when you lower yourself to hump against his obvious erection, logan would stop your movements by grasping your hips—ever so gently, of course—and slightly lovingly at you, “slow, princess. want t’make love to ya’ tonight.”

logan knows he lost 

and won at the same time.

[diorchids]

your purity is precious ! charlie mayhew.

father charlie mayhew who just can’t keep his filthy hands off you during private bible study lessons.

you’re sat on his lap. you two are just that close, there’s nothing abnormal about this. “father, you—you know a lot about this stuff,” you say, his fingers trailing toward your poor cunt, all wet and puffy under your panties. practically begging to be touched. “y-you’re very smart, father.” just give in, what’s so hard about it?

but you can’t.

his other one squeezes and kneads your soft, shapely breasts, fitting ever so perfectly in his rough and calloused hand. “you know,” he sighs in your ear, bulge pushing up against your plush ass, “your father never mentioned how beautiful you were, did he?” you hesitantly shake your head as he hooks his finger onto your panties and pulls them to the side. 

your lips part with a soft gasp as he drags his finger up your warmth, slickness spreading across your delicate parts. 

he leaned in closer, lowering his voice even more. “have you given your innocence away yet?” his breath was hot on your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 

the question catches you off guard, of course, you haven’t, that’d be disgusting. no man would ever look at—let alone marry a woman without her virginity, especially in your town.

“no, father, i—i’m waiting until marriage. i’m still pure,” you whisper.

he groans and softly pushes up against your ass. so pure, you are. you follow the word.

you’re clean.

“good girl, keep it that way. your purity is precious. remember that.” he says in your ear, breath still warm against your skin, making you softly grind down on his fingers. 

“i will,” you repeat in your head, that saying. my purity is precious, my purity is precious, my purity is precious.

his thick middle finger circles your tight hole before slipping in slowly, you wince and bite your full lip, stifling a loud cry. he grins sadistically. a small amount of blood coats his finger, he runs his tongue over his lip in response. 

“and you haven’t,” he pushes his finger in more, focusing on that spongy spot within, “touched yourself?” he felt a stirring in his pants, his thick cock straining against his slacks, begging to be let out.

you tell him you haven’t; it’s mostly true. though one time you got a bit carried away with your pillow.

his grin widened mischievously. "you mean to tell me that beautiful, untouched body of yours is... a virgin in every sense?" his hand on your breast slowly started to caress it again, his touch gentle yet so… perverse.

it’s like he was hungry.

“yes, f-father.” your legs trembled slightly as he dug deep inside of your warm, inviting hole, so soft and tight. the priests' voice grew husky as he spoke, "you know, my child... when i was your age, i couldn't keep my hands off myself. i'd touch myself every chance i got, in the shower, under the desk at school... sometimes even at church."

he speaks as if he doesn’t still touch himself every single night. 

his finger curls inside you, and an involuntary whine escapes your lips. your clit felt all fuzzy, and your tummy tightened as you slowly began to move your hips back and forth on his finger, blood prickling on your lip from the pressure of your teeth.

“that’s it. riiight there, take it all, my child. make yourself feel good,” his voice completely shifted, so smooth and still so low. 

he pulled out of you quickly, bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth and sucking them disgustingly. his eyes rolled back while he did, and you felt his fat cock throb through his pants as he tasted your sweet nectar, with a hint of a metallic taste. your virgin blood.

his focus slowly turned back to you, and he slipped his finger back in without a word, just groans and sighs filling the room. “my child, you—you are… the most precious thing,” your cunt tightens around his finger, telling him you were inching closer to release.

the feeling in your puffy, red clit was so overwhelming, heat reaching every part of your body in a matter of seconds. another hand comes and touches it, rubbing and pushing down on it as tears begin brimming your eyes while you cry loudly, legs shaking uncontrollably at this point. 

your vision began to blur as you felt your tummy release the knot it’d been tightening since he’d started touching you. “oh, father! i can’t—i…” you went numb completely, thrashing as your sticky juices flowed out of your, now, used hole. your moans were obnoxiously loud, you’d let go all over your poor priest.

he didn’t stop there though, rubbing and bucking his hips against your soft ass until he gets what he’s been wanting for ages. he pushes his hips up against you one more time before whimpering softly and groaning, breathing warmly against you. 

you both sat there for a minute, dazed and coming to your senses before he urged you to make yourself decent and ushered you out of his room, leaving you with familiar words. 

“your purity is so precious, my child.”

[samantitaswrld]

ron eating pussy for the first time?

what you need | ron weasley x reader

|an: i missed writing lol and it’s hp season so i wanted to write for my man crush 4L since nobody writes enough abt him smh. also listened to what you need by the weeknd while writing this.

feel free to send me any ron or fred asks!

pure smut btw!

|w.c 1.1k

you’d been spending the last few weeks of summer at the burrow with the weasleys, just as tradition called for. except this year, you and ron had made things official between the two of you. ronald had always been your kryptonite. his pouty, pink lips, button nose, bright blue eyes, toned biceps, and thick thighs. now he was finally yours, yours to kiss, to hold, to fuck. to make feel good. 

 you were so worked up from earlier. watching ron and his older brothers joking around together, roughhousing around the burrow in his white wife beater and low-hung plaid pajama bottoms. all you could think about was how badly you wanted to rip them off of him. you felt yourself getting wetter and hotter as you watched him shove fred for a joke he had made about his love for his favorite quidditch team. 

ron had gotten so muscly this year; you wanted so badly to feel him roughhouse you, to throw you around, to overpower you with his strength as he pleasured you and— 

“what are you so deep in thought about, hm?” fred said as he collapsed on the couch next to you. 

“oh... nothing. where’s ron?” you'd said as you clenched your thighs together, upset as you noticed his presence was no longer there, no longer around for you to gawk at.

“your boyfriend went upstairs to get ready for bed, i reckon. it’s getting late; you might want to start heading up there too, don’t you think?” the older brother whispered in your ear; without hesitation, you stood up and made your way into ron’s room, knowing exactly what you wanted, what you needed. 

opening his door, you found ron sat on his bed, back against the headboard, tinkering with a trinket his brothers had given to him. you make eye contact as you swiftly shut the door behind you and make your way to your boyfriend. 

you reckon he’s felt the same way today too, as no words are exchanged between the two of you, yet the sexual tension hangs thick over the room. he looks up at you with those big, blue eyes, and you can feel the pulse of your heat as you grab his trinket from his hands and place it on his bedside table. 

he knows; he knows exactly what you want, what you need. he’s never done it before, but he’s never wanted to pleasure you so badly before. you look so sexy in your white, lacy tank top that hugs your curves in all the right ways and accentuates your breasts, the way your sleep shorts fit perfectly on your waist, the way that your long hair runs down your back, and the way that your skin glows with lust. lips pink and bitten raw and eyes lidded low, pupils dilated with want.

you pull one leg over his lap and straddle him as he wastes no time placing his hands on your hips to guide you there. you greet him with a warm, wet, and passionate kiss, pressing your hot pussy down onto his semi-hard cock.

he can feel the pulse of your pussy through your thin sleep shorts on his dick, groaning at the sensation. he realizes how worked up his poor girl has been all day; he knows exactly what his baby needs from him. 

you whimper and rut your clit against his hard cock as his large, calloused hands roam your hot body. he places his hand at the small of your back and flips the two of you over with your back against the mattress. 

“is this what you wanted, my love?” he says as he lowers himself face to face with your clothed cunt. 

you look down at him and nod slowly as you abuse your bottom lip with your teeth. ron understands how long you must’ve been waiting for this to be so dumb off the few moments of friction you shared. 

ron wastes no time sliding your shorts and panties off of your body in one fluid motion. you felt his large, calloused hands on your warm, sticky thighs, spreading your legs apart as he stared at your bare, wet pussy from between your legs with wide eyes. 

oh fuck 

he has no idea how to do this. 

“baby, do you need help?” you ask, staring down at him into his eyes as he slowly nods; he’s gotten shy and a little embarrassed that he took it this far without knowing what to do. but you feel the opposite; as a matter of fact, it kinda turns you on even more.

“don’t feel embarrassed, my love; just start with small licks, yeah? can you do that for me, ron?” you said to him, the tone of your voice, and the affection laced within your words makes his cock leak with anticipation as he begins to do exactly what you told him to. 

you feel ron’s warm, wet tongue softly lick a stripe along your clit, the feeling sending fireworks through your abdomen. you whimper as you throw your head back while he continues to lap at your clit with small, unsure motions.

you grip his head of hair, letting him know he’s doing everything right, encouraging him to venture out on his own and begin letting your moans dictate the way his tongue moves against your aching pussy. 

his tongue works magic on your pussy as he flattens his tongue out more, licking longer stripes along your folds and sucking on your clit as he reaches the top, his spit mixing with your juices and coating his chin as he sucks and laps at your cunt. 

it’s all too much as he messily and hungrily eats your pussy, the feeling of the wetness he created dripping down your cunt and thighs, the sounds of him slurping away at your clit, and the eye contact he’s making with you as he does so.

“ron, i can’t—i’m gonna cum. oh fuck,” you whisper shakily as you bite your bottom lip raw from muffling your own moans. one of your legs locking up and shaking from their position that he keeps them held up in the air.

without words, he takes it upon himself to lap at just your clit in a rapid, continuous motion that he thinks you seemingly enjoyed the most. this sends you over the edge completely. gripping at his hair tightly as you throw your head back into his pillow once more. 

assuming you’ve finished, by the way, your limbs went limp, he placed a final, lasting kiss on your clit before finding his way back up to face you as he placed another kiss on your warm, red lips. 

“did i do well?” he asked boastfully, a grin plastered across his face, assuming he already knows the answer to this question due to the state you’re in.

“mhmm…” was all you could muster up, as the kiss was all you needed to drift off into a satisfied sleep in your boyfriend's arms. 

[lovebugism]

thigh riding Carmy because he isn't paying attention to you please please please 😭

summary: carmy misses date night and finds a way to work and make you feel good at the same time (2.2k)

pairing: carmy berzatto / f!reader

contents: established relationship, thigh riding, public setting (ish), dirty talk, smut with sprinkles of fluff 18+

Carmy’s office is a windowless concrete cage of chaos. There are a million papers stacked and scattered across his desk, half-hidden beneath books that are flipped open to random pages. You’re not sure how he’s keeping up with any of it. Though, to be fair, you’ve never been able to completely understand his mind.

You know him better than anyone else, but he’s still such a mystery to you sometimes — like a language you can read perfectly but can’t speak all the way. 

You don’t know why he runs himself aground with work even though it kills him, even though he swears the enormity of his desire brings him back to life again. You just know to try and save the drowning man from himself from time to time, and not to let him strangle you with his panic in the process.

“Bear?” you call gently into the amber-lit office, knuckles rapping against the opened door. “You ready?”

Sitting slouched over his desk, you can hear the faint tap tap tapping of his pen against the paper, an anxious tick for his ever-fidgeting fingers. “No. Not— Not yet, baby. I’m fuckin’— I’m drowning in this paperwork right now.”

He lifts his heavy head from his tattooed hand and glances at you over his shoulder. The sight of you makes his breath catch — leaning against the doorframe, all pretty in the lamplight, wearing the dress he bought you.

The deep emerald silk drips over your body like summer rain. It dips low at your chest and flows just above your knees, fitting you like a total dream.

Carmy, for a flicker of a moment, forgets to be anxious. 

While his eyes dart over your form, the rest of the world disappears — it could be entirely falling apart for all he knows, but all he can see now is you. Your stormy eyes, your soft skin, and your quiet sensuality. Your ruby lips, your cheeks like wine, and your gentle voice. 

His mouth falls agape to say words he can’t make out. His ocean eyes go wide, glimmering a deeper blue in the low light — which casts dark shadows over the sharp edges of his face. His gaze is like the sea. You feel yourself drowning in it accordingly.

“It can’t wait?” you press gently, lifting yourself from the doorframe and sauntering slowly towards him. Closing the door behind you, you drop your chin to your chest and flash the boy a sheepish smile. “All the restaurants are gonna close soon.” 

Carmy huffs. He knew better than to plan a date. He’s far too busy — or, rather, he doesn’t allow himself to be anything other than busy because there’s a voice inside him that just won’t be still. Working himself to death was an art he did exceptionally well, which hadn’t bothered him so much until he met you.

“I gotta get this done, babe,” he answers sympathetically, tilting his chin to keep his eyes locked with yours as you near him.

Your familiar scent sets the stagnant air aglow. The warmth of your perfume cradles his senses when you loom beside him. Your hand rises to his shoulder, fingers fidgeting with the swathe of curls at the nape of his neck. His wide palm smooths over your hip — softly calloused against the satiny fabric. 

You smile softly down at him. “So I got all pretty for nothin’?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Well, you got all pretty for me, actually,” Carmy corrects.

His pink lips curl in a faint smirk. Your grin widens tenfold. The subtle act of possessiveness, coupled with the strong hand on your waist, makes your chest sparkle. 

“Yeah, I did,” you hum proudly, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. He tastes fleetingly of nicotine and sweet plum wine — a maddening concoction.

You rise to full height again. Carmy pats your hip twice before his fingers fall away. He turns back to his desk, and you feel half-invisible again. It’s hardly his fault, though. There was something deeply intense about his stone-blue eyes. You feel strangely held when he looks at you, left inevitably mourning every time he turns away.

His pen darts across the gridded page in chicken scratch you can’t make out, worsened by his wrist smudging the ink. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck. You bury your nose in his chestnut curls and inhale the familiar scent of grill smoke and cedarwood. 

“You know I don’t care actually about going out, right?” you mumble there.

Carmy hums, half-distracted. “Mhm.”

“Just wanna spend time with you… Don’t care what we’re doing…”

You press a kiss to his temple. He leans instinctively into your touch. “Well, I’ll make you the best damn PB&J Chicago’s ever seen when we get back home, alright?” he muses with a quiet smile. “How’s that sound?”

“I’m holding you to that, Bear,” you say, grinning into his curls.

“I’m countin’ on it.” Carmy chuckles and lifts his free hand to squeeze your wrist. His touch slips away soon after when he turns back to his work. 

Quiet returns, heavy and deafening, filled only by the distant clanging of pots from stragglers in the kitchen. It makes you strikingly aware of yourself — of the space you’re filling in this tiny office, and the distracting weight of your arms around his neck. Feeling more like a burden, you clear your throat and pull away.

“I’m, uh— I’m gonna see if Richie left yet. Maybe he’ll let me bum a smoke or something.”

Carmy mourns your warmth the second you’re gone. He spins in his swivel chair to face you, laughing to cover up his ache. “What happened to us spending time together?”

He knows how you think. You think he gets so involved in his work that he doesn’t spare you a single thought. But really, he’s so strongly devoted to you that it feels like the emotion could rip him open from the inside.

You squint. “Watching you sign a bunch of paperwork while you pretend I’m not here is not spending time together,” you argue, laughing despite yourself.

“Don’t go. C’mon,” Carmy pleads, very distantly begging. He tilts his head and blinks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Come sit,” he tells you.

“Sit where?” you scoff.

“In my lap.”

“I’ll squish you,” you insist, giggling.

“Shut up and sit down,” he commands, still playful but leaving little room for argument. His wide palms smooth slowly up and down his denim-clad thighs. Your heart lurches into your throat.

You walk the short distance to him with a huff of feigned annoyance, dress swishing around your knees. Carmy pushes away from his desk to give you space to sit. You take a seat on his lap, just like he asked you to, but he stops you with a pair of strong hands grasping your hips.

“Not like that,” he murmurs.

Your brows furrow in response. “What do you mean?”

“On my thigh,” Carmy corrects, swatting playfully at your clothed hip. “C’mon. Sit right.”

You rise slowly, with a hesitant squint in your eyes. “What are you playing at, Bear?” you wonder lowly, legs spread slightly to welcome his thigh between them.

Carmy bounces his shoulder in a lazy shrug. His tattooed hands creep up the hem of your dress to urge you down onto his lap — the proper way. “You’re the one always sayin’ I’m too busy for you, right?” he responds, hardly expecting a real answer, as he helps you straddle one of his thighs.

The angle is awkward. The old chair leaves little room for the both of you. You’re forced to keep one leg on the ground while the other bends at the knee between his legs. You hold tight to his shoulders, trusting him to keep you steady. Your dress bunches at your hips in the meanwhile. Carmy raises his thigh until it’s flush against your clothed cunt. 

Your breath catches, and he smirks.

“So… You’re gonna cum on my thigh,” he continues casually. “…And after that, we’ll go home, I’ll fuck you like you need, and then I’ll run you a bath… How’s that sound?”

Your stomach swirls with a familiar warmth — which you can feel pooling in your panties now. “What about the PB&J?” you joke in a quiet voice that trembles only slightly.

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “After the bath.”

“What about in the bath?”

“Whatever you want,” he assures with a smile. “You just gotta ride me first.”

The lighthearted air turns bone-crushingly sensual in a flicker of a moment. His light eyes pierce you mercilessly, peering into the depths of your soul. You melt for him, going uncharacteristically soft and subservient, just how he likes.

Carmy helps you with a few passes over his thigh. You’re obviously unsure, and he can tell by your hesitant movements. His free hand squeezes your hip, urging you up his leg and down again, until you find your own rhythm. Then he turns back to his work and tries to focus. The soft sound of your breathy moans entwines with the scribbling of his pen.

You rock your hips in measured thrusts, trying to find the proper pace. The delicate fabric of your panties ruts along the rough denim of his jeans — catching your clit perfectly when you buck your hips just right. Lightning strikes down your spine, then. Both alleviating the ache between your thighs and creating a new one all at once. 

Your breath hitches. Pitiful whimpers sound in your throat instead. You bury them all in Carmy’s neck as you hide your face in his shoulder, with your warm cheek pressed to his ear and your fingers balling his shirt in your fists.

There was something foreignly erotic about all this. Being in Carmy’s office, the door unlocked, with Syd and Richie meandering elsewhere in the kitchen. The fear of being caught made your movements quick. Careless. Wild. 

And there was something about Carmy, too. The way he’s got you getting yourself off, with little help from the boy himself, while he busies himself with paperwork. You can hear him scribbling away still, flitting through papers with the hand not holding you. All while you hump his thigh, so desperate for attention. It’s pathetic. And something about it made you feel good.

Your pretty whimpers turn into deeper, breathier moans. Carmy smiles to himself. He can feel the warmth of your cunt despite the layers between you. It makes him wonder if you’ve left a stain on the denim. He prays you’ve left a stain on the denim — wants the mark of your honey stamped there forever.

“You close?” he murmurs when he notices your legs starting to tremble.

You bury a whine in his neck. “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hey,” he hums, pulling away from his paperwork for the first time in several minutes to look at you. 

His long fingers rise from your hip and curl into your hair. He tugs softly at the strands to urge your head back so he can admire his work. Your eyes are lidded and glassy, your lips swollen and parted — already fucked-out, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“I asked if you were close,” he repeats, unsmiling.

“Yes,” you manage through a whimper.

His grip on your hair slackens. His touch returns to your hip, encouraging your rapid movements. His pink lips quirk in the faintest hint of a smile. “Good,” he praises. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You bury your face in his neck again, lips curling around your teeth to stifle the moans swelling there. Your hips lose their rhythm as the threat of your orgasm grows. Your clit pounds like a second heartbeat. You briefly wonder if Carmy can feel it, and the thought alone sends you reeling.

“Carmy,” you keen, voice wavering. “I’m gonna cum.”

You feel him nod against you. He licks his lips and turns his head. His nose squishes your temple; his wet mouth brushes your ear. 

“Do it, then. C’mon,” he mumbles against you, coaxing you closer towards your pleasure — not because he’s a pro at the whole dirty-talking thing, but because he knows how much you like it. “Be a good girl and cum on my thigh. Come on.”

You last two more passes up and down his lap before you tense on top of him. Your hips still as you whimper into his shoulder, shuddering hard when your orgasm washes over you.

“Atta girl,” Carmy praises. “Keep cumming for me.”

He drops his pen and finally turns away from his work. He grips your hips with both hands and works you the rest of the way through your orgasm. You let him, for a few agonizing moments, until your high fades and leaves you achingly sensitive.

You inhale sharply through your nose and reach suddenly for his wrists. “No more,” you plead, then exhale a breathy chuckle.

When you part from his neck, Carmy ducks his head to catch your averted gaze. His wide eyes dart over your pleasure-stricken features. “You good?” he wonders. His words have lost any hint of sensuality. He’s always serious about checking in on you.

You nod and swallow hard. “’M good,” you promise, then freeze when your knee nudges his half-hard cock. “Are you good?” you parrot.

Carmy scoffs a breathy chuckle. “I’m almost done here— go bum a smoke from Richie, alright? I’ll out in a second.” 

He kisses you softly. A chaste kiss that’s perhaps too innocuous for such a honeyed moment. You rise on tired legs, and he swats playfully at your side. “How’s that for spending time together, huh?” he calls over his shoulder as you wrench open the office door.

“You’re an idiot, Bear.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lost In Paradise

Azriel x reader

a/n: I don’t know what the fuck overcame me when writing this—heads up they’re in the Day Court, by the way

Warnings: dear gods Azriel, Azriel in jewellery—diamond piercings to be precise, with kohl lined/smudged eyes, biting, oral (f receiving), smut, overstim, Azzie being a bit mischievous—implied orgasm denial, light wing play, light breeding kink

word count: 3,009

“We have a dinner to go to, Az,” you insist, inclining your chin as he noses along your throat, broad palms running slowly, reverently, up and down the bare skin of your back. Calloused and scarred hands rasping against the smooth, shimmery expanse of your skin, fingers touching along the knuckles of your spine.

“You’re a three course meal all on your own, pretty thing,” he murmurs beside the shell of your ear, gripping your waist lightly, letting his touch span across the sheer silk of your dress, marvelling at your feel, your shape beneath his hands—how finely you fit with him. 

Your pulse spikes at the flattery, heart beating quick in your chest, head tipping back as his lips press firmly to the small notch in your throat, kissing down to your collar bones, keeping you tight to his front, grip firm and unrelenting. “We’re guests,” you try faintly, already lost in his heaven, “it would be bad etiquette to not show up to the first meal—Az…!”

In one smooth motion he’s swept you off your feet, guiding your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips while his palms appreciatively support your ass. “Bad etiquette would be not eating you out before I fuck you,” he drawls atop your mouth, a cocky smirk on his softened lips, staring down at you with his kohl-smudged eyes, diamonds swinging from his ears, the gold fastenings gleaming in the burning yellow sunset, setting the ocean on fire with molten metal as the sun melts atop the glistening waves. 

“Bad etiquette would be wasting a perfectly romantic evening for the sake of one measly dinner that we aren’t even required to attend,” he murmurs, that smug, self-satisfied look in his shining hazel eyes, flecks of amber and jade set alight through the refraction of the setting sun. Gleaming and swirling like they’re precious stones infinitely more valuable than even the tiny, glittering diamonds making up the jewellery adorning his marvellously handsome features. 

“You look good in Day Court attire,” you mumble breathlessly, clinging onto him as he walks you out onto the balcony, laying you down atop the pillowy, padded massage table, creamy fabric turned a perfectly-baked, golden-brown in the evening light, fitted over the cushions.

“You like how much skin it shows,” he drawls, palms settling either side of you, your hair splayed out from where he’s set you, strewn in lustrous glory against the pillow. “You like how easy it is to manoeuvre around.” 

Sure enough, with the soaring temperatures during a sun-filled day, with heat beating down upon the marble-carved pillars, the attire is perfectly suited for the arid climate. Clothing comes in light colours—mostly cream or off-white—and it contrasts the colour of his skin perfectly. The flush on his cheeks despite the cocky look highlights the hunger delightfully. And thanks to the opulent nature of the Court itself, it gives reason for your mate to wear some of the piercings he rarely adorns himself in for the sake of practicality. The ones you love—his ears the main focus, but with wandering hands your fingers clutch the hem of pale, heated linen, raising it from his toned stomach to reveal the incredibly self-indulgent piercing he’d gotten for his belly button, white diamonds set around the narrow golden band. 

“Gods you’re edible,” you pant, the shallow breaths having little to do with the heated evening and more to do with the hot and hungry look he’s pinning you with as he pulls the troublesome shirt off and over his head. His wings flexing and flaring now they’re rid of the fabric brushing the base of the great limbs. Showing off his well-endowed magnificence, as he should.

“Feel better about skipping that dinner now, pretty thing?” Azriel asks roughly, fingers catching the hem of your dress and swiftly pulling it out from under you, pushing it away further along the pale, padded table. “Maybe you had a point about my bad etiquette,” he drawls hotly, open palm coasting up your stomach, fingers grazing between your breasts. He leans over, dark silky hair flopping across your brow, kohl-rimmed eyes making the hazel of his irises simmer with the ravenous intensity of the setting sun, setting you ablaze. “I’ll be eating first.” 

“How brash,” you breathe, fingers dancing up the bare muscle of his upper arms, nails squeezing lightly at his shoulders, raking teasingly over his gloriously powerful back. He begins laying kisses to your collar bones, teeth nipping at your shimmering skin—you’d spent some time refreshing and making use of the scented, swirling lotions available—slowly trailing down between your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples teasingly. “Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?” 

“How can I resist when there’s such a beautiful meal before me? Taste is important but it’s more than that, wouldn’t you say?” Fingers hook beneath the golden strings at your hips, guiding them down your thighs as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your stomach. “I need to appreciate all of you. Not just with my mouth, but with my skin, and touch. How can I enjoy you without indulging all my senses?”

“All of them?” You question, back arching as he reaches your abdomen, fingers threading through his hair to encourage him closer. 

Azriel laughs, the sound coming from deep in his chest, splashing over your skin like melted butter and honey, bathing you in arousing sweetness. “All of them,” he whispers. 

“Sight.” Dark rimmed eyes flick upwards, licking over your form as he connects with you, lashes thick and heavy atop his gaze—equally heavy. 

“Smell.” He noses the intimate skin of your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs to make room for himself, your ass resting just at the edge of the cushioned table.

“Touch.” Fingers slip between your parted thighs, trailing up and down your centre, slicking himself in your wetness. Circling your clit twice before dipping back down. 

“Sound.” His thick digits slide in, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he curls them causing your back to arch, beckoning you forward, a heady moan spilling from your mouth as he pushes deeper, rubbing against spots he knows you like. 

“Would you like to tell me the fifth one?” Azriel drawls, dangerously low, arousal thickening his tone to something dark and syrupy. 

“Taste…” You breathe desperately. “Taste…Azriel!” 

“Good girl.” His lips curve in a sinful grin, diamonds twinkling their mirth as he lowers himself to your cunt. “You’ve earned it.” 

A rich, heady moan spills from your mouth as his tongue flattens over your clit, fingers working you with heavenly ease while his mouth remains at the apex of your thighs. It’s nothing short of paradise, floating high above in the clouds, nestled in a pillowy cushion as he bathes you in pleasure, rubbing it into you in ways that shouldn’t be permitted—how can something so good exist on this plane of reality?

Your head tips back into the cushioning, moans rising from your chest unabashedly, singing your pleasure with every curl of his fingers, every lovely flick of his tongue. The high approaches far faster than you ever would have expected, spine arching, grinding down on his mouth, hips swirling as he suckles at your clit, able to feel the impending high as your muscles brace for the powerful onslaught. 

You cry out as you come, nails raking through his hair, his wings flaring with male satisfaction as you orgasm, feeling you tighten and flutter around his thick fingers, clit pulsing as pleasure rapidly fires through your body, racing up and throughout your skin, spreading right to your fingertips. Your mouth opens as sound fails you, eyes squeezing shut, Azriel’s rough palms gripping your hips tight as you begin to squirm and writhe, seeking to crawl away from the pleasure—but he likes seeing you like this, and won’t allow it to end anywhere near prematurely. 

His forearm bands across your hips, pinning them down as you try to buck upward, forcing you through the aftershocks that have your body trembling, strength draining, leaving you powerless to resist his dominating touch. Azriel’s relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure, keeping his fingers tucked inside of you, keeping the pace, keeping his tongue swirling around your hardened clit, dragging it between his lips when he feels you coming down and teasingly tugging on it with his teeth.

A lovely whimper graces his ears, mouth parting into a wicked grin as you muster the strength to look down at him, your legs spread with slick gleaming on his lips, threading between your inner thighs where he’s gotten you especially messy. 

“Ready for the main course?” He drawls, your nipples peaking at the rough, rolling timbre of his voice, skin prickling as awareness sweeps through you. “Main course?” You pant, already falling out of it, unable to grasp what he’s referring to with that wicked smile as he stands, wings looming over his shoulders. Shadows pull the band of his loose, pale linen trousers from their already low placement on his hips, allowing his hands to settle either side of your waist as he presses flush to your messy heat. 

“Both of us,” he whispers, leaning down atop your mouth, “together?”

You think your eyes roll slightly at the reminder, nails threading through his inky hair as you pull him into a hot kiss, thighs wrapping snugly around his hips. His cock rests hot and heavy against your cunt, slowly riding back and forth to coat himself thoroughly, before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Go slowly,” you beg, clutching onto him with anticipation—you’re far to sensitive for any of his rough treatment. But he smirks over your lips, hips drawing back so his tip drags down over your hardened clit, his leaking cock nudging the entrance of your drooling cunt, messy and sloppy from previous attention—about to be made much messier. 

“Go slowly?” He muses, a low laugh in his voice that makes your skin prickle, hairs standing on end. “You’re perfectly warmed up, aren’t you? All ready and pliable, huh? What could you possibly want me to go slowly for?” You flush deeply, hands twining together over his broad shoulders, trying to push as much sternness into your gaze as you can manage—which isn’t much, judging by the way he chuckles. 

“Is my girl too sensitive?” 

That smirk. That sinful fucking smirk. 

“Whatever you do to me I’ll be delivering right back,” you warn, thighs squeezing his hips. “I’m getting you in my mouth after this, remember…” 

“How could I forget?” He groans, hips pushing forward. “Gonna taste both of us.” 

A pleased moan sighs from your lips as he fills you up, gripping one leg to bring it up his chest—the underside of your thigh pressing to his lower stomach as he pushes tight against you. Azriel’s gaze is nothing short of ravenous as he takes in the arch of your spine as his palm splays across your abdomen, applying a slight pressure to really get you to feel him. 

“Like that?” He asks, short on breath. Mouth curved in that smug grin. So self-satisfied. “Look at you,” he coos, shifting his hips, dragging them back so his head is again at your entrance, before pushing his cock all the way back inside. “So hot and flushed. All of this for me?” His thumb swipes across your clit, and you moan helplessly, tossing your head to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, nails scraping over the cushioning. 

Before you can formulate a reply he’s setting his pace, giving deep, almost punishing thrusts of his hips that roll firmly to your own. Sharp and decisive, just as you like, spine arching with every buck. 

“Can you even count to three right now?” He taunts, shadows swirling over your breasts, teasingly playing with your nipples, curling around them and tugging lightly. You try to shoot him a glare—that side of him has been coming out more frequently as of late, and you really don’t want to deal with his mean streak right now. Not on such a perfectly set up evening for romance and intimacy. 

So you extend your arms toward him, fingers opening and closing as if to grasp onto him. “Azriel…” you moan, reaching. His hips buck sharply of their own accord, swearing you could feel him twitch from pleasure—he might enjoy being mean from time to time, but it’s all for getting you nice and needy. He’s an undeniable soft spot for your desperation. Like putty in your hands once you reach for him, your toes curling from pleasure.  

“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath, driving his cock firmly into you as his palms splay either side of you, letting you touch and feel all over him, practically shivering with the greed in your fingers as they explore and grope. “Such a sweet little thing to everyone else, aren’t you? Such a wicked little devil when you’re with me.” 

Teeth tug on your lower lip as you try to keep your smile to yourself, but you fail miserably, smiling wide as your head tips back into the pillow, relishing the pleasure. “Wicked devil?” You moan out, forcing yourself to meet simmering hazel, heat sizzling just beneath your skin, clit itching for release as his abdomen grazes the apex of your thighs. 

“Like this?” 

A startled noise slips from his lips as you reach further over his shoulders, stroking his wings slowly. Teasing out his pleasure to have him playing nice with yours. His forehead drops to your own, brows pressing together, close enough to share panting breaths, your breasts grazing his chest with each heaving inhale. 

His lips part on an unabashed groan that licks up your spine, pooling between your legs at his deep confessions to pleasure, repeating the slow strokes to his wings. 

“Like that,” he confirms, jaw wound tight as he tries to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of stimulation. Hazel eyes warily open, a sharp glint in them as his instincts snarl and grapple with reasoning, but you want him to yield to them, not fight them. 

It seems he gets the message. 

Azriel’s palms snatch at your wrists, slamming them down on the cushioned table to keep you pinned, forcing you to take every brutal buck of his hips and you can feel as both of you swoop for that high that’s rising. His wings flare wide, their total span easily twice his height, casting a dark, dominating shadow that you know is an instinctive show of possession. 

Shadows wrap beneath the arch of your spine, clutching your hips to raise them from the table, and the angle has you going dizzy. Moans spill and babble as he pounds into you, grip remaining tight on your wrists to keep them trapped, driving in and out relentlessly until you think you might have screamed from overstimulation, panting and out of breath when you return to reality beneath him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your skin, teeth scraping the tender length of your throat, searching for a spot to choose, to bite down on. He picks a section, pushing his teeth in, licking and sucking to push a feverish kiss into your skin, only pulling away once he’s satisfied. 

“Az,” you whine, cupping his cheeks in your hands, squeezing lightly as you arch into him. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” His hand wraps around your wrist, nosing the centre of your palm, pressing a kiss to its heel, delivering a small lick that zaps straight to your clit. His hips pull away, then push back in, able to feel as his cum begins seeping out of you. “You’ve hardly taken any of it, pretty thing. You need to be full up before moving onto me. Can’t have you going on empty, hm?” 

“Azriel!” You yelp as he rolls his hips to yours more firmly, bucking against you with enough force to nudge you further up the table. “That isn’t fair,” you squawk indignantly.

“My sweet little devil’s going to tell me what’s fair now, is she?” 

His lips curve into that smirk, and your willpower crumbles, legs wrapping themselves tighter around his waist to press him deeper. Azriel’s subsequent laugh reignites arousal in the pit of your stomach, tightening around his cock, urging him to follow through with his taunts. “Do it,” you whisper, “hurry up.” 

“You wanted me to go slowly earlier. I said you needed to be filled up, not that you needed to come.” 

“Azriel!” You gasp when he pulls out entirely, flipping you onto your front so you’re bent over for him, arms forcefully dragged behind your back to give him full control. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to me,” he muses, lining himself up. “But the evening’s too good to waste, don’t you agree? It would be a shame to have it over and done with so quickly.” 

“And you called me the devil,” you mumble into the cushioning, squirming lightly beneath him to feel the unrelenting strength of his grip. “You’re going to cry when I get my mouth on you.” 

He chuckles again, shackling your forearms to the base of your spine with his shadows, rough palms easily gripping your hips. “It’s adorable you think you’re going to make it through that far. We both know you’ve never managed.” 

Azriel leans over you, cock slowly sliding in as he settles at your back. You can feel his lips against your ear, breath fanning the sensitive expanse of your neck. “I’d tell you to hold on tight, princess, but you can’t even manage that most nights. So tonight all you need to do is lie still, and take it.” 

His palm slides beneath your jaw, raising you from the cushioning, a mocking note to his deep and honeyed voice. “How does that sound?” 

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020

[bigification]

Lumberjack - A TF Short

"Why did I need to come here dad?" You whine.

"This is important, son. It's a family tradition." He responds, clearly tired of convincing you.

"Look, I already told you a million times, I'm not gonna be a lumberjack like you." You try to plead with him as you enter the department store.

"Just give it a try, we'll start with some woodworking to get you started and if you still don't like it I'll stop asking." He says as he holds his hand out.

"Deal." You smile and shake his hand.

You're 99 percent sure you're not gonna like it, so maybe this will finally get him off your back about this whole family business thing. Your father is nothing if not honest, so it feels like a weight off your back that he might actually stop nagging you about it.

"Here we are." He says as you turn into the lumber aisle. "Why don't you grab a few two by fours." He asks.

It doesn't bring you joy, but you promised you'd give it a chance. You walk up to the wall of wood planks, scanning for which ones are two by fours.

"Not that one." Your father says with concern as you grab the wrong plank. "Just to the right."

Your hand wanders to the right until it meets a large two by four. You wrap your hand around it and try to pick it up, but you can't. You try a few times to lift it off the shelf, to no avail. Is it just too heavy? Are you really that weak that you can't even lift one plank of wood? That can't be right.

The silence is broken by a cracking sound coming from your hand. You watch in horror as your hand starts to grow, the bones cracking and reshaping as your palm doubles in size and your fingers become thick and calloused. It somehow feels comfortable holding the plank of wood now. Your hand is large enough to nearly wrap around the whole plank, and the callouses protect from the splinters sticking out of the wood. Why does it feel so... familiar?

You don't have to think about it though. As if it was spreading up from your hand. Your forearm grows thicker than your biceps and your biceps triple in size in an instant, ripping right through the sleeves of your shirt. Thick veins start to surface along the defined muscles on your arms.

Your other arm quickly follows suit, making you look like a cartoon character with massive arms and a tiny body. That wouldn't last long however.

Your shirt rips even more as your shoulders broaden with bulging muscles. Your flat chest suddenly bursts outward with muscle, quickly becoming two juicy pecs that strain your shirt to its limits. Your pudgy belly melts away to reveal a perfectly defined eight pack. Even your waist slims down, creating a perfect V shaped upper body.

The transformation has only just begun. You feel a tightness grow in your shorts. Your free hand wanders over to your crotch. Your dick feels much smaller down on account of having hands twice as large as before. Although you start to feel your underwear tighten as the bulge in your shorts grows and grows until it fits perfectly inside your massive man hands.

Your shorts continue to get tighter when your flat ass begins to rise like a loaf of bread, growing into two perky fat globes. It doesn't help when your thighs swell to twice the size, forcing you to spread your legs just to walk. Oh, and a man as well hung as you needs a pair of beastly feet to match. The straps on your sandals don't stand a chance against your Sasquatch feet, growing to a monstrous size 20.

Then the transformation finally starts to make its way to your head. Your neck thickens, your jaw widens, your nose grows longer, your brow bone sticks out more. Then it hits you. Your eyes widen as your brain starts to change. Everything you learned in university is gone in an instant and replaced with the memories of a real man, like your father. Axes, saws, and sex are all you know. Your brain also pumps your body with a surplus of testosterone. A light brown beard sprouts along your sharp jawline. It spreads down your neck to your pecs and along your eight pack. You keep the rest under check, but you would look like Bigfoot in a week if you didn't shave.

"You sure it's the two by fours you want?" You ask your father in a deep gruff voice.

There is an awkward silence for a moment.

"Son?" Your father says.

You turn to face him.

"Why don't you flex for me?" He asks.

It was a weird request, but you'll never turn down a chance to flex for someone.

"You've been hitting the gym, haven't you?" He compliments you.

"Yeah, I'm glad you noticed. Maybe you should come with me." You tease him by pinching the fat in his gut.

"You know I used to look just like you when my pops was teachin me. But us lumberjacks need to eat well to make it through the day." He chuckles.

"I'll be fine with chicken and rice." You respond.

"Oh, just you wait until I've got you workin in the forest with me. You'll be begging for seconds and thirds. Soon enough you'll look just like your old man." He continues laughing while he shakes his gut. "Now c'mon, let's get you in some real clothes. None of those shitty gym clothes." He says excitedly as he walks away.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Some personal Sylus hcs and hills I will die on

(This was originally meant to be a very short "Sylus hills I will die on" post but then it somehow evolved and became a long-ass list of hills and headcanons, a lot of them NSFW 🔞. Idk how that happened but it did so uhh... enjoy? Except if you are a minor, in which case, keep scrolling)

Will never cheat physically or emotionally. Period. The mere thought of being with anyone but you is both appalling and distressing to him (as per Goodcat Code, the only time we ever see him actually jealous). He's a one woman man and he's locked in for life.

King of Consent, always and forever.

He is not 6'2 are you kidding me. With those proportions? No way. He's 6'5 at minimum.

Smells absolutely divine (I mean, one of his canon hobbies is taking baths.)

Writes poetry. Actually good poetry. The man is a romantic and a yearner at heart after all, and has always had a way with words.

Dislikes cigarettes, but will occasionally smoke a cigar or two (cuz mafia boss. It's a requirement lol. And the visual is extremely hot to me for some reason. Yes, this one is indeed extremely self indulgent).

He has the habit of burying his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. It brings him more comfort than anything else in the world.

He is a vers pleasure dom. A soft gentleman dom. Your needs, your pleasure, your consent come above all else.

Hurting you in any way is a major no go. Even should you want him to in the bedroom, he won't do it. He'd never put you in any danger by his own hands. Ever. The furthest he'll go is biting (dragon instinct), the pain of which he'll immediately soothe through kissing and licking. Should you beg for it, the occasional light/safe spanking or whipping is also fine as is, again, light and safe choking if that gets you off. That is all, though. Sylus would rather chug a large tub of wasabi every hour every day for the rest of his immortal life than ever cause injury to his beloved.

Consensual non-con is similarly off the table for him. Because your consent is so massively important to him (and also a major turn on), I can't see him getting off to any scenario where he doesn't have it, even during roleplay.

While he is down to bottom, he is not a switch (bottoming ≠ subbing). Because of his past — the way his agency was brutally taken away from him at a very young age and the trauma it caused him — I believe that control is simply too crucial to him to ever truly relinquish. Losing it would probably be triggering for him. At least at present. Maybe if he were to work through his trauma he could learn to eventually hand over the reins for a while. But for now, I just can't see him fully submitting.

Has body worship, praise, size, and breeding kinks.

Girthy. Size training required.

Favorite place to have sex? Either in his/your bed or in the shower. His private office is a close second, with you either splayed over his large desk or straddling his lap in his luxurious armchair, riding him.

Loves eating you out. It's his favorite meal.

His favored position is missionary because it allows him to clearly see your gorgeous features, to observe the way they contort in pleasure, to greedily drink in the incomparably beautiful expression on your face as you come undone by him. It also has the additional advantage of giving him easy access to your lips, which he loves to claim with his own.

During lovemaking, at least one of his hands will inevitably seek yours, lacing his much larger fingers with your own, and stroking your thumb with his own calloused one. He loves the inherent intimacy of it, how your hand fits so perfectly in his, the way you clasp onto him so tightly, conveying to him your love and your trust — both of which are more valuable to him than all the precious gems in the galaxy combined.

Likes it when you are loud in bed. The ecstacy filled sounds that escape your perfect lips are like music to his ears, and he basks further in the knowledge that he is the direct cause of them. Bonus points if you moan or scream out his name, that will arouse him to the point of nearly coming undone.

Big on cock warming. The inside your warm, slick walls is his favorite place to be. He would probably stay there forever if you consented to it, and if he could only find a way to make it practical. He absolutely basks in the sensation of being so closely, so intimately, connected with you.

The Emperor of Aftercare. Sylus will hold you close and trail soft kisses all over your face and neck, whilst murmuring words of love and praise. Then he'll carry you to the bathroom where a soothing, fragrant warm bath is drawn for you. Once he's lowered you into the tub, he'll personally wash your body with gentle, loving hands. When you are both cleaned up and dressed in comfy wear, he'll procure a nourishing meal for you made from your favorite foods to help you regain your strength. Afterwards, he'll keep holding you in his strong arms for the remainder of the night/day, nuzzling you close.

Huge cuddler and snuggler. Will not let you out of his arms for even a second while in bed together. And can you blame him? He's been without you for several lifetimes, has spent countless nights (or mornings) alone in bed, your absence from his arms aching like a phantom limb. Now that he has you back, he never wants to let you go again. Your presence is as necessary to him as the air he breathes.

Whenever he wakes up before you, he will take advantage of the opportunity to admire your sleeping face. He'll ghost a finger over it, gently tracing your features with a small smile on his lips and a tender affectionate look in his eyes, his heart swelling with all that he feels for you. He can't help but sneak in a few kisses on the top of your head, as light as butterflies so as not to disturb you.

Will 100% cry at your wedding, and when holding your newborn children for the first time. He'll have silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft yet radiant expression on his face, making his otherwise sharp and rather stern looking features appear gentle. His bride and his babies are simply the most breathtakingly beautiful treasures Sylus' eyes have ever beheld, and his whole entire being is all but overwhelmed by the fiercest yet purest form of love, immeasurable in its quantity and intensity. Part of him honestly remains in disbelief that said treasures are his, that something this incredible is actually happening to someone like him– "a monster" he once believed incapable and undeserving of love or happiness.

Will only have daughters. In my mind he is so Girl Dad coded that he might as well be incapable of producing any sperm containing the Y chromosome.

Sylus will be the best father a girl could ever ask for. His daughters will never lack for anything, least of all love, support, or affirmation. He is the type of dad who will sing for his children, join them in their games, bake cupcakes with them, hold them in his lap as he attentively listens to them blabber on, comfort them after a nightmare, happily dress up for imaginary tea parties, go to — and if necessary participate in — dance recitals, braid their hair, let them give him makeovers etc. He fosters and encourages individuality, independence, and confidence, but also always lets them know that it's ok to cry, to fail, to ask for help, to rely on others. He is validating and reassuring, never faltering in his emotional support. They can come to him about anything without fear of being rejected or judged. He is a shoulder to cry on, and a confidant always ready to listen and to give advice as needed. From the very day of their births and throughout the entirety of their lives, Sylus will ensure that his daughters will never have even a single reason to doubt that they are the most precious treasures in the Universe to him, and that his love for them is unconditional.

[icypopz]

holding their hand ♡

↬ notes ; sakura haruka, suo hayato, togame jo, umemiya hajime x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; no one asked for this HAHAHA but i really wanted to write for my silly boys <3 they're literally so fun and cute, this is my first time writing for windbreaker though so i hope the characterisation is okay! a little short & it's drabble style but hope you enjoy :)

↬ warning(s) ; none

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ sakura haruka ! ]

with haruka, you're usually the one that has to initiate physical affection. he definitely wants to hold your hand, it's just that whenever you slip your palm into his and he feels how warm you are, his face turns so red he looks like one of the tomatoes umemiya's growing on the roof. at least that's what suo always loves to tease him and say, which only serves to make haruka threaten to beat him up in the middle of the street. but then he'll remember that you're beside him and he'll settle for giving suo the most intense death glare ever, only to give you a small smile as he turns to you and squeezes your hand ever so gently. haruka always treats you like you're a fragile flower, so he holds your hand with the utmost care and pride, because he's really proud to be able to call himself your boyfriend.

more content utc !

[ suo hayato ! ]

hayato thinks he's so cool. he's so suave, always slipping his fingers between yours when you're walking together until your hands are intertwined without you even realising it. and if you get embarrassed, he'll only smirk and tease you about how you look so cute when you're flustered. he's the type to confidently walk about town swinging your hand with his, telling everyone who asks that you're his partner. i feel like hayato would also wear matching rings with you, and whenever he caresses his ring before a fight it's like he can feel the sensation of your hand in his, and that reminds him that he can't injure his hands or he won't be able to hold you, so he's always extra careful ever since he started dating you.

[ togame jo ! ]

togame likes taking things slow instead of rushing through life, so whenever he holds your hand, you somehow end up feeling like a precious gem that he treasures with all his heart. that isn't actually too far from how he views you, because the way this man holds your hand is so incredibly gentle. even though his hands are rough and calloused, he'll slip his hand into yours and it feels like he's really savouring the moment, enjoying the way your hand fits in his like two puzzle pieces slotting together perfectly. he's sometimes worried that you won't want to hold his hand when his knuckles are bloodied or scraped from fights, but just a press a kiss to his battered knuckles and togame will be putty in your hands.

[ umemiya hajime ! ]

umemiya adores you. it's evident to everyone, from the students at bofurin to the townsfolk, and it's especially obvious in the way that he looks at you. when you hold his hand, his eyes light up like a million stars, and he narrowly refrains from actually jumping up and down like a little kid (hiragi convinces him that's a little too undignified for bofurin's leader). he always ends up unconsciously squeezing your hand when he's excited, or when he's deep in thought, or anytime, really. he just needs that reminder of your presence and it feels like he'll be able to solve any problem that comes his way. whenever he walks you home, umemiya will also always kiss the back of your hand like he's a prince courting a suitor and give you a dramatic goodbye, it's just one of the things you love about him too.

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[lumiambrose]

~ ✰ SECRET SERENITY ✧˖°

featuring: phainon x fem!reader

summary: phainon sneaks you into the heroes bath ;)

wc: 1.5k

tags: smut, porn without plot, semi public, risk of getting caught, praise

Warm, steamy air envelops you as you finally arrive at the heroes bath: A sanctuary fit only for the best of amphoreous. The opulent bathhouse where the chosen heroes wash away their fatigue and immerse their senses in the golden blood, touching the fire of the future in their dreams.

You shouldn’t be here; civilians aren’t allowed to enter the upper bathhouse. Though your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care. You’ve been dating Phainon for a while now, and while he’s always been a sucker for rules and morals, you always seem to be an exception.

Which is why you finally caved and followed him up the lift, delving into what should be a myth to you, but Phainon promised he’ll keep you safe, even if it costs him his title.

"I've been longing for this moment, my love," Phainon purrs, his voice dripping with lust. "Let me spoil you, my dear. Nobody can bother us up here," he says as he leads you through the bathhouse, stopping at the large open water at the back.

The risks are massive; all it takes is one person, and both you and Phainon would be in deep trouble. “Phainon, are you sure about this?” You ask softly, your fingers interlaced with his, and you take your first steps into the water. “If we're caught... if you lose your title, your place among the amphoreous..." You trail off, unable to voice the rest.

The hand intertwined with yours moves to cup your cheek instead, whilst the other finds its way to the top of your garments, trailing the soft fabric. “Shh, my goddess. I would walk through fire for you, face the wrath of the gods themselves. A title is nothing compared to the love I hold for you.” His hand slides behind your neck, tilting your face up to his as he leans in close.

“Now, let me worship you as you deserve.”

Phainon's lips claim yours in a searing kiss, his mouth hungry against yours. You melt into his embrace, curves moulding perfectly to his body. Against him, you can feel the evidence of his lust pressing against your belly as he pulls you closer.

His hands roam your body as he slowly slips your garments off, discarding them to the side of the shimmering bath before removing his own and walking you to the centre of the waterbed.

Phainon doesn’t waste any time as he starts his assault on your body, trailing his mouth down to the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point before biting down, sucking a dark mark into your flesh.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as you tilt your head back, giving him better access as you tangle your fingers in his white locks. “Phainon,” you pant, “please, I need you…”

"Patience, my goddess," he rumbles, his voice vibrating through you. "Let me take my time with you. I'm going to explore every inch of your body until I know it better than my own." His hands slide up your sides, roaming your bare skin.

Phainon's touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, his calloused fingers mapping the curves of you with reverent hunger. He can feel you trembling beneath him, your skin flushed and slick with the heat of the water and mixed with your desire. His own body taut with need as he savours every moment.

"Shh, my love," he murmurs against your throat, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to take care of you until the only name on your lips is mine.”

His hands slide around to your back, gripping the globes of your ass as he pulls you flush against him. The heat coming from your core evident against him, promising untold pleasures. Phainon groans as he rocks his hips forwards instinctively, seeking more of you.

"Wrap your legs around me, darling," he commands, his voice a low, lustful growl. "Let me feel you, all of you.”

And you do, your legs making their way around his body, pulling him flush against you. A groan of approval slips past Phainon's lips, his erection now pressed up against your folds, your body trembling in anticipation. He can’t stop himself once his hips start to move on their own, grinding into your heat. Though the friction is not enough to satisfy you.

In a desperate attempt for more, you pull Phainon closer, claiming his lips in a needy kiss as you match his rhythms. His hands leaving your ass to roam your body while his lips swallow up any moans that leave you.

Though it’s not until you roam your hands lower, into the sparkling water, to grab his length, that he pulls away.

“Phainon,” you start, voice breathy and quiet. “Need you inside of me now, please…”

He shushes you before you can continue begging for him. “Go on,” he assures. “Take what you need, my love.”

Aligning his length with your folds, you slowly shift down onto him. Phainon's breath catches in his throat as he feels your tight, wet heat enveloping his length. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as you sink down further on his thick shaft. Inch by inch, your walls stretch and mould around him, fitting him like a glove.

"Fuck, you feel amazing, love," he grunts, his voice strained with pleasure. "So tight and wet for me." He rolls his hips upwards, meeting your downward motion, burying himself deeper inside you.

You let out a low moan, your back arching as you take him in fully. Your nails rake down his chest, leaving faint red lines on his skin. Phainon just groans, the slight pain only spurring him on.

"Ride me, darling," he commands, his hands moving to your ass, gripping it tightly. "Take your pleasure from me." He starts to move his hips in earnest, thrusting up into you with deep, powerful strokes.

You begin to move with him, rising up until just the tip of his cock remains inside you, before shifting back down, taking him to the hilt. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, and Phainon leans forward to catch one in his mouth, suckling and flicking the sensitive bud.

The sensation of his mouth on your breast and his hard length pumping in and out of your dripping pussy is almost too much to bear. Your moans and cries of pleasure fill the room, mingling with Phainon's grunts and groans.

"Fuck, you're so deep," you whimper, your walls clenching around him. "I can feel you in my womb." Your hips start to move faster, rising and falling with increasing urgency.

"That's it, my goddess," Phainon encourages, his hand moving from your ass to your clit. "You’re taking me so well." He starts to rub the sensitive nub in tight circles, his fingers coated in your dripping arousal.

Your moans grow louder, your body tensing as you feel your climax approaching. Your breasts heave with each gasping breath as your body shines in the water.

"Phainon!" you cry out, your voice high and breathless. "I'm... I'm going to..." Your words cut off as your orgasm builds up. Your walls clench and spasm around his throbbing shaft as your climax finally hits you with the force of a tidal wave. He groans deeply as you clench around him, trying to milk him of every last drop of his seed.

"Fuck, darling," he growls, pounding into you with wild abandon as your orgasm peaks, chasing his own. "Come on my cock, my goddess. Drench me with your juices."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you hold on for dear life, your body shaking from the sheer intensity. Though Phainon doesn't let up, continuing to drive into you with hard, deep strokes, prolonging your climax.

"Phainon!" you scream, your voice shaky as he continues, chasing his own release. It doesn’t take long until Phainon himself can no longer keep his cool, grunts and low moans slipping out of his mouth, hips stuttering with each thrust until finally, Phainon buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his own release. "Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, dear," he gasps as his hot seed fills you to the brim.

You can feel his cum painting your insides, marking you as his. Your legs tighten around his waist, holding him deep inside you as he fills you with his essence. Nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders as you let him ride out his own peak.

It’s only afterwards that you can finally catch your breath. Both you and Phainon floating in the warm water, which is now mixed with your juices. You rest in quiet. Neither of you wanting to break the silence, finding solace in each other's presence.

Instead of breaking the silence, Phainon shifts his weight so he’s able to carry you in his arms in silence. He slowly carries you out of the open water, bringing you to one of the lavish sofas to catch your breath.

After settling down on the sofa, you find your body losing energy. Phainon, next to you, pulls you closer, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead as you fall asleep in his arms. As despite whatever scenario you find yourself in, forbidden or not, as long as Phainon is by your side, you feel safe and loved.

Taglist: @sky-casino, @bbladie, @thetwinkims, @inu1gf (join my taglist here)

©lumiambrose ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[nhlclover]

HANDS TO MYSELF QUINN HUGHES

pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes

summary: after weeks of clashing schedules, yours and quinns calendars finally align for a much-desired date night.

warnings: veerrryyy sexually charged (but no smut), quinn and reader are very much in love, quinn being a lil bit horny, makeout

wc: 2.45k

notes: came so close to writing smut for this fic but i didn't think it would be good. also here is the dress i'm describing if you care!

In a serendipitous alignment of your overfilled schedules, the night finally arrives. Weeks of clashing obligations, games, appointments, practices, and disappointments converge to clear a single slot in time, and Quinn, ever the romantic planner, had spent the entire day coordinating for it. He’d spun a few webs to secure a table at Riley’s, a restaurant that you knew had been booked solid for months. The restaurant itself was peak elegance, serving high-end food with the best of service.

You pulled the black, satin dress that hung in its garment bag out from the back of your closet. It was a dress that had been waiting, forgotten but pristine, for an evening like this. You stepped into the dress, pulling the zipper, but realizing that the button at the top would need the aid of Quinn. Your makeup was done, hair pulled up into a messy, but planned bun on the top of your head. You check your reflection, every detail scrutinized until it's perfect. In the low-lit glow of your vanity mirror, you look radiant, a piece of art made alive.

When you’re finally ready, you drift into the living room where Quinn is waiting. He rises at your entrance, and the room seems to shrink around you. His silence feels louder than any compliment. His eyes take you in, from the cut-outs at your waist to the way the fabric hugs and accentuates the curves of your body perfectly.

Then, as if he can no longer contain it, he utters, “You look… I can’t believe how stunning you are.” His voice is reverent as if you were something divine and beautiful he had stumbled upon.

“Thank you, baby,” you say softly. You take him in as well, the chocolate-colored suit tailored to fit him perfectly, the white dress shirt unbuttoned slightly to show off the curves of his chest. “Can you help me do up the button?”

You turn around, exposing the deep, plunging back to Quinn. When he catches sight of your exposed back, you swear you hear him let out a whimper. His calloused fingers brush against your back, attaching the button. The sensation of his lips pressing a light kiss to the back of your neck sends goosebumps all over.

“All done,” he says in a breathy voice.

As you turn to face him, your heart skips a beat, taking in the intensity in his eyes. There’s a simmering hunger in his gaze like he's seeing you in an entirely new light and savoring every inch of the view. For a moment, his fingertips linger on your bare shoulder, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your skin. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and the subtle scent of his cologne fills the air around you. The magnetism between you is undeniable, making it easy to get lost in the moment.

Quinn’s eyes drift from yours to your plump, gloss-covered lips, then back up to meet your gaze, smoldering and almost pleading. You feel the tension between you both rise, quiet electricity sparking in the space between your bodies, drawing you closer. He leans in, lips barely grazing your ear, his breath hot as he murmurs, “You sure we have to go to dinner?”

The way he says it makes your heart race, a low hum of excitement settling in your stomach. He’s looking at you as though dinner could wait, as though the evening he planned so meticulously is suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. You manage a playful smile, resting your hands on his chest and pressing back ever so slightly to keep a sliver of space between you.

“Quinn,” you whisper, forcing a bit of composure back into your voice. “I don’t even want to know what you had to do to get a reservation at Riley’s. And if we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss our reservation.”

He lets out a soft groan, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Fine, but only because I’ve waited long enough for this night.” His hands slowly fall from your shoulders, lingering a moment longer than they need to. He takes a step back, slipping one hand into yours, as if reluctant to let you out of his grasp even for a second.

Hand in hand, you head to the car, the cool evening air a gentle contrast to the warm intimacy that still lingers from Quinn’s touch. He opens the passenger door for you, his eyes never leaving you as you slide into the seat. He closes the door softly, circling around to the driver's side.

Once he’s settled in and starts the car, his hand immediately finds yours, fingers interlocking as he gives you a quick, admiring glance. You feel his eyes linger, that same look of reverence and wonder as he takes in the sight of you beside him.

“Eyes on the road, Mr. Romantic,” you tease gently, squeezing his hand.

He laughs, but there’s a slight flush on his cheeks. “It’s a little hard to focus when you look like that,” he admits. “That dress was practically designed to distract me.”

You shake your head, though you can’t deny how his words send a thrill through you. He’s still sneaking glances, unable to help himself, his fingers gently tracing circles on the back of your hand as he drives.

As you arrive at Riley’s, you’re greeted with the soft glow of candlelight spilling from the windows, the gentle hum of jazz drifting into the night air. The restaurant is elegant in a timeless way, with dim lighting and warm wooden accents that create an intimate, welcoming atmosphere. Quinn helps you out of the car, his hand finding the small of your back as he guides you through the grand entrance, where the maître d’ greets you with a polite nod.

“Right this way, Mr. Hughes,” she says with a warm smile, as though she too knows how special this night is. You’re led to a private corner booth tucked away from the rest of the tables. A single candle rests in the center, casting a warm glow across the table.

Quinn pulls your chair out for you, his hand grazing your shoulder as you sit. His gaze never leaves yours as he settles across from you, his expression one of barely contained awe. “I wasn’t exaggerating before,” he says softly, leaning in. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his intense gaze, and you find yourself smiling, eyes twinkling as you return the compliment. “And you look incredible too, Quinn. That suit… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so good.”

A waiter approaches, and Quinn orders a bottle of wine, one you remember J.T. Miller suggesting the two of you try if you’re willing to shell out a bit of money on a bottle. As the bottle arrives and the wine is poured, Quinn raises his glass to you, his eyes catching the candlelight.

“To you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“To us,” you correct. You clink glasses, each sip bringing a pleasant buzz that only heightens the already electrifying atmosphere.

For a while, your conversation is playful and light. You talk about little things — reminiscing over memories that make you laugh, filling in each other on anecdotes that got lost in your busy lives. Quinn leans in, his attention unwavering, absorbing every word with a soft, amused grin. Every facet of him is distracting to you - the way his fingers play with the stem of his wine glass, how he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when he listens so intently to you telling a story, and the unmissable gleam in his eye when he looks at you.

You each glance half-heartedly at the menu, but quickly abandon it, unable to tear your focus away from each other. The conversation flows with a surprising ease, touching on topics deep and trivial. He confides how strange it felt to find the perfect suit, mentioning how he asked Jack if it was too much. You smile, knowing how important tonight must be for him to fuss over something like that.

“I can't tell you how good it feels to finally be here with you. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” His expression shifts, his normally relaxed face showing traces of the stress that he’s been carrying.

“I know,” you say, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “It feels like every time we tried to plan something, something would get in the way. Between your games, my projects…”

He lets out a long breath and gives a slight nod. “Yeah, it’s just been so much with the season, and all I’ve wanted is a night like this. Just you and me.” His eyes soften, and you feel his hand give yours a soft squeeze, grounding both of you at this moment. “Games have been intense lately. And I love it, but… I miss you,” he confesses, his voice almost whispering.

Your heart swells at his honesty. You can see the weariness in him, but there's also a kind of vulnerable tenderness in the way he’s looking at you now. “I miss you, too. But I’m really proud of you, Quinn. I see how much you put into it.”

He smiles, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before flicking back up to your eyes, his expression soft yet intent. “That means a lot to me, more than you know.” He leans in just slightly, a private, mischievous grin slipping onto his face. “But honestly, right now? All I want is to be with you. Just us.”

“Well,” you reply, leaning closer to Quinn. “Here we are. Just the two of us.”

His thumb traces slow, deliberate circles on your wrist, sending sparks up your arm. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “Exactly where I want to be.” His eyes drop to the faint glow of the candlelight on your face, and he seems to lose himself in the view.

But the tender moment is interrupted as the waiter returns to take your orders. Reluctantly, Quinn tears his gaze from you, giving his order in a tone that is a bit rushed. You can’t help but smile at his eagerness as you place your own order, stealing glances at him. The waiter leaves, and a comfortable silence settles over you both, the soft jazz music a fitting backdrop to the intimacy between you.

Quinn leans forward, elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced as he studies you again. “I know we’ve been waiting for a night out for forever but…” His voice dips into a quiet murmur, like he’s sharing a secret, “If you told me we could just go home right now, I wouldn’t even blink.”

You laugh, shaking your head slightly, but there’s a warm blush in your cheeks at his words. “Quinn Hughes, you’re telling me you’re willing to give up the table that you pulled some serious strings to get, all because you don’t know if you can keep it in your pants?”

“Yes, exactly that,” he says without missing a beat, his expression growing serious. “Do you know how hard it is to just sit here with you in that dress and keep my hands to myself?”

The boldness in his voice takes you by surprise, and it sends a thrill through you. His words are a reminder of the magnetic pull between you, one that hasn’t faded since the beginning of your relationship. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “You know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’d almost believe you didn’t want this night as much as I did.”

Quinn reaches across the table, capturing your hand in his as his thumb glides over your skin, the touch featherlight yet stirring. “Trust me,” he murmurs, voice thick with sincerity, “I want tonight. Every part of it. But right now, it’s taking everything I have not to pull you out of here and make you mine before our food gets here.”

Your breath catches at the intensity in his voice, the raw honesty in his words unraveling you. The ambiance of the restaurant fades into the background; it’s as if the two of you are in a world of your own, insulated by shared desire and the gravity of this long-awaited moment.

You lean forward, your eyes locked onto his with equal fervor. “I guess we could always… take the food to go,” you whisper, testing the waters.

A glimmer of excitement flashes in his gaze. “Are you serious?” he asks, barely able to keep his voice steady, as though the thought alone is almost too good to believe.

Your fingers trace slow patterns over the top of his hand. “Quinn, this night is already perfect… you went above and beyond to make it perfect. But, truth be told, we could’ve just ordered Chinese food and I would have been just as happy. I just want to be with you”

Quinn signals for the waitress, quickly requesting the check and your ordered meals in boxes with a smoothness that belies the fire simmering beneath his calm exterior. He leans over and gives her a charming but hurried excuse about needing to leave for a family matter, handing over his card before she can even respond. The minutes it takes to process feel like an eternity, but Quinn’s hand rests over yours, grounding you in the electric silence shared between you.

Finally, the waitress returns, and he leaves a generous tip before helping you to your feet. You weave through the restaurant together, stealing glances and half-hidden smiles, every step charged with anticipation.

Outside, the city air hits cool and refreshing, but the chill is quickly forgotten as Quinn’s hand finds its familiar place on your thigh once you’re seated in the car. His fingers trail subtle, teasing patterns that have your pulse racing, yet he maintains a sense of composure, his gaze focused forward as he drives the short distance back to your place. You both sense the unspoken thrill of getting back as quickly as possible, yet his hand remains on you, tethering you to the rising tension.

When he finally pulls into the driveway, neither of you wastes a moment. The world outside becomes a blur as you make your way up the steps to the front door, his lips already brushing against your neck as you struggle with the key. By the time you stumble through the door, his mouth finds yours, and the soft click of the door closing behind you is drowned out by the rush of your heartbeat.

[blingblong55]

"your girl?" "My girl.."-Simon ghost Riley NSFW

Photo credits: @ave661

this is a collab with my bestie @aethelwyneleigh27 Part 1 is here ---- F!Reader, 18+, MDNI, smut, soft!sex, breeding, possessive, chubby!reader, unprotected!sex, fwb to lovers, P-IN-V, oral!sex ----

A/N: I think the song linked fits so perfectly with this

He managed to calm your nerves and give you reassurance with just the way he nodded with his warm lips finding your neck again. You felt enough adrenaline to kiss him, like actually kiss him on his lips.

Romantic, soft and sweet yet passionate, Simon couldn't help himself, guiding and backing you up on the kitchen countertop. He took it as an opportunity to hoist you up on it by your waist, squirming a bit as the marble was like ice underneath your thighs, your legs propped open with him comfortably in between.

Of all the things, the grey sweatpants and refusal to even come close to wearing a shirt surely didn't help to calm where your mind is running.

He pressed his forehead on yours, closing his eyes and basking in the feeling of this with you, his breath on your skin felt different now...

"I meant what I said," he whispers as his calloused hands move your hair away from your sweet face. "You're my girl now, Y/N," he says as he leans forward, his lips coming in contact with yours. There is a special kind of softness to the kiss but it's all masked from the passion he has for you. "You're something so dear to me," he says between nibbles and kisses to the soft and weak spot on your neck. You can feel it too, the certainty that tonight is more than just another time where you and him get tangled in the sheets. 

Was it important to let you know all this as undresses you? Yes, because for so long he can voice the emotions he felt every time he worshipped your body. 

Maybe with time, the sneaking into your bed to fuck you raw was more than just that. 

Maybe it was a rough poem of his emotions. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, your head thrown back as he leaves marks of his confused heart on your neck. 

"Fuck...I need you...do you know that?" he looks back up at you and cups your face with his hands. Why does it all feel so different now?

You nod and he smiles. It was a routine he knew best, which is why by now, those precious panties of yours hit the ground, your gown tossed to the side as he kneeled and captured your soft thighs in kisses. Your hands run through his hair, admiring how good he looks in this light and this position. 

"God...Simon," you whisper as his lips get closer to your soaking cunt. A chuckle escapes him. "Already wet for me, lovie?" he mockingly shakes his head and before you know it, his tongue runs through your folds. Your eyes close and your soft hands push him further in, directing him towards the needed target. He smiles as he knows exactly where you want him and a man like him obeys his love. 

"mmm, so sweet, lovie," his voice vibrates on you. His tongue laps at your clit. One of his hands opens your pretty pussy more whilst the other lets his thick fingers inside of you. A moan escapes your lips. It's easy to forget your ex was just here when the man who makes your heart and pussy throb is on his knees eating you out like you're some goddess he must worship. 

The more he continues this, the more he can feel you clench around his fingers and that's when he knows he must fuck you dumb...with his dick of course. No need to have his fingers claim your cunt over and over when his hardened member can do that. 

He gets back up, earning a small whine from you as you are near climax. A playful smile falls upon his wet lips, the ones he licks before speaking. He raises and finger to the air and sighs, "Now, how about I fill you to the brim and make you forget about that mangled-looking mutt," his head to the side as he watches you ponder. You nod and he picks you up, leading you to bed. 

Once he lays you down, he admires your soft and curvy figure. What a sight you are for a man like him. 

He crawls between your thighs after he takes his sweatpants off and spits on his cock. His tip is so swollen and red that you practically know he also needs this as much as you do. 

His hand is on your hip whilst the other slips his fat and hard cock inside your tight and wet cunt. A small gasp from you and a groan from him is what slowly sets the mood for the morning. "Si," you whisper as you try and adjust to his size. "Shh, I know..I know, Y/n," he whispers back and slowly thrusts into you. Your hand holds onto his wrist while the other rubs the swollen clit. 

Your tits bounce and he leans forwards, taking one into his mouth. He licks and sucks on the sensitive skin. His tongue flicks on the nipple and a low chuckle escapes him when he notices the small whimpers that leave your plump lips. 

What an innocent thing you used to be before you ever met him and now, he has you moaning and getting fucked like the pretty little slut you are. "Fuck," Simon groans and goes somewhat harder, hitting that sweet spot of yours. He can tell he was doing this when your grip on his wrist tightens and your nails leave a painful mark, one he doesn't complain about. "You're mine...you're so mine, Y/N. You hear me?" his voice deep and yet so soft. A small nod from you makes him smile. 

With each thrust, his gaze falls on you. Even as he licks and sucks your tits, you look so pretty when biting your lip from this angle. His balls tighten, the image of you too much to take. God, you belong to him now.  

The moans you begin to let out that mix so perfectly with the noises his hip thrusts make against you is the melody that's so dirty the angels would have to cover their ears for. "He doesn't fuck you like I do, huh, lovie?" he says between angered groans. "He doesn't please that needy pussy like me and he'll never please it like I do," he bites his bottom lip as he says this. 

He pulls his chest back, feeling that he can't take more but he must wait until you clench around his dick so he can fill you up. 

By now, both his hands hold your hips, his cock aching for release and as you play with your pretty pussy, he almost wants to see if you've forgotten the idiot you once dated. 

"God, you're so heavenly," he whispers into his groan. Your walls tighten around him and he can almost feel you cliamx by now.  

He holds your body close, burying his head on your neck as he moans and feels you shake and moans his name over and over. Your nails leave love marks on his back from how good he is. "C'mon...just like that...fuck...mark me...let them know your body was used by me," he moans out so desperately it's hot. 

Soon enough, he cums inside of you, coating your delicate walls with his cum. He moans loudly, closing his eyes and slowing his pace. "You keep my cum inside you, that's a command," he kisses your neck with the need to have you this close to him. "Y-yes..." you whisper. 

His fat and heavy dick is still inside you as his unspoken promise to fill you up is becoming true. 

His hands are on your waist and then hips, travelling between them with so much delicacy it looks like he is truly worshipping a goddess. 

"Don't you ever open the door to him. You're mine, not his and you'll stay mine until we die," he says before giving you a rough but needed kiss. His breath is hot as his body captures yours. His hands holding you so close like he is afraid you vanish with just one blink. 

It must be a sin to love this hard and this good. 

"I think I'm falling for you, Y/N," he confesses and kisses you again. Your arms snake around his back. His body and yours are like magnets. "Do you think you're falling for me?" he asks once he separates his lips from yours. "I've already fallen for you, Si," you whisper and like a schoolboy, he blushes and chuckles nervously. 

It was cute to see him this way. It's exciting to know just these words make him all happy and giddy. "Good because I'm tired of being just your friend," he kisses you once more as this kiss turns into a cuddle. 

A soft cuddle that turns into a nap. 

A nap that turns into days of romancing in town streets and parks. 

A/N: thanking the man who let’s me recreate things with him for fics for some of the parts of this because I couldn’t figure out what to write

Tags:

@tf141gloryhole @captainsarcasmandsass @lahniu @appl3-0rchard @certifiedcodbabygirl @lucycastlesworld @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @sleepyycatt @

[pucksandpower]

Lullaby

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which Max is the only lullaby you’ll ever need

Warnings: 18+ content

You stare up at the ceiling, wide awake. The numbers on the alarm clock seem to taunt you, the minutes ticking by as you struggle in vain to fall asleep.

It’s nearly 1 am and Max still isn’t home.

With a sigh, you roll over and bury your face in his pillow, breathing in his familiar scent.

It’s not the same.

Your body craves his warmth, the protective circle of his arms. Sleep just won’t come without him here.

You’ve always been this way, for as long as you can remember. A perpetual insomniac, tossing and turning through the lonely nights.

That is, until you met Max.

The first night you spent together, you were astonished to find yourself drifting off within minutes of being wrapped in his strong embrace. It was like magic. Now, months later, the spell hasn’t broken. Max has become a necessity, not just for your heart but also for your health.

The sound of the front door opening stirs you from your restless thoughts. Muted footsteps make their way to the bedroom and you feel the mattress dip down.

“Hey,” Max whispers, his hand grazing your shoulder. “Sorry I’m so late, the meeting ran long. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting up.”

You roll over to face him, drinking in the sight of his tousled hair and tired eyes. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He offers you a soft smile, the one he saves only for these quiet intimate moments, and your heart skips. No matter how many times you see it, that smile never fails to make you melt.

“Let me just wash up and I’ll be right there, okay?” He squeezes your hand gently before disappearing into the bathroom.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him getting ready for bed, a ritual you know by heart. The splash of water, the electric hum of his toothbrush, the soft thud of his clothes hitting the hamper.

When he emerges in just his boxers, you lift up the covers in silent invitation. He slides in behind you and tucks your body against his chest, legs tangled together.

You fit so perfectly, two puzzle pieces made for each other.

His arms wrap around you like bands of steel and you feel yourself begin to relax into him. Here, cradled against him with your legs interlocked, is the only place you’ve ever found true peace.

Max brushes his lips over your hair. “Did you miss me?” He murmurs.

You smile into the darkness. “You know I did.”

“I missed you too, schatje.” His voice is husky with fatigue. “I’m exhausted but I had to get back to take care of my girl.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “My hero.”

He chuckles, low and warm like honey flowing over you.

You talk softly as you both unwind from the day, voices hushed in the intimacy of the night. He tells you about the team debrief that ran late and you fill him in on the book you started today, trading thoughts and details as the fuzziness of sleep starts to seep into the she of your consciousness.

Eventually conversation tapers off, words replaced by contented silence. Max’s breathing deepens and you know he’s nearing slumber. But your mind still buzzes, body fighting against its own weariness.

You shift restlessly and Max instantly tightens his hold. “Shh I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Just try to relax.”

One large hand begins massaging gentle circles on your back and you focus on its hypnotic motion, on the sensation of his calloused fingers tracing delicate shapes.

He starts humming softly, a nameless tune that fills you with wistful melancholy. You’ve never asked where he learned it. It belongs to these fragile midnight moments, when he coaxes you to stillness with his voice and touch.

Between the comfort of his embrace and the lullaby reverberations rumbling through his chest, you finally feel sleep approaching. Your thoughts drift away until only the present remains — Max surrounding you, his warmth, his scent, the combined rhythm of your heartbeats.

Just as your heavy eyelids begin to close, Max shifts suddenly and cages you beneath him. You gasp as he presses urgent kisses under your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Max!” You squirm half-heartedly. “I was almost asleep.”

“Not quite yet, schatje. We’re not done.” His voice is gravelly with arousal that makes your belly swoop. “I need you.”

He kisses you deeply until you’re clinging to him, nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. This man unravels you with barely a touch, your body open and pliant to him like a flower turns to the sun.

When he enters you it feels like coming home. You let out a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by the perfection of his body joining yours. This connection, this wholeness, is all you’ve ever wanted.

Max sets a slow, deep rhythm. His eyes blaze into you, grey flickering with lust and love and possession. “You’re mine,” he rasps, thrusting harder. “This is right where you belong. Under me, surrounding me, taking all of me.”

“Yes, yes I’m yours,” you gasp. The slide and drag of your bodies is maddening, tension coiling at the base of your spine.

Max grips your thigh, hooking it over his hip to drive himself deeper. “No one else gets to have you like this. You only come apart for me. I’m the only one who gets to feel you shatter.”

You cry out as he hits that perfect spot inside, stars bursting behind your eyelids. “Max, please …”

He crushes you closer, thin control fraying. “Please what? Tell me. I’ll give you anything you need.”

A particularly deep thrust wrings a wanton moan from you. You’re so close now, balanced on a knife’s edge of bliss. ���Just you,” you manage to say. “I just need you.”

Max smiles, satisfied. “That’s my girl.” Then his lips slant over yours, swallowing your sobs of pleasure as his hips piston faster. The tension crests, higher and higher, until finally it breaks and you’re swept away on waves of dizzying ecstasy.

Max tenses and follows you over with a rough groan, your name a prayer on his lips. He collapses heavily against you, breath coming in harsh pants.

For long moments you just cling together, fingerprints bruising, heartbeats thundering through one another.

Eventually Max stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. But he doesn’t separate your bodies. He knows you’ll rest easier staying connected, so he simply shifts just enough to take some of his weight off you.

You let out a small sigh of contentment, his warmth seeping into every inch of you like a blanket. Utterly spent and sated, you quickly begin drifting off. But before sleep claims you, Max’s quiet voice cuts through the haze.

“I’ll always come back to you. Every night, just like this. You’re my home.”

His words wrap around your heart, a vow and a lullaby in one. You manage to murmur a quiet “love you” before finally succumbing to sleep, safe in the harbor of his arms.

[geneviveleocardius]

simon “ghost” riley nsfw headcanons

he needs control—not just because it’s in his nature, but because he sees you as something too precious to be careless with. his touch is firm, calculated, and deliberate, but it’s never cruel. his possessiveness shows in the way his hands grip your waist, his voice low and commanding as he whispers, “you’re mine. only mine.”

simon’s hands gravitate toward your hips and the curve of your waist almost instinctively. he loves the way his fingers sink into your skin, the way you fit so perfectly in his grasp. he’ll wrap an arm around your middle, pulling you close, growling something like, “you’re too damn good for me, love,” before taking you apart piece by piece.

simon isn’t a man of flowery words, but he shows his love in how he touches you. whether it’s his lips ghosting over your neck or his rough fingers tracing every inch of you, his actions scream devotion. when he’s deep in the moment, his kisses are hungry and consuming, like he’s trying to claim you with every breath.

simon doesn’t waste words, but when he does speak, it’s enough to leave you breathless. his low, gravelly voice drips with intensity as he murmurs things like, “you’re so perfect, love… look at you,” or “i’ll never get enough of you.” when he’s particularly lost in the moment, he’ll let curses and growls slip, his voice shaking with restrained need.

simon has a sharp, almost dark sense of humor, and he uses it to his advantage. he loves dragging things out, watching your reactions as he slowly builds you up. his smirk is maddening as he whispers, “c’mon, sweetheart, i know you can beg prettier than that,” before finally giving you what you want.

simon has a habit of gripping your thighs, your waist, or your wrists, like he’s afraid to let go. his hands are rough and calloused, but they move over you like you’re something fragile, something he can’t bear to break. he doesn’t often admit it, but you’re the one thing that makes him feel human again, and he shows that in every touch.

simon isn’t shy about leaving his claim on you. whether it’s love bites along your neck, scratches down your back, or bruises where his hands held you too tightly, he wants the world to know you’re his. and if someone even looks at you wrong, you can bet he’ll make sure they think twice next time.

he’s a soldier, trained to endure far beyond the limits of most men, and that discipline carries over. he doesn’t stop until you’re trembling beneath him, gasping his name like a prayer. “you’ve got more in you, love,” he’ll murmur, voice dark and full of pride as he pushes you to your limits.

after the fire burns out, simon’s softer side surfaces. he holds you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses lazy kisses to your temple, jaw, or shoulder. he doesn’t say much—he doesn’t have to. the way he keeps you close, his body curled protectively around yours, speaks volumes.

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Lazy Sunday;

Pairing; fem!reader x idol!Jay Synopsis; On a lazy Sunday, you watch your sleepy boyfriend, Jay, play guitar for you. His deep voice, messy hair, and shy glances make your heart race as he sings with affection. Seeing you wrapped in his oversized hoodie he can't help but pull you close, the moment becomes a quiet promise of love and intimacy. Genre; fluff (Jay is a cutie pie) Warning; Very short; Nothing else; MASTERLIST;

A/N; I wrote this last year for Mark Lee but it fits Jay so well I had to make a new version for him! I hope you like it as much as I do! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you so much! <3

On this lazy Sunday, you find yourself sitting across from your sleepy boyfriend, Jay, on the delicate mattress of your bed. The thick raindrops hit your window slowly, making an aesthetic melody that fits the mood perfectly.

Wearing nothing but his black hoodie, you carefully admire the artistic scene in front of you.

Jay, with his deep morning voice, tired brown eyes behind small rectangular glasses, and disordered black hair, is playing the guitar for you. He looks affectionate and gentle, his skillful fingers creating a melody as his calming voice sings the romantic lyrics with care.

The shy look that the sleepy boy gives you, with his cheeks painted a pale shade of red, makes your heart jump out of your chest. He looks so attractive in his natural state—no makeup, no screams, no pressure. Just you, him, and the guitar.

Jay sings with his gaze locked on yours, feeling embaressed under your piercing stare, but glad that you’re enjoying his melodic chords. But your smile gives him the confidence he needs to keep going.

You’re trying to hide your smile inside the large hoodie, not wanting to put pressure on him. Your brown hair is a mess, soft locks tucked messily inside the clothing, your sleepy blue eyes focused on him. Despite the messy look, Jay believes you look breathtaking.

“Did you enjoy this little show?” Jay asks in a quiet voice. You grin radiantly at him and clap your hands. Completely drunk in love with him.

“I loved it, sweet boy. You’re so talented!” You say as you shyly take his calloused hand in yours. “I love you…” you whisper in a low tone, suddenly feeling embarrassed by those three heavy words.

Your eyes remain locked with his for a few solid seconds until he breaks eye contact to kiss you. Jay collides his warm lips with yours in an uncertain way, not knowing if you want him as much as he wants you. But as soon as your hands get lost in his dark hair, all the worries in his head fade away.

Those plump lips mold perfectly against yours. His curious tongue brushes softly against your bottom lip, initiating a playful fight, and you win this time just because you catch him by surprise when you bite his bottom lip.

“I love you too,” he confesses, laying down on the cosy bed and pulling your body onto his chest so you can cuddle while he strokes your hair and begins to sing to you again.

That is when Jay realizes that there is nothing else he wants to do in the world besides being yours.

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things @nxzz-skz @saphiranishimurashan @ikeupups @yangjungwonnie If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[scoobysnakz]

loser miguel who, at first, feels so much shame he could be sick, but when your breath shortens at the sight of his reddened eyes, that guilt is replaced with a stronger, more persistent hunger.

loser miguel who can’t get his hands off his cock; you look too pretty to stop now. your wide, shocked eyes glued to him, flickering between the desperate expression on his face and his calloused hands encasing his girthy length. that look of pure shock only serves to make him more ravenous, more crazed, more infatuated with you.

loser miguel who watches, mesmerized as you walk over to him, your shiny eyes drinking in the sight of his leaky cock. he can practically smell your desire, and god, it’s making him insane.

“por favor, te necesito,” he whines, head lolling to the side.

“migs… is that my lab coat?” part of you can’t bare to hear the answer but that other, sick and twisted part that craves validation, is desperate to hear him answer yes in that panty wetting accent.

“can’t stop.” his voice is harsher now, not mean but it carries a certain huskiness that makes your mind fuzzy. “fuck, need your pretty lips, mami.”

loser miguel whose heart nearly stops as you sink down onto your knees, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and hands clenched into fists. you can’t bring yourself to look at it, it has an almost godly presence, which you know is stupid, but it’s part of him, part of miguel.

he keeps stroking his cock, you on your knees beneath only serving to make him harder and more needy. his core aches with longing, a silent declaration of desire in his eyes as he fights the urge to buck his hips into your face.

loser miguel who gets an automatic ego boost at the way you stare at his cock. miguel isn’t a lazy man, far from it, but that isn’t to say he shaves. almost every inch of this man is covered in thick hair that resembles the same darkness as the chocolatey mop on his head. and he can see the way it goes straight to your cunt.

a few times, you’ve been blessed with the view of his happy trail on the odd occasion he’s stretched with only a t-shirt on. but never have you seen past the bulky thighs which are infamously known all throughout the crinkled pages of your diary, that you’ve had countless dreams of being trapped between, and fuck, do you feel like you’ve missed out.

his cock is huge, at least eight inches, with balls that hang heavy, twitching to release their load into your pretty little mouth.

loser miguel who has to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress a loud moan as you press your soft lips to his rosy tip, his precum leaving your lips looking temptingly glossy.

you drag your tongue across your lips, savouring the tangy taste as it melts on your tastebuds. you, carefully, lower your mouth around his shaft, forcing your jaw to go slack as a feeble attempt to accommodate his size.

the feeling of your tongue, flat against the underside of his cock, sends his mind racing. this is what he’s been dreaming of, craving, for months. you are so perfect, so pretty and perky, how could he not have an insatiable need for you ?

the only light in the entire lab is the late afternoon sun leaking through the gaps in the blinds, leaving it dimly lit with the sun rays shining on miguel’s tanned complexion.

thick strands of his dark hair frame his perfectly chiseled face in an almost angelic halo. his soft, plump lips are parted ever so slightly, so that you can get a spine chilling view of his fangs.

loser miguel who’s never felt anything like this before. try as you might, you can’t fit his entire length in your mouth, and somehow, this is the closest to heaven he’s ever been.

he can’t count the amount of times he’s pumped his cock to the idea of this, you, one your knees pleasing him so prettily.

“mierda, just like that, just like that,” he croons, one hand sliding down to grip the back of our head.

you shine under his approval, the burn in your jaw suddenly disappearing as you push your mouth further down his cock, your nose is buried into the thick tufts of hair on the base of his cock.

you’re gagging and drooling all over him but right now you can only focus on miguel’s raspy breathing and muttered praise.

loser miguel who can only stand there watch as his cock falls victim to the talents of your mouth, his hips stuttering in a pathetic attempt to hold off from fucking your throat. miguel wants to make this last, have you looking up at him through adoring eyes forever- if he could take a picture he would.

prev < > next

a/n: smut clearly isn’t my forte but i tried 🙃

tag list: @lacedinweb22 @xxyaoi-nationxx @farrowroyale @mynamesstevenwithav @m4dyy @pinkismylife @kenz-ee @queerponcho @mcmiracles @nic-stars @ella-unenchanted04 @basedpear @rhythmloid @safixiovi @braverthanthenewworld @sad-author-san