#(it was just a vaguely heated kiss and a 'nice ass' and a mention of making someone come)

[sky-kenobye]

I'm reading a sci-fi book that is so obviously inspired by star wars (and I'm not saying that as a negative thing) that I get weirded out every time a normal word is used instead of the star wars equivalent.

What do you mean a cleaning "bot", that's a droid.

"Contact gel"? Do you mean bacta?

"Dorétoile"? "Drugs"??? Ma'am that's spice.

[osachiyo]

❏ SEETHING ENVY !

﹙ ✿ ﹚── includes : dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor & nikolai x fem! reader

﹙ ✿ ﹚── content warnings : nsfw content, jealousy, threats of cheating, toxic relationship in nikolai's, pussy slapping, choking, scratching, name calling, degradation, msub in Dazai’s, yandere reader in Nikolai's, edging, toys, oral (m & f receiving), brief mention of murder and torture but it's very vague, throat fucking etc

﹙ ✿ ﹚── synopsis : jealousy jealousy

﹙ ✿ ﹚── author's note : I know the sneak peak of this post had a different title but I think this one suits it way more. Happy reading! Requests are open btw! ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── MINORS DNI

DAZAI ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Dazai loves to see all of your reactions. He finds them so amusing. Your eyes shining bright like stars when you're happy, when you're practically jumping with excitement, your cheeks heating up when you're flustered, your pretty eyes narrowing and brows furrowing when you're angry or upset, your eyes glossing over as they threaten to overspill the tears when you're sad...He loves to see them all. So that's why he comes up with the idea to make you jealous. I mean, what could go wrong?

You watch your lover’s eyes roll back from overstimulation, his cock swollen and angry from being used so many times. But you didn’t care, just like he didn’t care about how pissed you’d be while flirting with that waitress from the cafe. God, was it infuriating. But it’s alright, you would never miss a chance to mark your man up nicely, your nails clawing on his back while he hissed from the sting. But he didn’t complain, he actually enjoyed the pain of you marking your ownership over him.

“You fucking manwhore, how many times did you cum?” You scoffed, your hips not slowing down. You slapped his cheek gently when he didn’t answer, the soft flesh damp with sweat and your slick. He opened his eyes, looking up at you riding the soul out of him, your soft tits bouncing with every slam, your plump ass meeting his hips while he massaged the soft fat. “Fuck- uh.. four?—“ he wheezed when your hands wrapped around his throat even tighter, making it hard for him to breathe. “Wrong answer… let’s keep going until you get it right- Haah— okay?” He could only throw his head back in response, shooting blanks into your puffy cunt.

He had a long night ahead of him.

CHUUYA ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Chuuya was a very confident man. He was confident in himself and your relationship. But that stupid fuck Dazai—

“Hey~ Belladonna, are you here alone?” Dazai smirked, taking your hand in his larger one before gently kissing your palm. “You look like you could use some company, no?” He was about to kiss your knuckles but suddenly— “She’s fine.” Your hand gets snatched away by your boyfriend, Chuuya. Dazai shows a face of disgust before sighing in disappointment. “Yeah okay, whatever. If you need some better company, don’t be shy to ask Chuuya for my number, pretty gi—!” A punch was thrown at his face.

“Stupid fucking suicidal piece of shit..” Chuuya mumbled, head squashed between your thighs which were decorated with bruises. Shades of purple and blue staining your pretty skin as he sucked on it, dangerously close to your core. His hand smoothed out the fabric of your expensive dress. When you agreed to go to a bar with your fiancé, you didn’t expect to be eaten out by him in one of the fancy bathroom stalls. Your hands were struggling to find something to stabilize yourself. “Chuuya..what if someone— mm..what if someone comes in..?” He only groaned in response, finally taking you into his warm mouth while his hands played with the soft fat of your ass. “Let them.” He muttered into your pussy, the vibrations of his gruff voice made your toes curl as your hand came down to find itself tangled in his copper locks. As if the universe had heard you, someone walks in. You put your other hand over your mouth, trying your best to silence any noises that could slip out. Then suddenly— the unknown man spoke and you recognized that voice easily. It was Dazai.

Chuuya only pulled away and smirked, before diving in with ten times more effort. He had to prove to Dazai that only he could pleasure you like this and you were his.

KUNIKIDA ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Kunikida, bless this man's heart, was the best husband you could ask for. He had it all, looks, stable income, intelligence and he was sweet. You loved how nice he was to you, always making sure you're comfortable and happy. He was the ideal man of your dreams. But as much as you loved him being sweet and kind to you...you wanted something more. You wanted to get on his nerves, wanted to be manhandled by him. So what better way to do that than to make him jealous?

"Stay fucking still." Your husband growled, frantically unbuckling his belt while he held you down with one hand. Once he finally got the belt off, he tied it around your wrists, the expensive leather burning against your soft skin. "You wanna act like a brat? You're gonna get fucked like one." He spit, flipping you over so you laid on your stomach. "Count." That was the last thing you heard until— 'smack!' His calloused hand came down harshly on your ass, making you jolt from the impact. "O-one!" You hissed, your grip tightening on his silk sheets. There was a long pause before the next hit, which was absolutely brutal. The pain shoots through your entire body like electricity while all you can do is writhe and bawl your eyes out, " two- fuuck- 'm sorry! Please! Kuni—" He only scoffed, his fingers dip into your soaked folds and he raises an eyebrow, "You act like you hate it, but your cunt is practically gushing." He tsks, spreading your lips and this time landing a hit on your puffy 'n swollen clit. "Clearly you haven't learnt your lesson if you're still leaking like a desperate whore."

RANPO ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Ranpo's and your's relationship was interesting, to say the least. You two always bickered playfully, sometimes even pranking each other. One time he even put some neon pink dye in your shampoo. But besides that, you wanted revenge. And what better way to get revenge than flirting with his own rival?

You could almost taste your sweet orgasm coming, ready to push you towards the edge but then— Ranpo turns the vibrator off with a laugh, clearly satisfied to see your misery. "How's that, sweetheart?" He smirked, wiping your tears off with his thumbs. You could only babble in response, too fucked out to think any coherent thought but the need to cum.

Ranpo smiles mischeviously, pushing your thighs apart to make room for himself. He licked his lips at the sight of your drooling pussy. A finger pressed the vibrator against your clit and your head tipped back on the pillow. "Thank you for the meal~" He sung before diving head first into your cunt, the vibrator working it's magic against your clit.

FYODOR ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Why were you doing this again? Oh yeah, because that stupid Kolya told you to. You were just hoping and praying to the heavens above that you wouldn't be dead after this. It's a stupid idea but the prize was well worth the pain. All you had to do is flirt with Nikolai and Sigma for one whole day. Surely he wouldn't...mind that much, would he?

Wrong, is what you thought to yourself while you processed the entire situation. You were tied with deep purple ribbons, restricting you against the headboard of the bed. A ring gag in your pretty mouth, a collar around your throat and lastly, a blindfold over your beautiful eyes. You could only hear his footsteps, circling around you like he's the predator and you're his prey.

"So, Milaya, what were you thinking pressing your tits against Sigma like a slut?" His footsteps stopped, it was eerily quiet in the room after Fyodor had stopped speaking. "I did not know that I chose a stupid slut off the streets who will seduce anyone as my wife," he tsked. You felt the bed dip and creak, then a large bony hand was splayed across your bare thigh. "You are one lucky woman that I am not abandoning you. Clearly you don't know who your master, who your God is." He plunged two fingers in your mouth, watching you gag and sputter around them. His other hand was now wrapped around your delicate throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. He thrusted his fingers in and out of your mouth while choking you. You suddenly felt the smooth material of his slacks grinding against your bare cunt, soaking the fabric with your sweet slick.

If only you could see the almost maniacal smile he wore while doing so.

NIKOLAI ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆  

Fucked up, that's what your relationship with Nikolai was. But you didn't care. You loved him and he loved you. All you thought about was him and only him, never even speaking to another man unless you had to. But did he do the same? No he didn't. He'd purposefully flirt and let other women cling onto him like a damn leech, not because he enjoys their attention, no, he did it to rile you up. Watching as you threaten the women viciously, your tone dangerously low as you speak to them. It gets the adrenaline rushing through his veins when you brutally torture and murder these women who he had approached first.

Your face was stained with blood and Nikolai's precum as he tapped the head of his heavy cock against your cheek, montioning for you to open up. You obeyed like the good little girlfriend you were, tongue hanging out and all as you accepted his throbbing cock into your warm mouth, gagging slightly as it hit the back of your throat. He shuddered, grinning down at you, his gloved hand holding your hair up in a makeshift ponytail while you tried your best not to let your eyes roll back. It wasn't even all the way in yet. "Oh just look at you~ struggling to take my cock, dove? Should I get a new bitch, then? I bet she could take my cock f—" His breath hitched and hips stuttered when you suddenly look him all the way down to the base, throat contracting around him. "There we go... I knew you had it in you, pretty thing." Tears were flowing down your cheeks at this point, it fucking hurt. Nikolai let go of your hair and gripped the back of your head instead, slowly pulling you off of his cock until only the tip was inside then slamming back in with full force.

You definitely needed some medicine after.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, likes and reblogs are very appreciated♡

[erenspussy420]

Morning and Evening 💦

Eyo, MDNI 18+ ONLY

This fic is for anyone really, think of your fictional crush or whatever or hell don’t even put in a name, this was just brainrotting from start to finish. Think of it as a Modern Au I guess as it  is....vaguely. But this is smut, does that REALLY Matter?

FEM INSERT x Male Crush

Warning: THIS HAS ALOT OF MENTION OF CUM, CUM AND I HAVE NO SHAME. Just a horny ass reader, don’t shame me

His hips rocked into you steady with strong thrusts, the bed creaks under you but neither of you care, both too caught up in the pleasures of your fuck session to care about your bed breaking. Your legs spread for him, bra pulled off tossed somewhere along with your skirt and your panties shoved to the side for his cock to plunge into you without mercy. You're panting, moaning for him as your nails claw his back.

"Cum, I want it!... Mmgh, give it to me," you ramble at him, squealing as pulls up up by your thighs, fucking your harder." Please, I want it so much!"

"I'm going to fill you up, until you're leaking it," he kissed you neck, he left so many marks on it," your mine. Mine. Mine and all my cum is yours."

Even if he fills you with all his cum again, it wasn't ever enough for you. The second you feel in you, gushing hot warmth that leaked down your thighs, you keep your hold on his shoulders tightly. You want it in you, but the wanting of feeling the hot cum spurt on your chest made you want more. You want to be covered in it.

But alas, your lover had to leave for work, kissing you goodbye, he tried to clean you up from your rough session but you bat his hands away when he tried. He'll make it up for you, he promised himself. He can hear you in your shared room as he leaves, thinking you were going to shower off his mess.

However, you didn't, not even by a long shot. You wiggle your hips at the mirror, watching as the cum from him leak out of your pussy, you feel your pussy throb and the ache comes back again.

You dip your fingers in and went back to work.

.

.

.

When he came back home,  he wasn't expecting to see you with your arched back, tits nice and budded being pinched without mercy, with your fingers of your free hand delving into your wet folds over and over again, you're practically fucking your hand. His keys fell out of his hand in shock, eyes watching your fingers dip in and out, in and out with the wet sopping of your wet pussy.

"Ahh ah ah mmmm," your moaning sounded so fucking dirty, you keep snapping your hips trying to fuck your hand harder. He can hear the blood rush in his ears as he takes in the cum, he feels the lump in his throat hard to swallow at the idea of his cum from the morning, dried on your thighs and chest.

His dick felt like it was gonna suffocate.

"Ah you're home goood," you slur, you pull your soaked fingers from your pussy and rub the warm fluids over your abused clit.," come here, please please I want your tongue in me."

"Yes mam," his words tumbled out, and he tried to rip off any clothes he had on. His eyes never left the sinful image of your fingers delving back into your pussy. You flip yourself over, and raise your ass shaking it at him like a bitch in heat. Your hands reached for your lips and spread it for him like a meal.

"Eat me."

.

.

.

 His tongue played with your clit as his fingers plunged into your pussy over and over again. Your walls are sucking his fingers and clenching him wanting more and more, his knees are beginning to hurt from kneeling on the bed, but he isn't going to give this up for anything. The house can be on fire for all he cares, he just wants to fill you with all the cum you want. He sucks on the bead groaning as he feels your hand grab his hair tightly. You hump his face," Fuck, your tongue..mmm..in me…me now."

The loud noise of a pop and he sucks your clit off one more time before taking his soaked fingers out and replacing it with his tongue. You squeal and with both hands push him in further, trying to his his tongue deeper in you. You feel it lap up your juices eating you so well.

Your words of praise are sloshing together, too lost in the pleasure to say anything coherent for him, but he doesn't mind. With your hands both occupied with his head, his dick is leaking the whole time. He's taking care of it, his boxers shoved down with his wet fingers, coating it with your own fluids and beginning to jack himself as he eats you. Squeezing his cock when your thighs squeeze him. Going faster as you hump him. He feels you sitting up and with your hand letting his head go, he looks up briefly to see you play with your clit. The fucked out look in your face makes his cock shoot out hot cum, coating his hand with it.

You look devastated at the sight of his cum, wasted now in his hands. Before he can say 'sorry' to you, your hand still grabbing his hair pulls his head back.

"Put it in me." 

And back his fingers, sticky with cum, into her pussy. You sigh, before rocking your hips into his fingers again. "Now back to work," you tell him. 

What a beautiful day.

[deceitfuldevil]

Hey, I think your requests are open, I could be wrong tho, but if they are open could you do face riding with Pietro maximoff please 😩😩

my requests are always open, I encourage as many requests as possible darling! Also so down to write this because I haven't written for Pietro in a hot minute.

Valentine's Breakfast

Pietro Maximoff X Reader

Summary: Pietro knows the perfect way to greet you when you wake up the morning of your first Valentine’s Day together, and it’s guaranteed to make you see stars.

Warnings: porn with little plot, face riding, mentions of an erection, AFAB reader, female receiving oral, swearing, not beta-read.

Word Count: 1.4K

It was your first Valentine's Day with Pietro as a couple, and ever since you explained the holiday to him once he moved into the compound officially he couldn't wait to celebrate with you. He knew vaguely of the holiday, but considering the failing state of Sokovia when he was growing up there wasn't much of a market for it.

You had officially gotten together shortly after the battle of Sokovia, Tony claimed he saw it coming after you were caught flirting with him on the battlefield while the rest of the team was still trying to take down the hydra base. “Y/n, keep your eyes open for two enhanced individuals. One is too fast to see, beware” Steve warned over the intercom. “Yeah yeah I’ll keep an eye out” you said back without an actual care in the world. Maybe you’d actually listen to what Cap said if he also wasn’t the one to recommend you start far out on the field away from the battle because you “weren’t ready for battle”.

“Are you hearing something I’m not dragá?” Pietro questioned, stepping closer to your frame as you leaned back against a snowy tree.

“Just my boss somewhere on the inside warning me about something on the outside.” you said with an eye roll “it’s nothing that concerns you, I promise.” you reassured him.

“The thing is, I’m supposed to be on the inside right now. So, sorry in advance for what I’m about to do.” He says quickly, and before you can even ask what he means by that you're knocked over on your ass with the back of your head hitting the tree you were just leaning up against.

“Wish I could say I didn’t see that coming kid, but you were fraternizing with the enemy. Or should I say, flirting?” Tony said, hearing the whole thing over comms and knowing exactly who you were talking to. Beyond that, the rest between you and Pietro was history. You weren’t officially together when the Maximoff’s agreed to move into the Avengers compound, but Tony still jumped the gun and made your room Pietro’s room as well. Informing Clint that he lost the bet when you thanked Tony for his decision.

Now it was nearly 11am as you were just starting to wake up, Tony was nice enough to give all couples in the compound the day off. Mostly because besides you and Pietro that also included him and Pepper, besides the point. You rolled over to see a smiley Pietro with his silver waves all messy and cute. “Good morning dragosté” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” he added, his smile getting wider.

“Ah so that’s why you’re so smiley this early in the morning.” you replied with a chuckle, running a hand through his unruly hair only ruffing it up more.

“I have a surprise for you.” he chimed, laying on his back fully.

“Oh? And what’s that?” you asked teasingly.

“Get on top of me and find out.” he stated, starting to pull the covers off his toned body.

“Great, my Valentine’s Daygift is that I get to do all the work?” you joked, getting ready to swing your body over his despite your suspicions.

“Just trust me dragá.” Pietro insisted as you slotted your hips over his.

“Yeah sur- oh.” you said as your weight sunk down onto pietro. . . he was already at half mast at 11 in the morning. A cheeky grin spread across his face as he gently lifted his hips and grinded into your covered heat. “Oh.” you said lowly, eyes gently fluttering shut. “That’s not even the best part.” Pietro claimed, one hand lifting your shirt enough to expose your panties and the other hooking onto them before- riiip!

“Hey!” you shouted, watching your now ripped underwear be discarded somewhere in your room. “Ah ah,” Pietro scolded, both his hands now coming around your waist and grabbing your ass firmly. “Climb on, princessá.” he said in a sultry tone, his hands on your bottom now lifting up and bringing you towards his face. You smirked down at him “are you sure?” you asked, now hovering over his face. “More than sure.” he admitted, nothing but pure lust in his eyes.

Hesitantly, you lowered yourself onto Pietro’s eager face, but you obviously weren’t quick enough because Pietro placed his hands on your hips and forcefully brought your heat down onto his face and eagerly started eating away.

You cried out loudly, your hands desperately searching for something to hold on to and anchor you to this physical realm. One of your hands gripped the headboard of your shared bed, the other tightly grasped his dark roots. Under you Pietro was going at it like a man starved, his tongue eagerly lapping in and out of your slick entrance as his large nose pressed up firmly against your clit. You weren’t even sure how he could breathe, it was like you were his oxygen.

Your worries and fears about crushing your beloved boyfriend subsided as the pleasure he was providing beneath you increased, you started to grind down softly on his face as his nose increased pressure on your sensitive bud. Pietro let out a muffled moan as you continued to grind against his face, sending beautiful vibrations through your core and letting you know that he was enjoying this just as much as you.

His tongue expertly curled and flicked inside of you and his stubble began to tickle your rear, you were desperate to have him as far inside you as possible so you rode his face like no tomorrow. If Pietro wasn’t fucking his tonuge into your soaked cunt he was inteligently sucking on your throbbing clit, sending waves of pleasure through you as you cried out.

“Pietro,” you cried out breathlessly “Oh Pietro, please.” earning a symphony of moans from the man beneath you as he started to push you over the edge. He must’ve known that you were close, that man knew your body like the back of his hand. Pietro brought one of his hands from your hips to your breast as he groped and squeezed your supple tissue. The room started spinning and Pietro used his fingers to tweak and pinch your sensitive nipple, moans falling from your lips faster than you could compute.

“Pietro I- I’m, fuck!” you screamed out, thrusting against his face as you tried to verbalize a warning as you fell apart. But Pietro knew, he could feel you pulsating and tightening on his tongue. His other hand stayed firmly on your hip as he helped you ride out the intense orgasm. Your hips stuttered over his face as your sweet juices came rushing out and dribbled onto Pietro’s face, which he gladly lapped up may I add. As your hips started to slow Pietro brought his other hand back to your hand and soothed his palm over your sides. You were catching your breath as Pietro licked up the last of your orgasm as gently brought you off his face and laid you back down next to him.

He propped himself up on his side with his elbow as he watched you phase back into reality, a now slick grin on his face. A few moments later once you had fully caught your breath you turned to see your boyfriend looking gleeful as ever. You laughed breathlessly as you playfully rolled your eyes at him. “I’m beginning to think that you enjoyed that more than me.” you said, rolling onto your side to face him completely.

“And would it be such a crime if I did dragosté?” he asked, bringing one hand to your face and soothing his thumb over your cheek.

“Wasn’t that little activity supposed to be for my pleasure?” you asked accusingly.

“Oh don't worry my sweet, you’ll get a lot more pleasure today. . . I promise.” Pietro said confidently, pulling you in for another kiss.

-

A/N

Hell yeah mf I missed writing requests and I’m proud I can still do them. . . anyways that was hot and I’m glad to say I officially spent my Valentine's Day writing smut. Also it’s my two year anniversary of starting on tumblr so cheers to that! Hope this request exceeded your expectations nonnie!

Much Love,

—Skyler

[bump1nthen1ght]

At the End of the Day

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Non-Binary Tentacle Monster (It/It’s pronouns used)

Genre: Fluff, First Times, Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Content up ahead (18+ only!), Tentacles, Slight mention of Aphrodisiacs

Word Count: 2904 Words

Summary: After an exhausting day at work, you find some unexpected comfort from under your bed

Request :Omg I love your Forest Fun fic💕 Could I req a NSFW with a tentacle monster, monster under your bed? I was thinking of a lonely reader, meeting their under the bed mate one night where they were hang their hand off the bed, hoping for a monster to hold it and love them, AND IT DOES! Tysm I love your writing!!!

You officially concluded it was a bad day when you collapsed on your bed at 12 AM, too tired to sleep and too dehydrated to cry your feelings out.

You had been on your feet for nine hours, been screamed at for three, and had barely had time to heat up a cup of ramen noodles before almost passing out from exhaustion. Not even the comfort of a screen could help, having forgotten to record the newest episode of your favorite show and having left your phone charger at home all day.

All in all, you 're having a bad time.

You sluggishly pull up your blankets, only in your underwear because putting on pajamas was too much work, and are left to look at your ceiling.

The bed is cold, not yet warmed by your body heat, and the sheets feel a little itchy. You groan, wondering if one thing, one thing, could go right today.

It’d be nice if you had someone to cuddle. Maybe a pillow would suffice, but it’s the thought of someone’s soft touch, playing with your hair, the sound of their heartbeat against your ear. Someone to massage out the stress from your back and shoulders, and remind you that everything would be alright; Whispering promises of a better tomorrow.

But that doesn’t just happen overnight.

You throw your hands over your face, groaning into your palms as you beg your mind to just let you sleep. Dragging your fingers down your cheeks, you let out a pitiful whine before you flip over to your stomach and try to find comfort that way.

You stuff your face into your pillow, one hand dangling off the side of your bed, fingers just barely brushing the carpet. You trace patterns into the fabric, wondering how nice it would feel to be wrapped in something that warm and cozy. Something big enough to envelope you whole, pinning you to the bed. Something with nice warm hands to fill yours, that will pet the back of knuckles and kiss them goodnight. Something that would travel up your wrist, hot and sensual, leaving a trail of warm ooze that-

Wait.

What the fuck.

Your hand jerks upwards, the liquid now running down your forearm glistening. You pull your face out your pillow and throw yourself to the other side of the bed, eyes racing back and forth across your room.

It’s the same as before, only moon light shining through your window and the low hum of your fan accompanying it. You take another look at your hand, streaks of slime dribbling down the sides. It’s warm, the consistency of aloe vera, and sort of smells like...vanilla?

With your heart pounding, you slowly inch over to the side of your bed, not daring to look too far over, too afraid of what you might see.

You fly backwards when the tip of something black and shiny comes up and over your sheets, tentatively tapping the side. It looks like it’s feeling around for something.

Was it looking for you?

You freeze as the tentacle reaches farther and farther up the sheets, thrashing around as you avoid it’s touch, until another one joins it in the search. You don’t move an inch, fearing any shifting of the blankets would alert the creature to your presence.

The tentacles reach about half-way across the bed, almost brushing against your toes, when they freeze. You hold a breath and watch them slowly slink back underneath, wondering if now is the time to lose your shit.

A pair of eyes-wait, no, two pairs of eyes peer up from the side, glowing yellow in the dark. Their pupils expand as they take in the darkness, darting around until they see you, curled up against the corner of your headboard.

There’s a soft churring noise, like the startup of a vacuum or the sound of birds singing. A tiny tentacle comes up, sheepishly tapping the sheets as the creature stares at you.

“....Alright?” It murmurs. It’s voice is scratchy, like it’s trying to make sounds it never has before.

“What?” Your mouth, barely making a whisper. The tentacle points to your hand, still covered in ooze.

“Smelled...sad.” The creature sniffs, slightly raising it’s head so you can see the bottom half of its face. It resembled that of a human, but the mouth extended all the way back to it’s jaw, hinged like a snake. You can see several rows of sharp teeth and the purplish tongue that comes out and wets it’s...lips? “Thought….I could help.” The tentacle draws a circle into your bed covers, the creature's eyes darting away as it’s skin flushes an even darker black; Indigos and deep violets highlight the contours of it’s face. “Don’t like it...when you are sad….”

You think you’ve lost your chance to have a breakdown, your mind already switching to numb out the wave of realizations you are going through right now. All you can focus on are the bashful look on the creature's face, the way it’s tentacles nervously tuts back and forth, and how warm your hand felt in its embrace. How nice it felt.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You mutter, finally able to make proper words. “I appreciate it.” You unconsciously rub your thumb over the palm of your slick hand, noting how hot it still is, how it relaxes your muzzles like a warm bath.

The creature just nods, resting it’s chin on the bed.

“Feeling...better?”

You shrug. “Uh...a little bit. A good hand-hold is always nice.”

At that, the creature perks up, and you can see some more tentacles come up the bedside. They beckon you to come closer, massaging the mattress and somehow leaving no trails of their slime. The creature swallows, rubbing the back of its neck.

“...Could make you feel….really good….If you...want.”

Your eyebrow quirks, the cogs of your brain working extra slow tonight. But the way the creature flushes, the way it’s tentacles writhe so sensually, you soon start to get the picture.

A logical person might have said no. Might’ve screamed, thrown on the light, and barricaded their bedroom. Probably called the authorities, or animal control.  

But isn’t this what you’d been asking for? And they were sweet enough to pick you up when you were down. Even asked for your permission afterwards, and made a conscious effort to not make a total mess of your bed.

Maybe it’ was the nine hours of pure hell, maybe it’s the fact it’s the most physical contact you’ve had in months, but there’s a part of you that really wants to say yes.

And it’s probably the sleep deprivation that makes you actually do it.

“Yeah. I-I think I would like that.” You slowly unfurl yourself, the creature's face lighting up as you slowly crawl over to it. It’s tentacles thrash around unabashedly, some too eager to even wait for you to get closer, tickling the tops of your knees and nipping at your fingers. You giggle as one finds a ticklish spot. “What’s your name?” You whisper, falling into the soft touches of it’s tentacles as you get closer and closer to the creature’s face. It’s still flushed purple, it’s eyes racing over your body.

“Ghitir.” It croaks, taking a deep breath as your oversized night shirt slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin to it’s greedy eyes. It’s flattering, how much it wants you.

You pull down your collar even more, letting it fall past your collarbone and show just a peak of your chest. A tentacle has begun crawling up your leg, the thick ooze leaving a warm trail along the outside of your thigh, and you gently grab it. Ghitir shudders as you stroke your thumb over the tentacle, feeling the way it’s muscles push against your palm.

It’s hot breath brushes across your face as you look into its four eyes, not realizing how close you had gotten to it. Your eyes fall it’s mouth, where it’s long tongue darts out for a second.

“My name’s _____.” You punctuate the sentence with a kiss, one which Ghitir reciprocated hungrily. It’s tongue along your lips before darting into your mouth, your hands running up the back of its neck as you sink deeper into the feeling.

The tentacles have grown bolder, several now pushing past the bottoms of your pajama shorts and others going under your shirt. One slides up the center of your chest, it’s tip barely touching your nipples as the others run along your pelvis. You can feel slime drip down your behind as several caress your ass, pulling the fabric of your shorts higher and higher as they squeeze. The liquid has gotten even hotter, making your skin buzz and tingle.

All the sensations come together in a perfect tidal wave, so much so that even the rubbing of your pajamas against your crotch has you keeling into Ghitir, thrusting your hips against your mattress. Ghitir churrs, pulling it’s tongue out of your mouth to lather your jaw and neck in kisses. There’s a slight sting as you feel claws dig into your lower back, your hazy eyes glancing downwards to see Ghitir’s four, vaguely humanoid-arms, push you closer to it’s body. It pants and yanks on the shirt fabric, urging you to take it off. You do so in one quick motion, but before you let Ghitir lunge for another kiss, you yank it’s shoulders upwards and onto your bed, revealing all of its body to you.

It’s torso and arms connect to a mass of rolling tentacles, big and small, all of which latch onto you as you fall back onto the bed. Some squirm under your waistband, pushing your shorts and underwear past your crotch and down to your thighs. You shimmy your legs and kick them off your ankles, a shiver running down your spine as cold muscle presses up against your sex. Ghitir leans down into the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breath as it’s cold skin presses into your chest. Your nipples pebble and you run your hands down it’s back, nails digging into it’s clenched muscles.

Ghitir’s tentacles rub your crotch, undulating while one slinks down to your entrance. Beads of liquid smear off of it and into your skin, it’s tip just ghosting over your hole. The knot in your stomach burns hotter, your crotch thrusting upwards, trying to catch that fleeting sensation. But Ghitir is focused on covering your neck and shoulders in sloppy kisses. Sweat drops down your neck and it licks up toward your jaw, shuddering a groan from the taste.

Your head is hazy and your eyes have a hard time focusing, but you're able to feel your way to a tentacle, grabbing it by the thickest part and rubbing your thumb up it’s side. Ghitir lurches forward, it’s tongue lolling out with a shaky squeal. The tentacle teasing your entrance seizes, pressing up against the sensitive skin but not quite pushing through. You move your hand farther up the tentacle, squeezing intermittently before you reach the tip. You brush the pad of your index finger over it and a drop of slime drips down your wrist. One pair of Ghitir’s hands has moved down to your hips, it’s claws slightly pinching your skin as you press your finger down on it’s tip. It bites back a groan, rolling it’s lower half into the bed when you lick a stripe up the tentacle. It’s slime isn’t salty like human sweat, but sweet, almost like nectar.

You press your abdomen upwards, pressing kisses against the tentacle, your other hand grabbing another and half-hazardly jerking it up and down. Drool is dripping down Ghitir’s face, it’s eye’s locked onto you. You wink, erotically sticking your tongue out as you lick up, and up, and up, until just the tip rests on your bottom lip. With a tentative lick, you open your mouth wide and suck down the tentacle like a lollipop.

Ghitir’s forehead falls against yours. It’s tentacles convulse as you suck in your cheeks and move your head up and down, the tentacle in your mouth slowly stirring to action. It massages your tongue, shyly moving further and further into your mouth. Drool and Ghitir’s slime drips down your jaw as you let it slacken, the tentacle quickly hitting the back of your throat. The tip presses against your gag reflex, pulling back quickly once it hears you choke. But you give Ghitir a thumbs up, keeping a tight suction around the tentacle as it gently begins to face fuck you.

You can feel Ghitir’s hand’s shaking as it pounds your mouth, releasing more and more slime as it shudders inside your lips. You stop moving your head, letting Ghitir thrust into your mouth at it’s own pace, and reach forward and feel around for the tentacle pressed against your crotch. Your vision is dotted with black spots, but you eventually find the tip pressed so close to your entrance, pulling and urging it forward. Your eye’s shift toward Ghitir, it’s face locked onto the way you take it’s tentacle in your mouth. It’s tongue is hanging out of it’s mouth, cheeks nearly glowing with it’s bright blush, but it’s coherent enough to understand what you want.

The tentacle slithers out of your hand and presses against your soaked hole, dripping with it’s slime and your sweat. The tip finally pushes past your entrance and you can feel your eyes roll backwards as it stretches you open.

The tentacle is slightly smaller than the one in your mouth and although the pressure is relieving, it still leaves you wanting more. You jerk your hips forward, asking for it to punish your hole like it’s punishing your mouth. Ghitir nods, one of it’s hands stroking the side of your jaw as another tentacle slips inside of you, twisting with it’s twin and pressing against your walls. You moan once more, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, deliciously overwhelming.

The tentacles inside your curl around each other, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. The tentacle in your mouth starts to thrust erratically, more and more slime coating the back of your throat as it begins to spasm. You clamp your lips around the base, coating it in your saliva as it nears it’s climax.

Your legs feel shaky and buzzed, your movements uncoordinated as you focus on breathing and chasing your own orgasm,The pair of Ghitir’s hands on your hips help your lower half hump against its tentacles. With a yelp and quick jolt of your body, Ghitir realizes it’s finally found the perfect spot, the one that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling backwards. The tentacle in your mouth slows down, edging itself on your tongue and your lips, but the tentacles down below pick up the pace. They pull out until only their intertwined tips remain, right before surging back inside you.

Your bed springs squeak as Ghitir continues to pound you into the mattress, it’s free pair of hands roaming and groping all unattended parts of your body as you throw your hips upward with every thrust. It pinches your nipples and lays wet kisses all down your collarbone, your chest coated in slime, saliva, and sweat. The tentacle continues to just rub itself all over the inside of your mouth, shaking as it teases itself nice and slow. Tears drip down your face as you feel the rubber band snapping, the fire in your belly about to combust. You moan around the tentacle, gurgling a couple of “Yes, yes, yes!”

Ghitir purrs as your body begins to seizing up, it’s claws digging into your pelvis as the tentacles pick up their speed. The tentacle in your mouth retracts, gushes saliva and slime falling out of your mouth. But Ghitir quickly replaces it with its tongue, petting the side of your face as you make out.

There, there, there, right there, right there- The moan you let out is almost a scream, punctuated by a strong “Oh fuck!” as hot streams of Ghitir’s cum flood your insides. The smaller tentacle spasms, squirting it’s juices all over your sweaty chest as Ghitir bites its lip with a groan. You can feel your body slacken, your chest heaving as you collapse into your sheets, leaving only tiny kisses against Ghitir’s lips. It follows you as your head sinks into your pillow, finally pulling away to let you catch your breath.

Ghitir rests its forehead against the center of your chest, its tentacles slowly slithering out of you, dripping slime all over your bed. Its chest is still alight with a purple blush, their body shaking from all of the exertion.

You find yourself stroking the side of their face, mind still fuzzy as you trace the contours of their cheekbones and enjoy the unusual texture of it’s skin. Ghitir’s four eyes peak open, just as delirious as you are.

“Thanks.” You suck in a deep breath, “That was...amazing.”

It smiles, nuzzling its cheek into your stomach, a small purr rumbling through you.

“No...problem..”

Ghitir’s tentacles lay sprawled out below you, lazily petting your calves and feet as Ghitir draws lazy circles into your stomach.

In no time at all, you fall asleep.

[zackcollins]

my heart || shohei ohtani

masterlist

Author’s Note: Hello, my peeps! This was another anonymous request I got! It was a request based on a three second clip someone sent me of Ohtani hitting his bat against something in frustration. They asked me to write something based around that. I hope I did it justice for whoever sent it in! Let me know! GIF credit to canubelievethis!

Warnings: Maybe an allusion to sexual overtones? It’s nothing graphic or anything. There’s just a make out session that gets a little steamy. I’ll include the warning just to be safe because you can never be too careful, ya know?

Word Count: 1.3k+

Title: She’s Got It All by Kenny Chesney

Additional: The reader is mentioned to be a member of the Angels. So, maybe that would make them masculine since, as far as we know, every player in the MLB is masculine. That being said, I still made the language vague to make them appear to be gender-neutral because I thought it would be nice for everyone to be able to envision themselves as being a baseball player. Ya know? Also. I didn’t know who the heck the Angels were playing on the day the clip was timestamped for. So like. I just decided for the sake of the fic, they’re playing Oakland. Hope that’s okay...? Anyways! I hope everyone enjoys this. and, as always, I love hearing feedback!

From where you were sitting in the dugout, you could tell that Shohei wasn’t happy as soon as he walked down the steps. He normally gave you a smile or a nod; this time, however, he ignored you and went straight for the equipment cubby that was next to the lineup card.

Just as you turned to ask him what was wrong, you saw him slam his bat against one of the compartments and mutter something angrily in Japanese. You could tell that he wanted to slam his helmet down but you saw him think better of it because he took it off and simply placed it inside of his cubby. He carefully slid his bat and protective gear in alongside it before he walked over to the bench and sat down beside you.

“Everything alright?” You asked, though you asked in Japanese so nobody else on the team would fully pick up on what you were saying.

Shohei looked at you pointedly and shook his head. He sighed and ran a hand down his face before he looked back out over the field. “That at bat was bullshit. I should’ve gotten a hit.”

You brought your hand over and gently squeezed his knee. Shohei brought his own hand over and squeezed your knee, running his thumb along your knee briefly. You shivered a little, swallowing thickly at how nice the sensation made you feel. Shohei then brought his hand up and started massaging your thigh. Your throat went completely dry as you looked down at his hand and then up at him. He wasn’t even looking at you; he was still focused on what was happening on the field. And that appeared to be Oakland getting ready for their turn at the plate because Jared had grounded out to Matt Olson.

When you realized you hadn’t responded to what Shohei had said yet, you swallowed to collect yourself. You didn’t want to sound too distressed when you spoke for fear of giving away how Shohei rubbing your thigh was really making you feel.

“I know that’s how you feel,” you said, though your voice still came out croakier than you would’ve liked. Shohei shifted his attention from the field to look at you, his expression one of slight amusement.  He had a smirk on his face as he continued to run his hand along your inner thigh, though he had moved it lower so that it was further away from your crotch. “But Sean threw a nasty pitch. I think you should be proud of yourself for even getting wood on it to pop out to Chapman.”

Shohei hummed, nodding along to what you were saying. “Maybe you’re right. A pitcher like myself should be able to recognize the talent of another pitcher such as Sean Manaea.”

“Exactly!”

Shohei smiled as he continued to run his hand along your inner thigh. You inhaled sharply when he once again got close to your crotch. Shohei raised an eyebrow and quirked the corner of his lip into a smile. He motioned his head toward the tunnel that lead to the clubhouse before he slipped off the bench and walked away. You waited a few minutes so it didn’t seem suspicious before you followed after him.

Once you were in the tunnel and away from the cameras and the prying eyes of your teammate, you smoothed out the crease Shohei’s hand had caused in your pants. Shohei only smirked as he grabbed both of your wrists, held your hands above your head, and backed you against the wall. You made a surprised noise because you hadn’t been expecting to be manhandled like that, though you weren’t exactly going to complain when you looked at Shohei and saw the look of pure determination in his eyes.

Shohei slotted his knee between your legs as he smirked at you. He grabbed both of your wrists between one hand, using the other hand to wipe some sweat off of your forehead. You breathed a couple of uneven breaths, suddenly very overwhelmed by what was transpiring. When Shohei brought his free hand down to untuck your jersey, you swallowed thickly and rocked your hips against his knee.

“How long?” Shohei asked, putting his hand underneath your jersey once it was untucked. He carefully began to move it along your skin, shifting it to your side to gently brush his fingertips over your ribs. You shivered as you rocked down against his knee again. Shohei looked at you pointedly and squeezed your wrists tightly. “How long, (Y/N)?”

“Huh... How luh—long for what?” You stuttered a little because you were having trouble keeping your breathing even from how overwhelmed Shohei was making you feel.

“How long have you wanted to do this with me?”

“Seh... Sehc—second week of the season.”

Shohei leaned in so that his lips were just barely separated from your ear. He blew a warm breath against the shell, causing you to shiver before he whispered: “Second week of spring training for me.”

You swallowed around a thick knot in your throat as Shohei dropped your wrist. Without hesitation, you brought your hands to the front of his jersey, pushed him backwards, and connected your lips to his. Shohei smirked into the kiss before he started moving his lips in tandem with yours. To make matters worse, he was gently, tortuously moving his knee against your crotch. It was making you want to hit him with the baseball bat in the same way he hit the equipment cubbies with his baseball bat earlier. It was driving you mad and you loved it.

“Uh... Shohei? (Y/N)?”

You pulled your lips apart and turned to see who had interrupted you. Standing at the top of the stairs was Max Stassi. He was holding an iPad and looking rather flustered.

“Can we help you, Max?” You asked, dropping your hands from Shohei’s jersey and sticking them in your pants pockets instead.

“I, uh, came to find you,” he pointed to you as he held up the iPad, “I wanted to discuss how we’re gonna attack the A’s hitters tomorrow since I’m the one catching your start.”

You glanced up at Shohei; Shohei nodded before he stepped backwards.

“Alright. I’ll come have a look so we can figure it out.”

“Th—Thanks.” Max rubbed the back of his neck as he looked nervously between you and Shohei. “Sorry to interrupt by the way. Do you two need a few more minutes? I’m willing to wait.”

Shohei shook his head as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“No, it’s alright. We can pick this up later.” He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You felt your face heat up as you looked over at Max; Max smiled awkwardly as he shifted from foot to foot and fidgeted with the iPad in his hands. “We’ve waited this long to get together. What’s waiting a little longer?”

You reached out and patted Shohei on the chest, smiling weakly as you did. Shohei chuckled as he patted your upper arm in return. He kicked your cleat before he walked away, walking past Max and back into the dugout. You saw him slap Max’s ass and mouth ‘sorry’ as he walked past but all Max did was chuckle nervously and give a half-assed thumbs up in reply.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Max,” you said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Max looked at you with a confused expression as he leaned against the doorway. He held the iPad against his chest and crossed his ankles over one another.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he chuckled. “Trust me. I’d tell you if I was.”

“What’s the problem then? Because you look like something’s off.”

“Everyone had a bet going for how long it would take you two to get together.”

“Who won?”

Max smirked, motioning over his shoulder. “Shohei.”

“Bastard!”

“I’m your bastard, though!” Shohei yelled from somewhere in the dugout.

“Yes. Yes you are.”

[wildernessuntothemselves]

I'm Yours, You're Mine | 7

Word Count: 4k

Genre: Smut, angst

Warnings: yandere!felix, sub!felix, dom!felix, sub!reader, dom!reader, mentions of violence, character death, drugging, noncon, breeding kink, binding, doggy

GIF CREDIT @christopherbanq

You wake up in a warm embrace, surrounded by the sweet, vanilla scent of Felix. Opening your eyes, you’re met with the splatter of his freckles that seem to glow under the sunlight. Everything feels perfect. It feels right, and you wish you could stay in this moment forever, protected from all that has happened or will happen. But you can’t, the memories of last night’s darkness creep around the corners of the brightly lit room, seeping the warmth out of it until everything is plunged into darkness.

Felix opens his eyes, his bright sparkling eyes, unaware of the darkness surrounding him, his ignorance protecting him. But his light diminishes as his gaze focuses on you.

“Noona, why are you crying?” He asks, arms pulling you even closer to him to the point where you don’t know where your skin ends and his begins.

“Chan…” You sputter, little sobs rattling your chest now. Felix frowns sharply, “Did he do something to you?”

You shake your head, your tears now flowing down your cheeks. “He’s in the hospital. Someone attacked us while we were coming back from the cinema yesterday.”

Felix bolts upright, pushing you at an arm’s length and scrutinizing every inch of your body. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but Chan is.” You wail, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his shoulder. “He’s hurt really bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” For the first time, Felix doesn’t comfort you, his body rigid in your embrace and you hesitantly pull back to look at him. He is completely still, a numb look on his face. And you suddenly realize how thoughtless you’ve been. Despite their fight, Felix and Chan have been best friends for years, way before you met either of them. You should’ve told him as soon as it happened.

“Is he going to be okay?” His lips quiver as he speaks, his eyes terrified and looking through yours for help, and you could smack yourself for being so selfish.

“Oh, baby.” You breathe, pulling him into your embrace again. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

_______________________

He wasn’t.

Chan hasn’t woken up by the time you both visit him in the hospital, and the doctors were giving you vague responses every time you tried to ask about his condition--if he’s going to be okay, if he’s even gonna make it--and that petrifies you.

“We’re doing the best we can, but I can’t say anything for certain. He’s in a really bad condition.” The doctor informs you after you’d asked for the millionth time. You nod heavily and he lets you know that he’ll be there if there is anything else you need before he leaves. Yeah, right. The doctors were basically running from you at this point. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant.

“Thank you, doctor.” You mumble. You feel guilty, like this is all your fault for wishing for Felix to come back, like somehow this had been a bargain by a cruel god, giving you Felix back but taking Chan away.

As soon as the doctor leaves, Felix falls to the floor beside the bed sobbing. You run to him and wrap your arms around him and he immediately leans into your touch. “I did this.” He wails and your body goes stiff, your breath stuck in your throat, choking you.

But then he continues, “I wished for this the night he threw me out. I was so angry at him, but I never wanted it to really happen.”

Your body turns to jelly, the fear that had gripped it was so intense that it left no energy in its wake, and you can’t even caress Felix’s back to comfort him.

_______________________

The police interview you over and over, asking you to remember if there is something about the man who mugged you that you’re forgetting that could help identify him. You don’t have to force yourself to remember, you see him in your dreams every night, and every night you wake up screaming, poor Felix having to comfort you and kiss you back to sleep, never once complaining.

Through it all, those few agonizing days, you held a terrible secret close to your chest. You felt wretched just thinking about it, but you couldn’t help it. You knew he was going to die anyway. You just wished it would happen sooner than later so you could properly grieve instead of being stuck in this fake limbo, pretending like you think he’s going to make it, even to Felix, so that he wouldn’t completely break down.

You go to visit him less and less until you stop completely, which doesn’t paint you in a very favorable light in front of law enforcement or the doctors, letting Felix go on his own to the hospital every day. But fuck them. What do they know about the pain you’re going through? The guilt?

When it finally happens, you can’t believe it. They say he coded in the night and they tried to do everything to save him, even brought him back a couple of times, but it was ultimately useless. He was gone.

You had to see him for yourself to believe it. You went alone. Felix couldn’t bear to look at his best friend’s now dead body. He begged you not to go but you needed to.

As you gaze across his face, you’re thrust back to that night. You had heard that dead people often have a peaceful look on their face, but Chan didn’t look peaceful. It almost looks angry, accusatory, asking you why you weren’t there for him.

He doesn’t forgive you, but it’s okay. You don’t forgive yourself either.

_______________

The case officially turned into a murder investigation following Chan’s death. His body was handed over to the coroner to do an autopsy and try to gather any forensic evidence left, but neither yielded much information, and the police had no leads.

Soon, the case turned cold.

As for you, you had moved in with Felix,, unable to step back into your apartment without Chan. Fearing that in doing so you’d be acknowledging that he’s gone, and then his spirit would remember to come back to haunt you.

Felix takes such good care of you, even though he’s the one who has the right to be hurt more. He stuck around you all the time, making you feel safe and comforting you. He also kept his distance as much as he could. You could tell he wanted to seek comfort in your body, to help each other through this pain, but you were selfish as always. You only let him comfort you. You never comforted him back.

As the months passed, Felix started getting more and more needy, making you feel even more wretched even though he never said anything. He loved you and you loved him, but Chan’s death had pushed a wedge between you. You couldn’t touch the younger boy without feeling guilty. It felt like you were cheating on Chan more than you ever did before, and so you kept Felix at a distance.

For his part, Felix never outright made an advance on you, respecting your need to grieve, but you could tell from the boner he’d get every time you kissed him even a sweet innocent little kiss or put your arms around him that he needed more, and it made you feel even more horrible. You couldn’t help Chan when he was alive and now you can’t help Felix. You felt like the most selfish fucking human being in the world.

So when you’re woken up from sleep one night, feeling hot and with something hard poking against your ass, you decide to finally give back.

“Noona...” Felix whimpers into your ear, nuzzling his face in the nape of your neck, making goosebumps erupt along your body. You weren’t ready to go all the way yet but at least you could give him some release.

Turning on your back, you guide him to straddle you and let yourself slip into the right headspace. "You dirty little thing, humping your noona in her sleep?"

His eyes light up when he realizes that for the first time in a long time, you’re reciprocating, and he sighs in relief, starting to grind his hips against yours. Tantalizing, you lower the straps of your nightgown, a delicate pink satin piece that Felix bought for you, to expose your tits for him. He hums appreciatively, reaching out to touch, but you slap his hand away. “Only look.”

He shudders, nodding, and humps against you faster. "Noona, please, fuck me. Fuck your dumb baby."

"No whining." You reprimand, lifting his shirt up to his mouth and he obediently bites on it, muffling his noises. With the shirt up, his boxers are exposed, and you watch as every time he thrusts forward, the tip of his dick pokes out from his boxers, red and leaking. “And I thought you’d thank me for being so nice to a pervert like you.”

Felix pants around the fabric in his mouth, his dick dripping over your panties. Placing your hand on his ass, you feel the muscle clench and relax as he ruts desperately against you. “Is this how you wanna fuck noona? You think your little dick can make me feel good?”

He pushes the shirt out of his mouth with his tongue and babbles. “I can noona. Just let me put it inside.” He grabs his dick and runs the head of it over your clothed slit, making you shiver at the stimulation. Then he pushes the head against your hole but is prevented from pushing in because of the underwear “Just let me put it in, noona.”

“You’re a greedy little kitten aren’t you? Put your hands up to your chest, kitty.” You order, and he reluctantly obeys. “Now stick your tongue out and pant for me.”

He does so with a flush, looking like a cat in heat. Absolutely filthy.

“That’s it. That’s a good, boy. Putting on a show for noona.”

He nods happily, high off the praise you’re giving him. "I'm gonna cum for you noona. Watch me cum for you."

“I’m looking, little whore. Cum for me.” You purr, cupping handfuls of his ass as you encourage his now sloppy thrusts.

Felix cries out, cum spurting out of the tip of his cock and landing on your pretty silk nightgown. You tut disappointedly, “Look at the mess you made, kitten. You ruined my nightgown with your filthy cum.”

“I’m sorry, noona.” Felix pants, not looking sorry at all. In fact, he looks enraptured by the sight in front of him. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

He falls over your chest, suckling on your breasts gently as his breathing slows down and becomes deep as he falls asleep.

_____________________

That’s how things go for a long while. Just you helping Felix take the edge off without actually going all the way. You can tell he’s disappointed. He must’ve thought that this was the start of you reigniting your relationship, but you still can’t get yourself to be there for him in the way he needs you. And despite you acting romantically together and going on dates, you never officially acknowledged that you are in a relationship, and you can tell that this, more than anything, hurt him the most.

You feel pity and self-hate fill you up as you play with the boy’s hair, his head resting on your lap.

“How do you like the cocktail?” Felix asks lazily, taking you out of your thoughts.

You blink and take another sip of the drink he made you, appreciating the taste on your tongue. It’s actually pretty good, and you tell him exactly that. “But it seems quite strong. I’m a little lightheaded already. What’s in it, kitten?”

Felix giggles as he presses a finger to his mouth, making a shushing sound. “It's a secret.”

You smile fondly at him, soaking up his laughter along with the afternoon son, the calming rhythm of lix's breathing and the strong drink making you feel sleepy. You decide you’re gonna ask him if he’d like to take a nap with you, but before you can form your words, you abruptly get much sleepier, your eyelids turning to lead as they struggle to stay open to the world spinning around you.

You finally manage a little groan, attracting Felix’s attention. He looks up at you in question and his curious eyes are the last thing you see before it all goes black

_____________________

You wake up feeling hot and sticky. Groggily coming to, you blurrily see a mop of blonde hair over your exposed chest and feel wetness over your nipples. Despite your heavy head, you can immediately tell it’s Felix, and your thoughts trudge along as you try to think of what you were doing last but the memory is too fuzzy.

You’re easily distracted when you feel his moans against your skin as he kisses and suckles on your breasts, his hips dragging over your thigh needily. You try to move your hands to push him away, confused and mad that he is touching you without permission, but you only hear the sound of metal clanking as your hands stay above your head, and with a panic, you realize that you were shackled to the bed.

At the sound, Felix lifts his head up and smiles at you sweetly, as if nothing about this was weird. “Noona, you’re awake!”

You stare at him in bewilderment, and he finally realizes what’s wrong. Sheepishly, he explains, “I’m sorry. You were taking so long to wake up and I couldn’t help myself.”

His words don’t really make the situation much clearer. "What is happening? Why am I bound?"

He smiles, moving up your body so his nose is touching yours. "You've been bad noona, rejecting me for so long. I tried to wait. I tried to be good for you but you still kept rejecting me. So I decided to push things along a little."

"What?" You ask, throat dry.

"I put a sedative in your drink so you'd pass out and I can play with you." He explains cheerily, like that was a completely normal and benign thing to do.

"What the fuck, Felix?” You shout, pulling on your shackles in alarm. “You're crazy."

"Crazy over you." He giggles, pinning your hands to the bed so you wouldn’t struggle. “Now stop or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re the one who is hurting me!”

He frowns. “Don’t say that, noona. I’ve been taking good care of you, haven’t I?”

“And you think that gives you the right to drug and assault me?”

His frown deepens at that, all air of playfulness gone from around him. “Stop. Saying. That.” He grits, “I can’t assault you when you’re mine.”

He leans back and palms at your breasts greedily, his thumbs brushing over your wet buds, and you struggle to not arch up into his touch, a fresh wave of arousal sticking your shorts to your pussy even more. “You’re so perfect, noona.”

"Let me go." You cry, gradually getting more and more panicked.

"I'll never let you go again." His voice is gruff and it sends a shiver down your spine as he rubs his fingers over your clit coarsely. “So stop this or you’ll make me really angry, noona.”

You still immediately, thinking back on what he did last time he got mad. You could still feel the suffocation gripping your throat.

“If you’re wet, noona. I’ll know you want me too.” He pulls back from your chest and slowly peels your shorts down your legs, a gasp escaping him when he is undoubtedly greeted by your underwear sticking to your slick, puffy lips in arousal. “I knew it. Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

He grabs the top of your panties, pulling them up so they’d rub over your pussy, teasing you and delighting in watching you involuntarily squirm. “You’re so sensitive, noona.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.” He slinks your panties down your legs then pulls your thighs up, spreading your legs wide for him, and moaning out in appreciation. “Ah, fuck, noona…so hot.”

His fingers slowly rub over your exposed, drenched pussy, driving you crazy with the deliberate, wide strokes. You have to fight hard to not close your legs around him. “Want more, noona?”

You bite down on your tongue. You won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. Resolutely, his fingers trail down your pussy and into your warm, tight heat, and you can’t fight back the gasp that is ripped from you. You shake as his fingers ever so slowly pump in and out of you. And when he puts his mouth on you, your moans flow out, not caring anything for your ego.

Felix moans into your pussy, eating you out slowly too, maddening slow as if he was kissing you. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue on you make you burn in shame and arousal.

He stays between your legs a long time, driving you mad, his tongue deliberately moving along your folds and and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin, while his fingers stay inside your pussy and relentlessly but equally as slowly rub against that sweet spot inside you. You feel the burn gradually build in your body, it fries your brain and by the time you cum, your entire nervous system is on fire.

He climbs up your body, looking down at you with the most fucked out look on his pretty face, his eyes absolutely glazed over with lust as he bucks his crotch against you and kisses your mouth the same way he did your pussy. You taste yourself on him so clearly it feels like the taste is imprinted on his tongue forever.

Pulling away, a trail of saliva and cum connects your lips. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Let me go, baby.” You coax gently, hoping he won’t get upset if you’re sweet. “Let me go and I'll fuck you."

He shakes his head, "I know you're lying to me, noona. I know I have to break you in first before I let you go."

You pale, bile rising up your throat at the ominous words. "Break me in… how?"

"You’ll see." He giggles, craning your neck up and kissing your skin harshly, growling in between the sloppy kisses, "But when you're over those worthless boys, maybe you can fuck me again. I hate being a bad boy but this is the only way to make you see."

Pulling back from your stinging neck, he presses his dick to your entrance. Your pussy spasms around the tip of his dick, and he chuckles deeply. “Look how needy your pussy is for me. Noona was wasting time being a little slut and letting those bastards touch her when she could've had me." He says reproachfully, as if you were a misbehaving child, and it makes your anger flare up and overpower your fear.

"I don't want you, you freak." You spit out and he slaps you, hard, the force of it busting your lip open. Taking a deep break, he calms himself down and smiles again. "Now that's not very nice, noona. After all I've done for you." He leans down and licks at the drop of blood that sprung from your lip, moaning at the taste.

"You made me wait for so long, noona. I can't wait anymore." He shakes a little, as if it really was hurting him physically to hold back. Pushing into you, he lets out a shuddering cry. "I love you so much. You're finally mine."

You arch your back as he buries himself all the way inside of you, and he takes that opportunity to bend down and pluck one of your nipples into his mouth. You whimper against him, making him speed up his thrusts.

“I’m making you feel good, aren’t I, noona?” He grunts, keeping your legs wide open as he fucks into you but you don’t reply, angering him. Suddenly, you’re flipped onto your stomach, and he pushes himself between your spread legs so you can't close them, plunging his dick back inside you. “You will not ignore me, noona. I will not allow it.”

He steadies himself on both sides of you and leans over you, trapping you under him and fucking you hard and slow, trying to get as deep inside you as possible despite his size and making you shiver as his dick drags against your walls. He gradually speeds up, his dick gliding easily over the track it made, overwhelming your poor pussy.

He fucks you so well, and you’re entirely, completely ashamed of how good it feels. It seems like he is intent on humiliating you, his dick hitting the sweet spot inside of you perfectly with each thrust, and your pussy keeps clenching around him more and more as the sound of your flesh smacking together fills the room. You’re transfixed under him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open with your back perfectly arched to receive his thrusts, and soon, he grunts into your ear, "I'm so close."

Your eyes snap open urgently. “Pull out. I'm not on birth control. You can’t cum inside me." You explain hastily. You had stopped taking the pill ever since Chan had passed away. You weren’t fucking Felix so you felt no need to take it.

"I know, noona." He says and you almost sigh in relief, fully expecting Felix to whine but pull out. But to your horror, he continues, "Gonna breed you so you'll never leave me again."

Your breath catches in your throat and your nerves go numb. You sob, “Felix, please no. Pull out, baby please. I won’t leave. I’ll stay.”

“You will.” He promises you, and doesn’t pull back. Instead, fucking you harder and spanking your ass as he grunts loudly, "Take it like a good noona."

He empties himself inside of you, his hot cum flooding your pussy, and to your great shame, that pushes you to cum too, your pussy milking him obediently. He praises you happily, "Good noona, taking all my cum. Your pussy knows you belong to me."

You think he’ll be done now, having fucked you and filled you up. But to your horror, he turns you on your side and embraces you from behind. Lifting one leg up in the air, he starts fucking you again. With how wet you were and his previous ejaculation, wet lewd sounds fill the room along with his low grunts and your breathless gasps.

He spends the whole night fucking you, taking you in every position conceivable and making sure to empty every little drop inside of you, apologizing for being a bad boy and promising you that he'll take any punishment you give him once you’re pregnant with his baby and he can be sure you'll stay.

The worst part is that he makes sure you cum too, seeming intent on not allowing you any space to later claim like you didn’t enjoy yourself, murmuring praises into your ear every time you orgasm. "Good noona, cumming around my cock. Kitty is so happy with you. You wanna cum again?"

You are almost passed out when he’s done fucking you. Leaving you used up and sprawled out on the bed, he gets up to retrieve something. When he gets back on the bed, you purposefully don’t look at him, expecting him to now try to suck up to you and get you to forgive him.

But he doesn’t say anything and you suddenly jolt at the sharp sting you feel along your inner thigh. You look down in horror to see felix carving something with a knife onto your skin. His own name.

You shout and begin to struggle, only to quickly realize that you shouldn't be moving around with a sharp knife so close to your genitals, and Felix is aware of that too. He ignores your tearful pleas and pained screams until he’s all done. Brandishing the now bloody knife, he whispers conspiratorially, “Wanna know something, noona?”

You don’t reply but he doesn’t care, smiling as he pushes the knife to your throat. “This is the knife I used to stab Jisung.” Your stomach drops and your blood beats frenziedly against the knife pressed to your skin. “It’s also the same knife I used to kill Chan.”

You stay frozen in place, not even breathing, not even blinking.

"I didn't want to kill him. I really loved him. He was the only one I was willing to share you with but he left me no choice.” He goes on, pouting slightly as if he was lamenting losing his favorite mug. “But it’s better this way. Now you’re all mine. And once you're broken in, I'll let you use this to mark me up too."

____________________

A/N: let me know what you think of the ending. I love to hear it!

[riotwritesthings]

Other Random Collections!

And here you’ll find other little collections of fic! Some mixed into the other masterposts, but most not, and for some reason I just felt like keeping them together like this was important. Okay here we go!

Kinktober 2019 PWP

Day 1 - E, 1k - PWP, Winteriron, Inflation, omegaverse

Day 2 - E, 600 - PWP, Winteriron, Ass Worship, Begging

Day 3 - E, 1.3k - PWP, Winteriron,Knife Play

Day 4 - E, 550 - PWP, Winteriron, Mirror Sex, Dacryphilia

Day 5 - E, 750 - PWP, Winteriron, Sleepy Sex, Nipple Play (ART)

Day 6 - E, 700 - PWP, Winteriron, Biting

Day 7 - E, 2.1k - PWP, Winteriron, Praise-kink, Aphrodisiacs

Day 8 (If It’s Not Hate…) - E, 5.8k - PWP, Winteriron, Hate-fucking/Angry Sex, pining morons There’s a mission, pretty standard. There’s a bomb, also pretty standard. Tony throwing himself at the bomb before anyone else gets a chance? Yeah just another day at the office. What is new is Bucky tracking Tony down and cornering him, looking pissed when he usually avoids looking at Tony at all. Tony is kind of expecting some more yelling. That is not what Tony gets.

Day 9 - E, 2k - PWP, SteveTony "dom!tony (but bottom tony) x service top! steve and titfucking??"

Day 10 - E, 350 - PWP, WinterIron, Hair-pulling

Day 11 - E, 1.5k - PWP, WinterIron, Fem!Tony, vague nonpowered AU punk!bucky eating out fem!tony + he has his tongue pierced

Day 12 - E, 1.7k - PWP, WinterIron, Rimming

Day 13 - E, 850 - PWP, WinterIron, Gags, Creampie

Day 14 (In Agreement) - M, 1.8k - PWP, WinterIron, Shackled, Whumptober special! Tony gets taken during a fight. Bucky is trying not to panic, but The Asset knows exactly what to do. (Bonus Art) (Moodboard)

Day 15 - M, 600 - PWP, SteveTony, Uniforms

Day 16 - E, 1k - PWP, WinterIron, Frottage “#it goes from ‘nice romantic dinner’ to ‘fuck on the table’ real fast”

Day 17 - E, 2.4k - PWP, SteveTony, Masturbation, Collaring

Day 18 - E, 1k - PWP, WinterIron, Pinned down

Day 19 - E, 1.1k - PWP, WinterIron, Public, Formal Wear

Day 20 - E, 1.4k - PWP, WinterIron, omegaverse, Dirty talk “tony in his heat; bucky tries to see if he can get tony to come from words alone??”

Day 21 - E, 2.2k - PWP, SteveTony, Suspension “steve in the stealth suit with tony in negligee spread around his thighs.”

Day 22 - E, 1.9k - PWP, WinterIron, Temperature Play, monster sex..?

Day 23 - E, 1.1k - PWP, SteveTony, Size Difference “steve having to bend down completely to kiss tony and getting frustrated and lifting him onto the kitchen counter and fucking him”

Day 24 - M, 850 - PWP, WinterIron, Lap Dances winter soldier bucky and “i need money for uni” stripper tony

Day 25 - E, 700 - PWP, WinterIron, Distracted Sex, Cock Warming

Day 26 - T, 400 - PWP, WinterIron, roleplay

Day 27 - E, 600 - PWP, WinterIron, Wall Sex, Orgasm Denial

Day 28 - M, 500 - PWP, WinterIron, Spanking, Aftercare

Day 29 - E, 1k - PWP, WinterIron, Massage, Non-Powered AU

Day 30 - E, 900 - PWP, WinterIron, Gags, Stockings

Day 31 - E, 2.6k - PWP, WinterIron, Temperature Play, Size Difference, Biting, Begging, Monster sex..?

WinterIron Month '20 - WinterIron Canon and AU

How Not to Make Friends - T, 1k - College AU, Humor, meet-ugly SFW Sunday, “Did you just hiss at me?”

Had To - M, 550 - Whump, non-graphic injuries SFW Monday, Kidnapped AND “For someone who’s dying you seem kind of happy.”

Candy Flowers - T, 550 - Humor, cute date night things SFW Tuesday, Flowers AND “I told you to bring a jacket.”

Coffee and Bad Words - T, 1.5K - Humor, convenient amnesia SFW Wednesday, Amnesia AND “All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

Damnit DUM-E - T, 300 - College AU, Fluff, mentions of Howard’s A+ parenting, protective Bucky SFW Thursday, Trope/AU: Forehead Kisses AND Sentence: “Where did that bruise come from?”

Homesick - T, 300 - Fluff, clingy boys SFW Friday, Word: Homesick AND Sentence: “Just shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

Over Blueberries - T, 100 - Fluff, just dumb fluff SFW Saturday, Word: Pancakes AND Dialogue/Sentence: “I wanna break up.”

Only a Phone Call Away - E, 1.5k - PWP, Humor, phone sex, crack NSFW Sunday, TROPE/AU: Sexting/Phone Sex

That Happened - T, 400 - Humor, casual praise kink NSFW Monday: TROPE/AU: Praise Kink

Not Sneaky - E, 1.3k - PWP, barebacking, semi-public sex, touch of secret relationship because why not NSFW Tuesday, WORD: Bareback AND DIALOGUE/SENTENCE: “First one to make a noise loses.”

Mission Accomplished - E, 1.7k - PWP, rough sex, maybe some light somnophilia NSFW Wednesday, TROPE/AU: Rough Sex

Stubborn - E, 900 - PWP, car sex, dirty talk NSFW Friday, TROPE/AU: Dirty Talk + WORD: Riding + DIALOGUE/SENTENCE: “Car sex looks so much more easier in movies.”

Claim - E, 400 - PWP, Omegaverse, possessive Bucky NSFW Saturday, WORD: Claiming and DIALOGUE/SENTENCE: “What a pretty sight.”

WinterIron Month '22 - WinterIron Canon and AU (many with art by the super talanted Sagana!)

A Failed Escape, a First Meeting, and a Whole Lot of Luck - T, 1.6k - Omegaverse,, Humor, Arranged Marriage, not exactly a meet-cute, Humor Tony is supposed to be meeting the alpha he’s going to marry today. Which is why he’s out in the garden climbing a tree in a terribly-thought-out plan to get away, where he meets the last person he expects.

love's gonna find me out - T, 1.3k - Fluff and Feels, Hidden Injury, Established Relationship, fluffier than it sounds After yet another long, dangerous mission with the Avengers, Bucky wants nothing more than a quick shower and to collapse into bed. With that in mind he’s already stripping off his shirt as soon as he’s through the door to the bedroom, and Bucky only remembers why that’s a bad idea when Tony sucks in a sharp breath behind him.

but we are the crossroads - T, 1.2k - Modern Magical AU, Humor, Fae!Bucky, Tony is too curious for his own good and Bucky isn’t any better, First Meetings One of these days, Bucky is actually going to have to do something about the human who wandered into their warehouse and now refuses to leave.

I had no choice (but baby to get it right) - T, 2.5k - Soulmate AU, That awkward moment where you meet your soulmate mid-fist fight After all those years of furtively dreaming about it, reading everything from scientific papers to romance novels, after all the times he told himself not to but still hoped, Tony thought he knew what to expect if this day ever came. Finally, after all this time, all the worrying and wondering and telling himself to just give up already, he finally meets his soulmate and finds out what all the hype is about, and it has to be like this. It just has to be Barnes.

Timing Isn’t Everything - T, 1k - Humor, Love Confession SFW Sunday: Word, Dialogue

Please forget your scarf in my life - T, 3.5k - No-Powers AU, Angst, Exes to Lovers, Getting Back Together, pining morons As long as Bucky can avoid any news stories, gossip articles, and press releases, there is zero chance that he has to worry about seeing Tony now that they’re broken up. There won’t be any running into Tony at a mutual friend’s house, or coming out of Bucky’s favorite dingy coffee shop, and it’s great, it makes everything easier. That’s what Bucky keeps telling himself. And then one day he’s on a crowded subway, and as he looks around desperately for a distraction from the crush of people his eyes land on a magazine someone is reading, on a photo of Tony, on something tucked beneath the collar of Tony’s heavy coat. So much for his flimsy attempts to move on.

Feel Something Real - E, 1.5k - Avengers Academy, PWP, Spanking Bucky doesn't regret that he and Tony decided to take it slow when they started dating, but he is a little disappointed that he’s just now learning all sorts of fun things.

The Three Step Plan - E, 1.8k - PWP, Massage, Anal Fingering Bucky has a plan for getting Tony to relax after a long week. Step one involves getting his fingers on Tony and working out all those knots from his muscles. Step two involves getting his fingers in Tony.

Hero is a Relative Term - T, 3k - Humor, established relationship Another day, another kidnapping, and Tony’s biggest concern is that he’s never going to live this down.

Broken Promises - M, 1.4k - Humor, Established Relationship, Secret Sex, not so secret sex It shouldn’t be that hard to keep their hands off each other while trapped in a tiny safe house with their teammates, right? Right?!

Making Sacrifices - M, 2.2k - PWP, Established Relationship, werewolf!Bucky, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink It happens often enough that when Tony texts him for help with something vague Bucky doesn’t think anything of it, just cuts his workout short and heads up to their bedroom. He’s not at all prepared for what he finds waiting for him, but Bucky is nothing if not adaptable.

[spinsterlocity-writes]

High-Jinx, Part IV

Characters - Leonard McCoy x Female Reader

Summary - You have your first date with Leonard and things get heated.

Word Count - 2,551

Warnings - Smut (if you’re under 18 kindly move along), cussing, drinking

Disclaimer- I don’t own Leonard McCoy or Star Trek, I just write for fun.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

A/N: We’ve come to end of this mini series. Thanks so much for reading it, it was a lot of fun to write.

Part I Part II Part III

“‘Lo,” you mumbled, flopping over in bed.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Leonard answered, vaguely amused.

“Leonard, hi!” You sat up and leaned against the headboard. Your voice sounded shrill to you and your heart was pounding. You felt like you were yelling. Were you yelling?

“I’m doing as you asked. I remember everything we said last night and I would still very much like to take you out on a date.”

“Oh,” you breathed, smiling like an idiot.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, Lieutenant.” You could tell he was smiling, the smug cute-ass bastard.

“You haven’t asked me a question yet, Dr. McCoy,” you grinned to yourself.

“I swear, woman,” he scoffed. “Lieutenant Y/L/N, would you do the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great, how does 19:00 sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” you beamed.

“Great, I’ll pick you up then.”

“I look forward to it,” you smiled and picked an imaginary piece of lint off of the duvet.

“Bye, Y/N,” Leonard whispered.

“Bye,” you whispered back.

You ended the call, slumped back on the bed and wiggled around in excitement.

You spent the afternoon getting scrubbed, pampered, and beautified in the hotel’s spa. You patted yourself on the back for having the good sense to treat yourself to a spa package when you learned where this shore leave was going to be. After your time at the spa you bought a nice lunch and spent the rest of the day in your room listening to relaxing music and trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

Leonard arrived quite predictably at 19:00 on the dot. You hoped he didn’t hear your breath hitch when you opened the door and saw him standing there in a nicely cut suit, no tie, and dress shirt with the top buttons undone.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” he said with a smile.

You looked down shyly and fiddled with the clasp on your bag.

“Thank you, so do you. I mean...you look very handsome,” you cursed your nervousness as you jolted inside and felt your body heat up.

You locked your door and you and Leonard made your way to the elevator. Your tummy fluttered when he placed his hand on the small of your back.

“So, are we headed to the hotel restaurant?” you asked as the elevator doors opened.

“No, a little restaurant two blocks away. Are you okay to walk there?” he asked, looking down at your feet.

“That’s sweet of you to ask but I can manage a couple of blocks,” you chuckled.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he nodded.

“You really are a gentleman, Leonard McCoy,” you bumped him with your shoulder.

He scoffed and rubbed the back of his neck.

You enjoyed the slightly warm yet breezy evening on the short walk to the restaurant. Your hands occasionally brushed each other and you’d laugh nervously. You hooked your arm through Leonard’s in a moment of bravery to spare yourselves more awkwardness. Just as he mentioned, the restaurant was exactly two blocks from the hotel and was an adorable bistro.

This was shaping up to be one of the best dates you’d ever been on. After you got over your initial butterflies the conversation flowed seamlessly. You and Leonard traded stories about your childhoods, time in Starfleet, and shenanigans of Jim’s that you got dragged into. The menu even had some of your favorite dishes. You also learned that Leonard was devastatingly handsome in candlelight.

After dessert and coffee you left the restaurant, this time hand in hand. You walked a little slower, trying to prolong the evening. At a stop light, a block away from the hotel, Leonard spun you into him and looked at you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, breathless and full of want. You nodded.

“Need to hear you, darlin’,” he caressed your cheek.

“Yes, please,” you replied softly.

Leonard’s hand moved to the back of your neck as he kissed you deep and slow. Time seemed to stop and life around you faded to a gentle hum when his tongue gently dipped into your mouth. Sound flooded back sharply as he pulled away. You looked at him with wonder and he smiled. He took your hand in his and led you across the street as the signal to walk blinked. It took a moment for reality to sink in and for your legs to work properly.

“Would you like to come up to my room for a drink?” Leonard asked as you entered the hotel.

“I’d love to,” you smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze.

Inside the elevator you leaned a little into Leonard’s side and he wrapped an arm around you.

“Thank you for this, Leonard. It was lovely.”

“The night’s not over yet but you’re welcome.” His arm ever so slightly tightened around you.

When you got to Leonard’s room he told you to make yourself comfortable. You kicked off your shoes, plopped down on the sofa, and curled your feet up near your bottom as Leonard took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Let’s see, we have water, wine, whiskey, and juice. What’s your poison?” he asked, rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows.

“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” you replied with a smile.

“Woman after my own heart,” he smiled.

Leonard handed you your drink, picked up the remote to the entertainment center and chose a music station. Soft instrumental music filled the air. It was pleasant but not enough to be distracting.

“This alright?”

“It’s perfect.” You took a sip of your drink and tilted your head in appreciation of the smooth taste.

He sat down, turned to you and said, “You know, I’d been wanting to ask you out for a while now.”

“Really?! Why didn’t you?”

“I thought I might be too dull or cranky for you,” he shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

“In what universe are you dull, Leonard? It’s impossible to be friends with the people we’re friends with and be dull,” you shifted a little closer to him. “As for cranky, I’d be cranky too if I had to patch Jim up as often as you do.”

“Well, I guess you got me there,” he chuckled.

You continued to sip your drinks and talk. At some point your legs ended up in his lap and he stroked one absentmindedly as he talked. Suddenly, it was quiet and you looked at each other, small smiles on your faces.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked softly.

“Yes, please,” you sighed.

Leonard held your face in his hands and looked at you for a moment. His thumbs caressed your cheeks. He kissed you softly and you placed your hands on his wrists. He deepened the kiss, his tongue caressing yours and you moaned softly. He laid you back against the arm of the couch and kissed your neck. You gasped and bucked your hips up when his lips brushed your pulse point.

He chuckled and whispered, “I wonder what other spots drive you crazy.” He nibbled your ear and you whimpered. He dipped his tongue into your ear and you squealed and rolled your hips into his.

“That’s two,” he growled as his hands traced your curves.

“Are you going to count all of them?” you panted.

He pulled back and stared down at you.

“Honey, I plan to not only count but memorize all the things that drive you crazy.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered.

He switched to the other side of your neck and sucked on your pulse point. Your hips rolled again, “Leonard, please,” you whined.

“Tell me what you need, darlin’,” he whispered.

“Please touch me,” you sighed and rubbed your lower half against his, feeling him harden underneath you.

“Oh honey, you’re soaked,” Leonard groaned as one of his fingers parted your slit and caressed your folds.

You whined and squirmed under his touch. He circled your clit and you arched your back.

“Mmm, I think that’s three.”

You bucked your hips up as his finger slid over your sex, the tightness in your lower abdomen close to snapping.

“Please, Leonard, please let me come!”

He circled your clit faster and you moaned.

“Come on honey, let go for me,”

Leonard added a little more pressure and you keened, clenching around nothing.

“There you go,” he whispered with a smile.

You flung your arm over your eyes as you caught your breath.

“You alright, darlin’? Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

You moved your arm from your eyes, “Well then, I think we better take this somewhere more comfortable.”

He stood up, offered you his hand and smirked, “Good idea.”

Leonard had you undressed and on his bed in what felt like record time. He kissed the hollow of your throat, you sighed and ran your fingers through his hair. He kissed down your chest and took your nipple into his mouth and sucked. You moaned his name as he rolled your other nipple between his fingers.

“Four,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach.

You laughed and rolled your eyes.

“Need to taste you, sweetheart,” he kissed your inner thigh.

“Please,” you panted.

He parted you with his thumbs.

“Will you look at that, so pretty,” he placed a soft kiss on your clit. He placed his hands under your ass and held you in place as his tongue explored your pussy.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured and began fucking you with his tongue.

You felt tension in your belly and you sobbed his name. One of your hands gripped the sheets, the other reached down and grabbed his hair as you came against his mouth.

Leonard kissed his way back up your body as you came back to your senses. He caressed your cheek and gave you a soft kiss. You started to move down the bed to return the favor.

“No, no. Another time, I need to be inside you. Do you have a condom?”

“We don’t need one. I’m on birth control and I’m clean, unless you’d rather use one.

“No, I’m clean,” he kissed your cheek. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. Leonard, please fuck me. “

He took his cock in his hand and positioned himself at your entrance. You sighed as he pushed inside of you.

“You feel so good,” he gasped as he let you adjust to him.

“Please move, Leonard!” You whined and rolled your hips.

“God, darlin’, you’re so tight around me. Feels so good,” he growled.

Leonard kissed you deeply and began to thrust into you slowly. You wrapped your arms around him and met his thrusts.

“Faster, please,” you whispered.

He picked up the pace and moaned into your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You like this, honey?”

“Yes, Leonard, please! You feel so good!”

He switched up his angle and rolled his hips, hitting your sweet spot. You cried out as you braced a hand against the headboard.

“Is that it, honey? Is that the spot?” he smirked.

“Yes, god! Don’t stop,” you whined.

He rolled his hips harder and kissed your neck. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your toes began to curl.

“Come for me sweetheart. Need you to come for me honey,” he grunted.

You wailed, your vision whiting out as you came undone.

“There you go. That’s it, darlin,” Leonard cooed.

As you floated back to earth, you heard him whimper. He placed his hands on either side of your head and quickened his thrusts.

“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” he moaned.

“Come for me, Leonard. Let go,” you whispered and kissed his neck.

He went rigid and howled into your neck as he filled you up. He slumped half on you and half on the bed. You stroked his back and his hair as he caught his breath. He rolled over on his side and smiled at you.

“Hi,” he sighed.

“Hi yourself,” you laughed and kissed him. You cuddled for a couple of minutes and then took turns cleaning up in the bathroom. You were asleep almost as soon as he wrapped his arms around you.

You woke up alone, slightly sore, and stretched your aching body. You rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom to freshen up. You grabbed a plush hotel robe hanging on the door that wasn’t there the night before. You smiled when you saw it was in your size. You figured Leonard must have called the front desk for it while you slept. You found him on the couch reading in the living room. You flopped down and rested your head on his shoulder. He chuckled and kissed your head.

“You sleep okay?” he asked as he wrapped his arm around you. You nodded.

“Someone’s not a morning person,” he joked.

“Not until I’ve had caffeine,” you mumbled.

“Breakfast should be here any minute, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you,” you leaned up and pecked his lips.

Leonard put his hand around the back of your neck as you tried to pull away and kissed you deeply. He pulled back and brushed his nose against yours.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“Morning,” you smiled.

He was about to kiss you again when there was a knock at the door. He sighed and lightly pecked your lips, “That’ll be breakfast.”

He pulled away, got up from the couch and answered the door. Jim pushed past him, animatedly asking if Leonard had seen you because he and Sulu were going to do something later that you were going to love. Leonard tried to stop him from moving further into the room.

“Bones, stop pushing me, what’s wrong with...OH HO HO!” Jim laughed as he saw you sitting on the couch. “Well, I guess you’ve seen quite a bit of her. Hello, Y/N,” he waggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a lazy wave.

Leonard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jim, get the hell out of here!”

“Well, now I know why you didn’t call me back last night, you sly dog! Y/N I want all the details later,” Jim winked.

You shook your head and laughed, “Jim, get out of here before Leonard kills you.”

“Alright, I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” he chuckled. As he opened the door to leave, a waiter stood poised to knock on the door.

“Ooh room service! You’re going all out, Bones,” Jim teased as he left.

“Goodbye, Jim,” you yelled.

“Sorry about that, if you could put everything on the table that’d be great,” Leonard said to the waiter.

After everything was situated and the waiter left, you sat down and started eating.

“You know everyone in Starfleet staying in this hotel is going to know about us by dinner time,” you laughed.

“I don’t give a damn who knows if you go out with me again,” Leonard took your hand in his.

You pretended to think about it, “I think I can do that,” you smiled.

“Oh, you’re trouble,” he laughed and kissed your hand.

[ironmandeficiency]

soft? (1/2)

pairing: horacio carrillo / reader

word count: 922

summary: carrillo? soft? no one would have guessed, especially not steve and javier.

req: I can't take off my mind the image of the first time that Javi and Steve see Carrillo being soft with his wife in a ceremony or on another occasion, and I totally imagine these two being like ?????? *insert confused faces here* KkkkkkkkKKKK Anyway, have a good day :)

a/n: i only tweaked it a teensy smidge bc it’s been a while since i rewatched narcos and can’t recall ceremony etiquette atm. decided to make it two parts, one with steve seeing soft!carrillo and the other with javi

warnings: implied smut if you squint, one christian thing

when it came to finding escobar, most were resigned to not taking days off. whether someone was talking about the search bloc or american dea agents, they didn’t see a difference in the sentiment. it would get to the point where both organizations had to force their men to take days off to keep them from burning out.

on the chopping block today were steve and your horacio.

your husband came home upset about the forced day off the night before, hating the fact he felt sidelined and nearly discarded. but with a gentle smile and a loving kiss, you begin to remind him what sort of perks await him with an entire day off.

when you’re laying in your bed, horacio’s arms right around you, you continue giving him the logic behind his government-assigned day off. “even god took a day of rest after creating the world, mi alma. you are not above the needs of man. you need to be taken care of, too.”

horacio’s reply is cheeky, a grin making another rare appearance on his lips. they seem to happen a little more around you, when he’s safe at home. “is that not why i have you, amor?”

“you know exactly what i mean, horacio.” you can feel the heat in your cheeks at his words and with your face laying on his chest, you know he feels it too. even after being married for six years, he still has the power to make you flush like he did on your first date. “let’s go to lunch tomorrow. our pantry is almost bare, and we won’t be buying groceries on an empty stomach.”

he presses a firm kiss to your temple, arms pulling you even more on top of him. “anything you want, dulzura.”

horacio will only slightly regret this decision the next afternoon. see, he didn’t know that agent murphy was also designated this afternoon off when he agreed to go out in public with you. after a few hours of blissful peace, he was disrupted by a shout of his last name by a too familiar voice. he knew you heard it, your head snapping around to try and find a familiar face amid the sea of people yet coming up empty.

desperately he wanted to ignore it but when the blond american agent made his way in front of the two of you, he was screwed.

there was a woman that horacio didn’t recognize on murphy’s arm, but common sense told him she was the man’s wife. vague memories spring to mind of conversations about her and the baby they adopted and thanks god that he remembers names or else this would have been awkward for everyone involved.

after some pleasantries and small talk, horacio “reminds” you of the next thing on your day’s to-do list (you knew him well enough to know he just wanted to leave, list be damned) with a soft voice and a hand on the small of your back. steve looked all too thankful for the out and while you and connie made plans to hang out soon, your husbands just stood waiting on you both like kids whose moms started talking in the grocery store aisles.

“it was nice to meet you both, have a good evening!” you called to steve and connie as you and horacio walked away, your husband’s hand on your lower back slightly guiding you.

“the same to you!” connie’s reply was almost lost to the noise of the city streets but you caught it in time to throw a wave behind you.

when you turned back around, horacio leaned and pressed a kiss to your temple without a word, squeezing you closer into his side as you walked. his job taught him that the spoken word meant nothing if you didn’t back it up with your actions, and this bled over into his personal life. he wasn’t the type to often use his words to reassure you of his dedication; his love was shown through acts of service and, when alone, physical affection.

the fact you were so casually being affectionate with carrillo, one of the most feared and respected members of the search bloc, threw steve for every loop imaginable. connie noticed her husband’s perplexion and asked if he was okay, wondering why the seemingly normal encounter left her husband with a massive question mark above his head.

“that was colonel carrillo, the one i’ve told you about.”

the blonde woman was not impressed with his explanation in the slightest. “and? is he not allowed to show affection to his wife when off the clock?” steve would offhandedly mention some things that happened at work if they weren’t too graphic or a matter of security, and he had described the colonel’s unbendable determination to free his country from pablo escobar and others like him.

steve sighs and shakes his head at the subtle hint. “you wouldn’t get it, honey. the guy’s usually got a stick so far up his ass that he has to pull it out through his mouth to beat people with it!”

the turn of phrase took the conversation on a detour, connie now laughing at the absurd image of the man she just met beating people with his ass stick. steve lost his train of thought enjoying the moment of peace that came with her laugh.

he was so going to tell javi about this gentle carrillo shit. what happened to the stick up his ass? just wasn’t natural.

carrillo taglist: @pedropasscals @princess76179 @whovianwar @jedi-mando @torradoza @themarcusmoreno @obirain @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky

[some-kindofgnome]

you are

a horny little snapshot of your life with daddy keigo 😉

characters: hawks x reader

wc: 1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), daddy kink, dom/sub dynamic, bondage (cuffs), choking, mentions of edging

notes: this is part of a sweet little v day exchange! @keilemlucent​ my light, my love, you are my valentine now & always. i hope this horny little treat sits nice & sweet on your tongue 💖please check out the other works in this exchange by @shadowworks​ and @hawnks​​ !

(MASTERLIST)

“Daddy, please…”

That’s far from the first time you’ve given in and begged tonight. It hasn’t helped you much in getting what you want, either.

You’re stretched out on Keigo’s massive bed, buttery, silky sheets pillowed under your sweat-coated flesh. He’s got your hands cuffed together and bound cleanly over your head. Your thighs are hitched over his, knees clamping tightly down around his hips. And he’s gliding his hand up your trembling sides with his cock buried and stilled deep inside you.

“I know, bluebird,” he purrs, reaching up to draw his smooth knuckles across the curve of your heated cheek. His other hand is clamped tightly between your bodies, holding a smooth, pink little egg vibrator against the warmed swell of your tight clit. “I know it hurts. But you can hold on a little longer for me, can’t you?”

“I can’t,” you plead, throwing your head to one side, burying it into the flesh of your arm to hide the way tears are threatening to spill over.

Keigo’s been keeping you in this vicious cycle all evening, all as punishment for parading around the apartment at dinnertime in nothing but one of his shirts and your favourite pair of thigh-high socks. They were the tallest ones you own- the ones that come right up to the crease of your ass- and now they’re slipping down around your knees as he warms his cock in your molten depths and keeps you cruelly on the brink of climax.

“You’ve been so good for me, taking your punishment like this.” He takes your jaw carefully into his free hand, dipping over your shaking body to press his forehead over yours. “I think you deserve a treat.”

Your nerves perk at the thought, followed by a spike of embarrassment. He’s frighteningly good at reducing you to your most basic instincts- making a pet out of you, behaving just the way he wants.

He drops a tender kiss to your mouth and rears back to look at you with all the prowess and elegance of a raptor, letting a pleasured smirk gracing his lean face. He’s gone flushed about the cheeks and hairline, too, fucking you in short spurts but always stilling inside you before you can find your peak.

Keigo’s brassy eyes glint with interest as he leans back further to watch the way your messy cunt flutters desperately around his cock, clenching around him for a bare crumb of the pleasure he’s denying you.

The vibrator’s slipped away from your clit at this point, but he takes it into his palm and you can’t ignore the subtle spread of his wings, casting your aching form into shadow. He smooths his other hand up your sternum, brushing his fingertips over the delicate column of your windpipe.

“I know how you want it,” he purrs, flicking his eyes over your throbbing pulse point. His eyesight is so sharp you’re sure he can see the way your heart pounds, and your toes curl subtly against his lower back. He grins, flashing a pearly canine as he wraps his fingers around your throat without restriction.

“Should I give it to you, though?”

His offer clicks into place and instantly your brain rushes with desperate need. You know exactly what he’s considering and now that it’s on the table, it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Daddy please,” you beg vaguely, thrashing gently in your restraints and humping down against him. Keigo lets out a little groan and bucks forward but quickly recenters himself, tugging his hand from your throat to crush your hips to the sheets.

“Hold still, bluebird,” he growls, shivering all the way out to the tips of his wings, “and tell me what you want.” He sighs gently through flared nostrils, eyes flaming now as he stares down at you.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Do… what you were gonna do,” you try, knowing full well that’s not what he’s asked for. Keigo clucks his tongue, shaking his head affectionately and giving your hips another rough push.

“Try again.”

“Choke me,” you sob. “While I cum. Please?” You turn your gaze to his, wet and wobbly and pleading.

“God,” he gasps, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and making you giggle in spite of yourself. “You’re so fuckin’ dirty, baby. How’m I supposed to say no, when you ask so nice?”

He pulls his hand to your throat again, keeping his face next to yours as he draws his hips back and finds your clit with the vibrating egg.

“You close?” He presses the toy up between your legs and you cry out, a wave of warning pleasure washing instantly over your body.

You’ve been close all night.

“Yeah,” you whine, breathless. “Yeah, ‘m almost there. Daddy, please let me cum, please let me, please…”

You trail off, realizing that he’s not going to pull away this time as his fingers close around your windpipe. Keigo knows exactly how long to restrict for, squeezing as your peak hits and sending you into the stratosphere. Your long-awaited climax sends electricity racing up your spine, diluting into delicious, spasming tension that’s drawn out longer and longer the more firmly he keeps that vibrator on you.

The tight clenches of your twitching cunt are too much for him, and as you’re coming down from your high he releases your throat and hits his own peak with a wild, deep groan against your skin. He lets his hips stutter against yours as he pours his climax into you, fucking hot shots of cum back into your body and letting it spill from your dripping pussy.

He goes limp, collapsing on top you. You gasp for breath together, and after a dozen heartbeats of silence he reaches over your head to lace his fingers with yours.

“Give me a squeeze, bluebird.” You give a week little nod and respond. One. Two. Three.

I’m okay.

And when he takes you into his arms, crooning absolute praise as he unbuckles you from your cuffs, you are.

[vixenpen]

Could we get a Tenya Iida rq where we’re the class baddie/trouble maker of the class that purposely picks on him and doesn’t follow his guidelines to the point he snaps and puts us in our place in one of the empty classrooms??? 😏

OOOF BABYYYY 🥴🥴 that’s hot! As soon as I saw that, I knew I needed to do it!

Iida x Bad girl Reader

Ok so you been had a crush on Iida since your first year.

Just something about nerdy boys who were sticklers for the rules appealed to the bad girl in you

It didn’t hurt that he was a cutie and buff af

Over the years, you had always found ways to antagonize him

“Y/n! Stop defacing school property, this instant!” ⬅️↙️➡️↘️↗️➡️

“Oh what you mean like this?” Only to walk over to his desk and prop your feet up on his.

“Alright everyone! Let’s make a calm, single file line towards—“

“LAST ONE TO THE BUS SITS NEXT TO IIDA!”🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

“Y/N!!!!”

Over the years you’d done any and everything to bug Iida. Painting your nails in class, wearing your blouse buttoned to low, throwing paper balls at his head, and doing your makeup in the hallway

But as the two of you got older and entered your 4th year, your teasing got bolder and bolder along with your crush on Iida.

After all, you’d watched him grow more confident and self assured not to mention more buff

He was still a major nerd, but he had gotten some swag on him and mellowed out over the years

“Y/n, come on,” he sighed exhaustedly, “get off my desk. You know the rules.”

“Boo,” you pouted, “here I was hoping you’d compliment my new socks. Oh well.” You make sure to let your legs fall apart giving Iida a nice little peep show as you hop of his desk

You can practically see baby boi’s brain shut down as he mouth drops a little

😉 “see you Mr. president.”

Oh and he had upgraded to Mr. President over the 4 years too.

“Aright class, we all got the protocols for tonight?”

“Yup!”

Looks at you specifically: “y/n?” 🤨

“Why are you targeting me specifically?!”

Cuz he knows you’ll be the one to break the rules, which you do...

“Y/n!”

“Oh hey, Mr. President. What’s up?”

“Do you remember the rules that were established regarding the new schedule?”

“Hmm. Vaguely...why?”

“Well, it would seem not seeing as how you still broke the curfew that was set and missed the meeting time. This isn’t a game, y/n! We are trying to prepare for the biggest test of the year.”

With a coy pout you said: “Aww, I’m sorry, Mr. President.”

You ran a finger up his broad chest, and felt him stiffen under your touch. Your long, manicured nail trailed up his bobbing Adam’s Apple until it rested under his chin and leaned into his face.

“I promise to be a good girl next time, ok?”

You could see the muscle in his jaw flexing. There was a hard edge in his deep blue eyes and a nervous flush in his cheeks.

With a wink, you giggled and stepped around him; only to feel yourself being yanked back.

You let out a squeal of surprise

Iida had pulled you into one of the empty classrooms. He slammed the door behind you two and shoved you against it with both hands on either side of your head.

“Iida, what the hell?”

“You don’t take me seriously do you, y/n?”

“What?”

“Ever since we became classmates you’ve teased me and defied my leadership, despite it being what’s in the best interest of the class. Why? Why are you constantly messing with me, specifically.”

“Tch, don’t be so sensitive Mr. president. That’s just our dynamic,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms.

“Oh, so our dynamic includes you sitting on my lap, flashing your pussy at me, and kissing me on the cheek?”

You felt a flush climb up your neck. Shit...he had you there.

“I-I’m just teasing you, Iida, you know—“

“Bullshit, y/n. What is it really about?” He grabbed your jaw, and leaned closer to you.

Shit...

Damn your body for betraying your cool girl facade. You felt a heat between your legs at this sudden switch in Iida. This domineering demeanor in the usually high strung dork.

“Do you like humiliating me?” His voice was a harsh, whisper against your ear.

You shivered.

“Making me feel powerless? Small? Flustered?”

His mouth trailed further down the more he spoke. He didn’t even sound like his usual self.

“I-ida what are—“

“Mr. President,” he corrected. “You Refer to me as Mr. President. That’s our dynamic, right?” He mocked.

You were getting wetter by the second. Shit.

“Mr. President then.” You sqeauked. “What are you doing?”

His navy eyes were back on you. The look he gave you was raw desire.

“I’m testing something, y/n.”

You gasped as Iida’s other hand slowly slipped up your thigh and beneath your skirt.

His fingers brushed the juices pooling between your pussy lips.“You’re wet,” he groaned and so did you.

“We’re you wet like this when you were sitting on my desk? And you better address me properly when you answer.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” You moaned.

He moaned again, this time his mouth found yours. The kiss was sloppy and hungry, but damn was it hot.

When he pulled back, you saw every bit of that hunger in his face. “You really are the baddest girl in the class as you say. Since you’re so bad, how about I teach you lesson, hm? Y/n.”

You nodded weakly. “Ok Mr. President.”

In a flash he had you bent over the teacher’s desk, skirt hiked up to reveal your round ass.

His long, thick fingers stroked in and out of your gripping pussy as he brought you to the edge only to leave you hanging again.

“Now tell me again, what time are our meetings?”

You panted and pleasure surged through you, sealing your legs and dulling your usually sharp mind.

“S-s-seveennn thirty.”

His fingers flexed towards your gspot.

“Ohh god!” You gasped at the electrifying sensation. “Thank you M-Mr. Pre-ahh-sident.”

“Now, is there a written portion of the test?” Iida asked.

All the while he was still pummeling you’re clenching walls with his hand. You could feel your juices spilling down your legs.

“Ohh fffuckkkk, no, M-Mr. President.”

Smack!

“Aha!” You cried as the sting settled in the delicate skin of your ass. Your punishment for guessing the wrong answer.

“It’s ok, y/n,” you noted the slightly smug tone in Iida’s deep voice. “I’ll drill it into you. You’ll know who to thank when you pass your test, won’t you, y/n?”

His voice sounded hazy through your blissed out senses, but you still gathered enough energy to murmur a weak: “Yes Mr. President.”

((Ooh bitch I snapped on this one I’m DIGGING Iida x Bad girl reader))

[keilemlucent]

tiles & released tension

(r18+)

gang orca | sakamata kugo x reader

continuation of this fic 

word count: 2.2k

the cycle of lust 

warnings: fem reader, monsterfucking, weird tongue, weird dicks, marking, mouthfucking, heat cycles, 

commission for @baroque-baby!!! thank u so much!!!!!!! 💗💗💗

a/n: wow here it is!! the second of the two comms :’’^) enjoy some more... Monster fucking esque stuff AND heat cycles!!!! enjoy y’all :’’^)

|||||||||||||||||||||

Despite how physically demanding the overall experience of Kugo’s rut was, you were well taken care of. Beyond that, even. He spared no expense, forgot no detail, and left no need or want unattended.

He was a dutiful lover despite his carnal hunger.

...

You vaguely knew when it was day and night. Your temporary home had large, arching windows and skylights that let sunbeams in to bend against the rippling pool. You knew when it was bright outside, though the exact time of day didn’t seem to matter much to Kugo or you.

That ‘morning’ (whenever you awoke, it was light outside), you’d woken up in the pool, tucked against Kugo’s chest in the lapping, gentle current of the water. It was always a bit scary, waking up being naked and half-submerged.

Yet, you were always mentally-reminded that no harm would come to you. Drowning? Absolutely not. Kugo was literally holding you. If any other danger entered a twenty-meter vicinity, you were sure Kugo would be ready to crush the threat instantly.

But, there were no threats. A peaceful courtyard that let in nice light during the evening with lots of pretty flowers and landscaping.

In some of your more fucked out and fucked up moments, arms braced against the wet tile as Kugo reamed you for the umpteenth time, you found yourself dazing off at the reflections and colors as you blinked back overstimulated tears.

Yet, that morning, you’d woken up without a writhing cock in you. Though it was close by and ever-hard, just as always.

“Mornin’,” You yawned, stretching to pop a kiss onto Kugo’s cheek. His chest rumbled out a sound too low for you to hear, a new, cetacean-based feature he’d developed over his rut. “Sleep well?”

“Very.”

Considered how much cum he spilled into you and the surrounding pool the night prior, he had to be exhausted, right?

To some extent.

He was a pro hero, with the stamina to match. Not to mention most of your days were spent in the pool of perfectly treated and temperate water, allowing Kugo to be in his most optimal state whether he was fighting villains or fucking your brain out.

You weren’t complaining.

Once again, dutiful.

Kugo adjusted you as he needed, a low growl pitching from his throat.

You ended up on your knees, skin scraping the tiles on the submerged bench below. It was a favored position, allowing the upper half of your body to be up and out of the water. Though you had, several times, gotten a mouthful or noseful of water due to Kugo breeding you (so fucking well) in the pool, it wasn’t preferred.

(Most of the time.)

Kugo rumbled as he floated in the water behind you, thickly-taloned hands coming to rest on your hips under the water, “You’re so beautiful in the mornings, you have no idea.”

He’d been waxing more since all of this started. In the moments he wasn’t insatiably worked up by his primal state, he was lavishing you in compliments and kindness as you’d never seen.

Kugo fished around in a nearby float basket, pulling away with a fancily crafted bottle of lube. It was a light lavender, oil-based, and heavenly smelling as he poured a bit of it on his hand.

Considering how long and sharp his nails had become, it was far too dangerous for him to prepare you like he once did.

Good thing his cock was tapered.

You could feel the bump of it against your ass, almost slivering against your hot skin under the water. Kugo slicked it down with the lube as he grabbed another item from the basket— a small bullet vibrator, waterproof and strong.

You beamed as he laid it on the pool deck by your arms.

“Am I allowed to use that?” You asked, keeping your voice teasing and sweet, still scratchy from sleep.

Kugo grunted another primal noise.

Consider it’d been several hours since he’d had his fill of you, he was bound to be insatiable. He tended to get a bit more... animalistic when he got so needy for you.

Social conventions had been mostly negated during the weeks of Kugo’s rut, it was a necessity. Not to mention that they were difficult to even think about with the distractions at your disposal.

The tip of Kugo’s cock, slick and squirming, teased as your entrance as he settled behind you, towering over your bent frame. The water sloshed around both of you, though neither of you minded.

You were far more focused on the way the appendage was teasing from your clit to your leak cunt without rest.

Laying your head on your arms, you arched your back at an even harsher angle, just barely grinding against Kugo as he prepared you as much as his cock would allow.

(It wasn’t entirely necessary considered how often he’d been stuffing you full— your cunt was practically shaped to him by that point.)

His chest bore down on your back, heat radiating off of him as he pressed you into the tiles and pool wall. You swallowed as his hand grabbed around your throat and jaw, pulling your head to the side so his long, (also) tapered tongue could lave along your shoulders.

“You always taste so good in the mornings,” Kugo spoke low and rolling. You squeezed your eyes shut, rolling your hips back to bump against his own.

As much as he fluffed you up verbally, you could feel how he was holding himself back from wrecking you.

His talons bit into the meat of your hips, his tongue licked its way to your ear, gooey saliva mixing with the water and sweat against your skin. His deep breaths, coming harsher each minute, made his chest bear down on your own, flattening you to the til, though not fully squishing you.

“Kugo,” You spoke in a singsong voice, grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on. “Why don’t you fuck me like you mean it instead of being polite? I thought we were past formalities.”

He went still, aside from the twirl of his thin cockhead at your entrance.

“I mean,” You were pressing your luck, but that was part of the fun. “I know you want to breed me so well that I leak all day, so why not get to it?”

You hummed, just for a moment, before Kugo was pressing you down, hard, squeezing the air out of your lungs in the best possible way.

“Is that really what you want?” Kugo growled, the sound shaking in several different pitches as he fucked into your cunt in one clean stroke.

You choked on your breath, scrambling against the wet tile as the vibrator slipped out of reach into the water.

Taking him at full length in one go wasn’t impossible, but the stretch of it all at once ached. His cock pressed and writhed in your cunt as he held his hips steady, shaking slightly.

You took a shuddering breath as his fat tongue rolled over your shoulders.

“How badly do you want to be ruined?”

If you could’ve melted into the water of the pool, you would’ve.

Part of you wanted to give one last fiery retort, but you were far too mushy to muster it up as Keigo thrust fully once more. He nearly bottoms out, you figure, considering the way his cock twists against your inside, pressing at your knot of nerves.

You moaned, lips parting and falling open.

Kugo greedily took the opportunity to further crane your neck, his thick tongue dipping into your mouth, snaking along the backs of your teeth.

You were caught up in it all, the sensations seemingly so fresh after sleep. Each new slam of Kugo’s hips, the taste of him filling your mouth, and the sounds of slapping water all felt magnified.

Whining, you bucked back into his thrusts, feeling the slow expansion of his cock inside you as Kugo grew ever closer.

His throaty laugh vibrated into your own mouth, the sound almost too loud for you to fully catch as your bones rang in your flesh with the tone He took your shock to push his tongue further, deeper into your mouth, licking at the back your tongue and molars.

It was almost too much, as oxygen became a luxury.

Except, Kugo grounded you easily, the hand on your hips and the pressure of his body above yours tethering you to reality as he fucked you in earnest.

Each slap of his body against your own ignited a new wave lust in your, slick spilling down your inner thighs and into the water. Your clit ached, helplessly ignored under the pseudo-surf. You didn’t have the mind in your to try and clamor for the lost vibrator, your mind swimming far too deep to think that far.

Instead, your ground back into Kugo all your could, your noises and moans dampened by the tongue throat-fucking you.  

He didn’t seem to mind at all.

You could feel yourself getting fuller and fuller, as impossible as it seemed. Kugo’s cock expanded as it neared climax, pressing at your walls before painting them white and sticky.

The grip on your jaw released, his tongue recoiling from your mouth as his head fell against your shoulder.

“How is this for ‘breeding’ you?” Kugo knew your asked, but asked anyway, chuckling at the way you desperately dripped for more of him.

You nodded, “Very, good. Very—”

Kugo’s pace became rougher.

His hand slipped under your, into the water to rub the meat of his palm into your clit in small, insistent circles. The nearby scrap of his claws only served to make you twitch and want more.

“P-Please, more!” You cried out, laying your head onto the tile as his thrusts got rougher, his teeth scraping and sucking at your neck, and his tongue soaking your skin—

And with a few final pressed of Kugo’s hand and you were coming undone for him in time with him absolutely filling you up.

It was filthy in the best possible way.

You sputtered out profanities as you came, Kugo’s hot seed spilling into you in thick, creamy spurts. The heat of it was almost scalding against the temperature of the bathwater.

Kugo kept a firm grip on you, despite the way how his skin had become so slick, fucking you through his long orgasm. It was something to do with his rut, but Kugo tended to spill into you not for seconds, but rather minutes.

It gave you time to come down as his fattened cock filled you.

You went pliant against the pool deck as another spurt of cum filled your core. Kugo was still in the throes of it, grunting every few moments and grinding into your insides. You weakly pressed back, shaking with your own breath.

Kugo’s hand pressed into your stomach, feeling the bulge of his own cock and cum filling you. The touch only strengthened your own sensations, the mix of it, and your full womb causing your eyes to roll back in your skull.

And then, it all slowed.

You were both still for a moment, the remnants of your movement told in the slosh of the pool and its harsh ripples.

Kugo gently turned your face to his, smoothing back some of your hair and dropping a few deliberate kisses against your cheeks, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, blissed-out and fucked out, “Very alright.”

It was all the response you could manage.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed as Kugo pulled out of you, an odd rush of water and fertile nut mixing below you. The absence of the stretch of his cock left you wanting.

But, Kugo was a dutiful mate, even in this state.

He carefully lifted you in his arms, carrying you out from the breeding pool to a nearby room.

It was one of the rooms you slept in, that of a handful of others. This one had a rounded ceiling and high windows, cream-colored walls and a large, water-proofed lounging bed.

Kugo gently set you down on it, grabbing a blanket-sized towel and wrapping you in it as fully as he could.

He tended to focus on your physical needs after fucking, especially when you two had been doing it so much. You’d never complain about how there was almost always a perfectly chilled water bottle in your hand and a bottle of massage oil at the ready.

Still, you wanted him—

That was why you were there, after all.

Kugo had stepped out, undoubtedly gathering up the supplies to tend to your body as he knew you needed.

You flickered your gaze to a nearby mirror, taking in your own visage.

Clearly, you’d been through the wringer. Dark circles punched under your eyes, your skin pruned from so long in the sweet-smelling water, and a smattering of rakes from Kugo’s teeth laid across your shoulders.

You looked like hell.

...

You smiled.

Kugo walked back in a moment later, just as you were standing up, wobbling on your jellied legs.

He was quick to wash to you, pulling you up against his slick body (as his cock began to re-harden again), “Sit down, love, please. I can get you anything you need.”

“You can,” You beamed up at him, craning on your tiptoes and pulling him down by his neck. “And guess what I need?”

He rumbled out a laugh, undoubtedly knowing where your words were going based on your suddenly tender affections, “And what's that?”

“You.”

[peakyblinderswhore]

DAY 3 ⇨ MATRESS ANGELS 

GENRE: Christmas!au, Fluff I’m a fucking liar, Smut, 18+ only.

PAIRING: Michael x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Michael and yourself weren’t exclusive but strictly speaking, you did spend an awful amount of time together that certainly suggested that you were. Spending the night at Polly’s on Christmas Eve would only make this assumption more valid. On the assumption that you are exclusive, Polly offers up one of her rooms... with one bed. What are two, young, hormone-filled adults going to do with just one bed?

W/C: 3.4k

WARNINGS: it’s fucking dirty, yo. swearing, oral (m + f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), degradation kink(?), hair pulling, spit is used as lubrication (it’s the 1920′s, c’mon), it doesn’t really have anything to do with christmas, pwp, it’s the dirtiest shit i’ve ever written, tiny tiny overstimulation, dom!michael, sub!reader ig, sex, sex, more sex, uh that’s it i think

A/N: to that one anon who always asked me for michael smut. yeah. you know who you are. i’m not sure if i’m writing this out of anger or to please you. bruh i love you fr fr though. in the heat of the moment i actually wrote something. lol hats off to you though.

cross posted onto ao3 here

“Michael, there’s only one bed,” you whisper to him.

He hums, “Mum must’ve had an inkling about us. I can sleep downstairs if you want,” he offers, raising an eyebrow.

The two of you were spending Christmas at Polly’s as per your suggestion in her townhouse out in the countryside. To be fair, you had mentioned it in passing after Polly had mentioned that she would have more than enough room for Michael to stay for the eve of Christmas and to be there the morning of to save journey time. He had winced and his hand that rested on your lower back firmed, he didn’t know how to reply and you could sense that through the thin material of your dress. 

“I don’t know, Mum, I was going to do my rounds with Y/N.”

Polly’s eyes had lingered over Michael’s hand that rested on your back but only momentarily, you had noticed this but pretended not to when you said, “Well, I was only going to visit Michael... if you don’t mind me staying the night too I’d be more than happy to make up for the burden.”

That was two weeks ago. And here you were, staring at the bed. The singular bed. The only bed in the room. At least it was a double.

“It’s okay,” you say, referring to his offer of sleeping elsewhere, “we’re adults. We can share one bed.”

Michael perches on the end of the bed and takes off his shoes, opting for something more comfortable, while you lay down on the other side, arms spread out wide, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going and to stop your mind from wandering.

“Let’s make snow angels!”

“Pardon?”

“I said,” you reiterate, pushing yourself up on an elbow to look at Michael peering over his shoulder at you, “let’s make snow angels!”

“How old are you?” although his comment doesn’t hurt as his grin widens on his face as he shifts his body to face you properly, “plus,” he begins, “It’s a mattress, much less, er, snow than what we would need.”

“...Mattress angels?”

Michael’s eyes suddenly darken and he makes his way to crawl towards you, I know what we could do...” his voice trails off and his fingers circle the skin where your dress finished suggestively.

“Michael!” Your face heats up form the suggestion, mortified that he would want to do something that dirty with Polly just a few doors down, “Polly, your Mother,” you emphasise, “is only a few doors down.”

He shrugs his shoulders and smirks, “Worried she might hear you?”

You snap your legs shut and sit up abruptly, startling him and forcing him to sit back again, “She’s not going to hear us because it’s not happening.”

Michael pulls back, not one to push you into somehting that you didn’t want to do, “Alright,” he moves on with the conversation, “Mum said we can go down for a late night snack or join her for a drink in a few.”

“Sounds good,” you say, thankful for Michael respecting your wishes, “I’ll slip something a little more comfortable on, then.”

Downstairs, Polly was passed out on the settee, a glass resting on the arm of her chair, her head resting on the back of her chair, lightly snoring. She had mentioned something earlier about being busy last night and the morning following it on. You smile and Michael chuckles, “We wouldn’t have had anything to worry about.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, “This is nice though.”

“It is,” he presses a kiss back, kissing you slowly like he’s trying to savour every second he can to the fullest. His hands are resting on your hips, mindlessly rubbing circles with his thumbs whilst yours hang loosely around his neck, fingers scratching at the bottom of his hairline.

The fire crackled in the background as you and Michael continued to deepen the kiss, devouring each other as you began licking into the other’s mouth, tasting the wine that Michael had with his dinner earlier on. It gave him an intoxicating feel, making you want to taste this forever, his musk filling your senses and his fingers trailing your waist, contemplating whether or not to go much further. When Michael pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, he looked down to where his hands rested before flitting up to meet your gaze. His mouth was hung open, drinking in all the air that he couldn’t get moments ago.

“We should stop, you didn’t want to earlier and I’m afraid that if we continue I won’t be able to stop.”

Your eyes fill with lust, he notices but waits for you to say the word, “She is asleep,” you manage to whisper, still praying that she’s fast asleep adn far from waking up anytime soon.

“You can’t take it back if you say it.”

“I know...” you bring your lower lip between your teeth and bring your fingers to face, cupping his cheeks, you say, “take me upstairs, Michael.”

His mouth finds yours and he pushes your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue, moulding your mouths together as his hands wrap underneath your thighs. You obediently jump, locking your ankles behind his back and he holds you up by your ass. He doesn’t open his eyes as he walks up the stairs, sure you should’ve been worried but his mouth was much more captivating at this precise moment in time.

Before you knew it, you were being laid out on the singular bed in your room that you were staying in. Michael let go, kicking off his slippers and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. When he connects your mouths again, it’s a clash of teeth and tongues and your hands instantly reach for the warmth underneath his shirt. His hand reaches behind your head and pulls at the pins holding your hair together before throwing them in the vague direction of the dresser that had become home to your limited luggage.

You had locked your legs around his waist again, aching for the feeling of his hard cock against your heated core, praying for some kind of friction that would relieve your need for him. His hands rested either side of your head, slowly crawling onto the bed to meet you level with him.

At this, you arched up, pulling your hand from his shoulder and slipping off your robe and pushing it to fall off of the bed and then reach to unbutton his shirt all the way and throw it on the floor with your robe. This meant Michael was half naked but you still had a slip on. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around your throat, pulling you up to meet his tongue and to see how far he could get his tongue before you whined, like you usually did.

Whimpering, Michael smiled at your vocal plead to move on, unravelling his fingers from your throat and connecting his lips to your neck, wanting to see how far he could get you without touching you.

He bites and licks at your neck, enough to make your eyes roll and your nerves to tingle, making your fingers curl in his hair, tugging from the pleasure. You breathe heavily against his ear and push him away from your neck, unbuckling his belt with eager fingers, but as you were about to push his trousers down to his thighs, he stops you and presses a firm kiss to your lips.

“Let me,” he whispers against your mouth, “just...” his voice fades away as he lowers his head to your perk nipples, showing evidently through the incredibly thin slip you were wearing. Without a second to spare, he latches his teeth to your nipple, lightly pulling them, making you fidget from the sensitivity you were currently experiencing. Then, he circles his tongue on your areola thorugh the fabric, leaving a wet patch before capturing your breast in his mouth.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, Michael...” your head rolls, “I’m begging you to fuck me... like you mean it.”

Grunting, he pushes his trousers down and kicks them off, obediently, not wanting to miss this moment, either, “I fucking love you so much right now.”

You lift your head to view his figure. His eyes were ravaging your body as he thought about what to do next. You grasped the bottom of your slip and pulled it over your body and reached a hand down to acknowledge your throbbing pussy.

“Oh fuck, that’s hot.”

You giggle, “Do something about it then, won’t you,” you pout and put on the best puppy eyes you can, “please?”

Immediately, his tongue swirls over each of your taut nipples and down your stomach, loops your belly button and nudges through your pubic hair to your clitoris. His lips attach and suck for dear life, making you let out the girthiest moan you’d ever heard from your own body, making you slap you hand over your mouth as Michael continued, refusing to let up. He reaches a hand below your leg, hooking it over his shoulder and bringing his hand around it to rest on your inner thigh to hold it in place. His other hand runs along your folds, teasing you. He halts briefly to push his fingers past your soft lips, lubricating them with your saliva before bringing them back down and pushes one slowly into your hole. 

“Tell me... use your words with me,” he growls against your clit.

His tongue doesn’t leave your clit, swiping his tongue from your hole to your clit and mimics the tongue twister you had joking taught him one time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe out in breathy moans just as he pushes a second finger into your pussy, meaning that you were now barely able to string together a coherent sentence. It was more than enough feedback for him, what with your fingers tightening around the strands of hair you had in your fists, he responded to everything your body was telling him. “You like that, baby? Huh?” His eyes flick up to watch as you begin to fall apart, breathing heavy and eyes unfocused.

“Y-yes.”

Still pushing his fingers in and out of you, he continues feeling around for the spot that he knew was nearby -- he was no stranger to your body this intimately.

“How about this, then?”

He lifts his head from your throbbing pussy and lets his hand that was locked around your thigh move to rub calculated circles over your clit. He spits onto his fingers as they continue to move in and out to allow an easier slide.

At this point, his fingers hit the spot and your body arches, lifting away from the bed, “Th-there, don’t... s-stop.”

Now knowing where he was aiming for, he allows his fingers to move at a faster pace and lets his thumb rub harder circles into your clit. He bends his head down to lick stripes into your pussy wherever he could, occasionally lifting his thumb to switch for his tongue and vice versa, pushing you to the edge.

“Yes, Michael, yes!”

He  switches his fingers for his tongue, pushing in and out of your entrance, wanting to taste you.

“Wanna taste you,” he says, “can you do that for me, baby?”

You bite your lip and nod, “Mhmm.”

His thumb continues its attack on your clitoris and within seconds your coming apart on his face. Micahel laps up your release on his tongue and helps you ride out your high.

When your body relaxes and your fingers uncench his hair his lifts his head, lips glistening from your arousal, “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Ignoring him, you pull his face up to yours and begin to kiss him sloppily, mind still foggy from your orgasm only moments ago. You smile at the taste of yourself still fresh on his lips and reach a hand down between the two of you to address the, ahem, third member present in the room.

Michael moans as your fingertips brush lightly across the strained material of his underwear, over his erect cock.

“Your turn,” you mumble, “wanna make you cum.”

Tucking your fingers under the band of his underwear, you push them down to his knees and push at his chest lightly, making him lay back so you could pull them off all the way. The soon got lost in the jumble of clothes piling up on the floor.

Swinging your hair over your shoulder, you thumb lightly at the head of his cock, swiping the moisture that had gathered and spreading it before circling your fingers around his rock hard cock and pumping it a couple of times.

Michael bites his lip, holding back a low groan, “Suck,” he demands.

Willingly, you grin and wrap your lips around the head and swirl your tongue around the tip. You begin to gradually push his dick further into your mouth, flattening your tongue on the underside of his dick and humming. Bobbing your head up and down, Michael knots your hair around his fist and helps you maintain your rhythm. “Y/N, just like that,” he groans out. You let your hand travel down to your pussy and to play with your clit, getting off on Michael’s moans dancing through the air like a sweet lullaby to your sinning ears.

“Greedy slut,” he says, grinning, “can’t wait for your second orgasm when I haven’t even had one?”

You stop toying with your clit and decide to see just how far you could take his cock in your throat and hollow your cheeks. At this, you could practically feel it twitch in your mouth. You press your hands onto his thighs to balance yourself as you lower your head until your nose is nudging the hair at the base of his cock. He lets out an almighty growl as he strains himself, not wanting to buck into your mouth but you moan at the feel of him and he fucks into your mouth, cock hitting the back of your throat and tears filling your eyes from the stinging.

“Fucking hell...” he moans out.

You lift your head and bring one hand to the base of his cock, squeezing at different pressures before lifting your lips from his cock and releasing it with a pop. You wipe the tears with the back of your free hand.

Michaels head lifts to meet your eyes. You smile, saliva dribbling down your chin, “Good?”

His eyes darken at the question, “Do that again and I might cum down your throat.”

Your eyes squint at the challenge and you drop your head to lick a stripe from the base of his cokc to the tip, making him shiver from the pleasure but before you could drop your lips to his cock again his hand grips at your neck, “Not today, baby. I need to fuck you.”

He pulls you up and goes to flip you but you quickly blurt, “Can I be on top?”

“Fuck yes, you can.”

He helps you up to hover above his erect penis. You grip it tightly and guide it towards your entrance before sinking down onto it.

“Oh, Michael,” you groan at the girth of his dick, pushing your pussy open.

“Y/N how are you so fucking tight?”

You laugh a little, the sting of the stretch of his dick stopping you halfway and settle on resting your hands on his chest, “Why don’t you fuck me more often?” You counter.

Michael’s eyes darken more — if that’s even possible — and lifts you off his dick almost entirely before slamming into you, making you whine.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

You move forward to rest on your elbows, the sting subsiding from the stretch and begin to move your hips in a swiveling motion, not wanting Michael to abolish your pussy before you’d even started.

“Such a fucking tease.”

You clench your pussy around him, loving the jolt of pleasure that ran through your body at his comment, “Oh, shit.”

“You like that? You dirty little slut, soaking my dick for me.”

Meeting your swivels, Michael sets the pace, thrusting up and everytime you bit back a moan from echoing against the walls.

“Michael,” you whimper out, making him throw his head back and growl at your needy self.

You try to force Michael to go slower but he only ghosts his fingers across your clit, rubbing vicious circles into it. Your head falls forward and you groan as he grunts with every thrust.

He was forcing you to edge quicker than you would’ve liked but the high outweighed any con your fuzzy brain could muster up when the pleasure Micahael was inducing soared through your pussy and to the coil in your stomach, slowly tightening the more he did it.

“Michael, s-so close...”

At this he pulls out and flips you so you’re on your hands and knees and he’s behind you, lining up his cock with your centre and sinking in, once again met with the warmth of your velvety walls.

He slams into you, once again and continues to pound at the same speed, making every thrust harder than the last, somehow reaching further than the last time.

“Hold it for me, baby, can you do that for me?”

You whimper in response, already so close as it is and not sure how much longer you can fend it off.

Michael grips your hair and pulls you back so you arch up and your back meets his chest, “I asked a question, can you do that?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Michael.”

“Good, little slut.”

You clench at that and he lets go of your hair, stabilising himself by gripping your hips hard enough that there would probably be finger-shaped bruises but you didn’t care — not when he was pounding into you, hitting your spot just right, “Right, there, Michael, I’m so fucki—”

He sneaks a hand round to rub circles in your clit and lets the other grab a handful of boob, squeezing and kneading it as much as he wants.

“Good girl, I’m so close, almost there, now.”

You whine, his fingers getting quicker and his thrusts sloppier.

“Oh, fu-fuck..” he groans, “now, you can cum now.”

Crying out his name, you release your hold on your orgasm, feeling the coil snap inside you, now thrilled that you no longer have to stave it off and you fall forward. Michael wraps his arm around your chest, catching you so he can continue to fuck into you.

“That’s it, baby, milk my cock like the good fucking girl you are.”

Michael’s thrusts become erratic as he chases his high. When he reaches it, you feel him releasing his seed deep inside your pulsating pussy. He slows down his thrusts, riding out both of your highs for you. 

When he shudders one final time, he slumps forward, cheek resting on your sweaty back but he didn’t care.

After a few moments, he pulls his softening cock out of your sore pussy, making you wince from the over-stimulation. He presses a soft kiss to your back and goes to fetch a wet soft-cloth to clean you up. Your eyes flutter closed and you only know he’s returned by the soft caress of his hand down one thigh, pushing them apart so he can clean you up. You whimper from the soreness but let him continue as you know it has to happen in order to stay clean.

He hums as he goes about cleaning you up and tosses the cloth to the side where he can address it in the morning.

You pat the bed beside you and he climbs in, hugging you from behind and pressing multiple soft kisses to your back, making you shiver.

“That was...”

You wait for him to continue.

“Can we do that again?”

“Like now?” you reply, alarmed.

“Uh.”

“Jesus Christ, Michael, what are you made of?”

“So I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“You bet your ass it’s a no.”

He waits a beat. 

“Wake me up before Polly gets up in the morning,” you mumble.

Michael grins, “You know I will.”

“I do.”

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (5) — Kim Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 5.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Smut, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog gets to see the final results of her hard work. Taehyung, feeling extremely proud of her, is in the mood for celebation. He invites her for dinner, but eventually the lasagna in the oven is not the only tthing getting hot — and the cheesecake is not the only sweet thing on the menu.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing. mentions of alcohol. smut: making out, grinding, humping, groping (ass, breasts) hair tugging, fingering, very soft overgrown teenagers being inappropriate and horny and tenderly feral on the sofa. Also cramps cause topping ain't easy folks.

A special thank you to @taegularities, my cutest, most adorable, Taehyung stan, The Radiant Rid. I love you, babe. Can't wait to read your next masterpiece 💕

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. And in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Enjoy 💜✨

You were falling for Kim Taehyung.

This was by far an undoubtable truth, like the butterflies in your stomach, like the softness of his hair and the plump curve of his lip, like the excruciating, painfully perfect beauty of his face.

He was a gift to humankind, you realised.

You were sure that by now your heart eyes showed in a three-mile radius, and from the way he looked at you in return, you could tell the sentiment was somehow returned.

What made you insecure was his lack of initiative.

You noticed he enjoyed being on the receiving end — which had actually shown a few days before, when he’d fallen asleep in the comfort of your lap, you reading your book while he recovered from the stressful day.

You could still remember the soft golden light coming in through the window, the way his breath got heavy with sleep, his hand laying just an inch above your knee, growing clammy with sweat as he heated up under the blanket. And the feel of his fluffy locks under your fingertips.

He’d looked adorable, a gentle blush on his cheeks, his cherub face relaxing, chubby and plump with the sweet abandon of sleep.

His hands suddenly laid delicately atop yours. “The kiln has cooled up. Would you like to see?” Taehyung asked quietly, trying not to wake you from your reverie too abruptly.

“Oh, yes!” you replied as briefly as possible, hoping he didn’t catch you daydreaming while staring at him with a fond expression.

“Be very careful, they’re hot,” he said, lifting the top of the kiln slowly and letting the remaining hot air come out a bit at a time, without having to feel the heat hit his face.

“Are they going to be good?” you asked curiously. Not all your pieces had made it through bisque firing, and the idea of having something that actually looked like a finished, real work of art was getting you excited. You had been taking lessons for six weeks now and it felt about time to see some results.

“I think I can spot a good one,” he mused as he lifted the lid, bright blue glaze immediately catching your attention.

“Did the bowl survive? The one with the golden swirls? Please, tell me it did, I love it so much!” You felt ready to beg, pray, cry if something had gone wrong.

“It’s on the middle shelf. Be patient, you golden retriever,” he joked, wearing a pair of latex gloves to make sure the temperature was okay without damaging the glaze.

“It was my first to survive bisque, I am invested!” you argued back, peering from over his shoulder, noticing that your vase for Terry had survived.

“Vase accomplished, Frog. You should be excited about that one,” he said, moving it to a shelf. “It means you worked it nicely.”

You shrugged. It was one of your latest pieces, so you weren’t too surprised about it. Still, considering that shaping a vase with consistent walls is a feat in itself, you smirked. “You taught me well.”

“I did,” he replied, lifting a large, low bonsai plate. “Ready to see your bowl, Frog?”

“If anything happened to it, I’m going to kill you.”

Taehyung turned to you, grinning, his nose scrunched in a way that made you sure you would never lift a finger on him.

Your eyes closed: because you were nervous about the bowl, you told yourself — not because you couldn’t stand Taehyung’s expression without pressing your lips to his.

He lifted the shelf from the kiln. He turned to look at you.

He did not resist.

It was like you were waiting for him to kiss you, fist pressed underneath your chin, eyes screwed shut in excitement and fear.

He touched his lips to the apple of your cheek. Your eyes shot open, but the gentleness on his face calmed you. “Congratulations, miss Frog, you have a beautiful blue baby,” he declared in a very medical fashion.

You threw your arms around him, jumping up and down as you giggled hysterically.

“And she cheers for the bowl,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “As if she could mess it up after that vase.”

“Screw the damned vase, show me my baby,” you said, going grabby hands to the kiln.

“No, Frog. Wait,” he said, picking up the piece and bringing it to the table, you in tow like a tail-wadding, restless puppy.

“It’s so pretty,” you mused as soon as he set the bowl down. “It’s so sparkly. So glittery. Taehyung, it’s perfect,” you whispered in awe, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you turned to him.

Fondness overwhelmed him as he saw your amused look, so dreamy and happy and satisfied.

It was your baby. Your special creature. Selfishly, he felt like he had contributed to the creation.

For a second he thought that’s what it must feel like to be a father. “Watch over it while I finish the rest,” he said, taking a step away.

You grabbed his wrist.

He turned, waiting for you to explain.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice emotional.

He twisted his arm in your grip until his hand could reach for yours, engulfing it.

And right in that second, he felt he belonged. Somehow crazily, stupidly, innocently, he felt at home. “Anytime, darling.” He rubbed his thumb against your inner wrist before letting you go. He still had half a kiln to unload.

Bowls and mugs came out easily, some of them even presenting unintended variations that would for sure attract buyers. He felt proud.

But most of all, he wanted to go back to your bowl, to you worshipping it like a little miracle, the poor vase sitting unattended on a high shelf, out of harm’s way.

He closed the lid and took the vase, bringing it to you and placing it on the table.

“You did a very good job, Frog,” he complimented you, placing his hand close to yours, hoping to rekindle the affection he had felt only a few minutes ago.

“It’s not like I did it by myself,” you admitted, beaming up at him.

“Stay for dinner,” he blurted out, “Seokjin brought a cheesecake this morning, I still have half of it. And I have his lasagna in the freezer. We could cook it and eat that — I don’t trust myself making anything edible.”

You snickered. “You don't want me to cook?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to… To celebrate.”

You smiled, standing up, his mouth right before your eyes, “What are we celebrating?”

He looked at your lips as they moved. “The vase,” he replied seriously, although the tone of his voice meant a thousand other things.

“Of course,” you conceded. “Let’s go. I’m hungry,” you confessed, grabbing his hand, tugging at his arm.

Taehyung could swear he was floating a foot off the ground out of happiness. He realised he’d been happier than usual lately; he’d been selling more pieces and his part time job was finally giving him some satisfaction.

He felt like he was drifting across the kitchen as he put his phone in a wooden box as an amplifier, playing an old jazz tune as he put the lasagna in the oven.

You sat at the table, watching him move around with a small smile, your head leaning on your palm. You were such a sucker.

“Wine?”

You shook your head. “You’re gonna get me drunk,” you smiled.

He sat at your side, “why not,” he teased, “just vaguely tipsy. I promise I’ll be a gentleman.” He placed a hand on his heart and bowed his head slowly.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” you murmured, looking down before meeting his eyes again.

He licked his lips. “Who is it, then?”

“Me.”

“What about you?” His fingers skimmed the surface of the table, sliding all the way to your elbow and tracing your inner forearm.

A shiver ran down your spine. “I get clingy. And slightly inappropriate,” you chuckled embarrassedly.

“I could never be bothered by that,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “I bet you’d look so adorable.” His hand opted to cup the back of yours before you slipped your hand away, making his palm touch your cheek instead, your face leaning in. “Which would make you absolutely irresistible,” he admitted, nodding fondly at your display of trust.

“Thank you,” you replied to the compliment, feeling your face heat up.

“Let’s lay the table.”

Let’s lay down and make out for three hours and fall asleep under the stars in the back of a pickup.

You gave your brain a second to calm down. “Sure. How can I help you?”

In twenty minutes, the tasty smell of lasagna began drifting in the air, making your mouth water as you and Taehyung talked about his other job — the one that actually paid the bills and brought food on the table. “I just love them, they’re adorable. I managed to practice when my granny used to babysit.”

You pouted, starry eyed as he talked about the children, going on and on about the five year old that always wanted to curl his hair and paint his nails.

Most of all, you loved the idea of him sitting on a baby chair, all curled up, giant hand sprawled on the table while the girl spread lacquer on his pretty nails.

“Your granny babysat?”

“She raised a few of us, yes, and then she was the babysitter for all the kids of the street,” he explained.

“I thought you grew up with your mom?” you said confusedly.

“Yes, we stayed with my mom until we turned four, but then she went back to her job and we started staying with my grandmother. And when I was ten, my mom started dating a good man. He’s one of the greatest people I know, but unfortunately, he was transferred out of state and my mom decided to go with him. I didn’t want to leave and my granny let me stay with her.”

You nodded, taking in more details about him. “Are you happy about the situation with your mom? Do you miss her?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. But I like seeing her happy. She got married and she’s safe. Her husband spoils her, he takes care of her and he’s well off. She won’t need to worry about her health.”

“That’s a good thing,” you nodded, getting startled once the timer rang.

“Thank God,” he muttered, getting an oven glove as you stepped away quickly.

Dinner was a quiet ordeal, with easy chatting and small pauses. Silence was more than welcome as you slipped into the quiet comfort of sharing a meal. It was all so natural, effortless. And the food was delicious, filling your stomach but also pleasing your tastebuds; Seokjin was famous for his culinary skills, but he really outdid himself with the cheesecake, so creamy and perfectly sweet that you asked for a second serving, Taehyung more than happy to comply.

You kept chatting as you helped him clear the table, washing the dishes while he dried them.

“Last one,” you called, rinsing a plate before passing it to him.

You watched him as he diligently dried it, your gaze meeting his in his peripheral.

You tried to find something to say as his stare focused on you, his hands placing down the plate as he fully turned towards you.

“What?” you murmured hesitantly.

“I might do something stupid,” he said, his voice deep and barely audible, his face getting closer to you. “But I haven’t done it in a very long time.” His hand landed on your waist. “Stop me if you find it outright idiotic.”

There was nothing idiotic in the way his mouth looked so inviting from up close, all its curves too inviting for you to stop staring.

The mole on his lower lip teased you in ways that made you want to throw yourself at him. You couldn’t even understand how the attraction worked, you were simply needy, praying for his mouth to finally meet yours.

“Close your eyes,” he breathed out, trying to find courage.

You followed his suggestion, putting yourself out of misery and standing on your tiptoes before leaning in, finally joining your lips with his.

He didn’t even pretend to keep calm, both arms wrapping around your waist as he held you, delivering a string of small pecks with his lips slightly ajar, offering you the soft plumpness of the inner flesh, vaguely humid and hot.

You loved it.

All you could do was exhale, a tiny cry leaving your throat as your vocal cords caught the breath leaving your lungs. Your hands flew to his hair, hiding in him as embarrassment set you aflame.

A low grunt echoed through his chest as he felt you tug the locks at his nape gently, your body pressing harder against him.

He tried to hold you back, not sure he was ready to admit the carnal way his body reacted to you. He wanted to be gentle, delicate, cautious, but the tightness of his trousers around his crotch was anything but.

“Darling, I need a minute,” he mumbled against your lips in an almost tickling motion.

“Just one more,” you replied, your voice so heated and thin.

He tutted. “Let’s not go too fast.”

You stood straighter and chased his mouth as he tried to retreat, your eyelids lowered as you stared at the sweet, tempting mole.

“Just one…” you whispered before sucking his lower lip, licking it with the tip of your tongue.

His hand moved to your tailbone, pressing you closer. Rational thought abandoned him as he pushed his tongue against the seam of your lips, rubbing it against your palate before letting it tangle with yours.

That’s when you noticed the hardness between your legs, his thigh slotted there comfortably as you pressed your hips to it, eliciting a moan from Taehyung.

“Sofa,” you murmured, trying to hold him to you as you walked backwards to the door.

“Wait,” he breathed out, trying to part from you, causing you to whine.

“Don’t go,” you said with a pout. “I need you,” you almost whimpered, touching his nape, his neck, his chest.

“I’ll be there in a second. Don’t go all cute grumpy on me, I just need to grab my phone,” he explained, unglueing your body from his. Reluctantly made your way to the kitchen door, waiting for him before heading to the sitting room, refusing to let him out of your sight anytime soon.

Once he’d pocketed his phone, he turned towards you, his eyes getting dark and lascivious as he studied your frame while you leaned against the door jamb.

He strolled casually towards you, your eyes following his sinewy limbs.

You realised you were eager to see him naked, the thought making you pause mid-breath.

Once he stood in front of you, his arm slipped between your back and the wooden frame of the door, holding you as he leaned down. “Smartest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“Even smarter if you’re gonna do me,” you quipped, biting your lower lip and cringing once you realised you had said it out loud.

He snickered and kissed you, your hips pushing forward to grind against him, his cock too hard and large for you not to notice it. His hand wrapped around your asscheek, helping you grind even harder, his lean, strong fingers squeezing and kneading your flesh deliciously. Carefully walking towards his destination, he helped you navigate the corridor in a slight penumbra, a thin ray of moonlight slashing the floor before he pushed the door open and entered the sitting room. The space was illuminated in a blue-grey light coming from the full moon shining outside the windows.

Haphazardly, you managed to sit down, pulling him with you, making him lose his balance and stumble a little.

“Are you okay?” you asked, worried about the stupefied look on his face.

“Yeah, just thinking how to…” he fixed his stance, wondering if he should pull you on his lap or make you lay down or…

“Come here,” you murmured, kissing the mole on his cheek. “I’ve got so many kisses to give you.”

“They’re all mine,” he cooed, turning adorable for a second.

You melted. “Yes, now come here, don’t make me beg.”

He turned and leaned into you, cupping your jawline and holding you still before he slipped his tongue across your mouth. “You’re too far like this,” he complained, ignoring the fact that your bodies were literally touching shoulder to ankle.

“Wait.” You quickly bent your legs underneath you, thankful for the no-shoes rule in his house as you sat on your heels. “Like this?” you asked as he mirrored the motion almost too rapidly, his body rocking dangerously.

He immediately realised his trousers were tighter like this. He tried to ignore it, his only goal being for his mouth to meet yours, feeling the hot, milky taste of your tongue that still held some memory of the cheesecake. “Come closer,” he breathed, hoping to get some friction, the softness of your breasts against his torso, crying out at how much he missed the stand-up position, allowing the front of his body to adhere to yours with alarming precision.

“Can’t get any closer,” you chuckled desperately. “Can I lay down?”

He nodded, he needed close.

You untucked your legs from beneath you, bending them at each of his sides. “We can go to my room—”

“I like it here,” you replied, tugging him into you, his eyes shooting open once he’d risked falling from the sofa.

You managed to catch him, thankful for the wide cushions of the seats. “Be careful,” you giggled fondly, kissing his brow, his nose, following his moles like fire flights. The whole night felt magical. It felt even more magical once you managed to get his playlist to play again, placing his phone on the ground and enjoying the round fullness of his backside.

“You really have hands made for pottery,” he mused as he kissed your brow, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your chin, the shell of your ear. “I like them there,” he confessed, pushing his pelvis against yours, meeting it mid-thrust and coaxing a whine from your throat and a growl from his.

One of his arms lifted from beside your head. “Can I?” he asked politely, letting it hover just a few inches over your breast.

“Please do,” you replied, leading his hand with yours, his wrist and fingers immediately catching up on how to grab it, squeeze it, roll it in his palm and toy with the nipple.

“Harder? Softer? Just like this?” he checked in, attentive and concerned.

“Just slightly harder,” you panted. “Slower too, please.”

His pace changed immediately, getting you to whine as you completely connected with his touch. The soft, slow massage was making you hyper-aware of every inch of skin, every single part of your breast, every nerve ending and hard edge and soft curve.

“I wanna take off my bra. Can I?” you asked in the heat of the moment.

Taehyung was vaguely confused for a second, so lost in the feel of you that he barely understood the question. “If you want that, I want that,” he replied, his breath laboured.

Quickly, you arched your back, Taehyung’s lips reaching the column of your throat and peppering it with soft pecks. “Do you need help?”

You tutted and moaned as his teeth scraped your skin lightly.

With some gymnastics, you managed to tug the garment out of your shirt, Taehyung moaning at the increased softness underneath his palm. “Goodness, they’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing his face against one, rubbing it as he turned his head side to side.

“Please, keep touching them,” you mumbled, your voice rough with the way you struggled to breathe.

He changed the arm propping him up, switching sides as he started to tease your other breast. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” you managed to confirm before your hands grabbed his ass to push him against you.

He paused for a second.

“I’m getting out of control,” he warned you.

“And?”

“I’m gonna cum in my pants if we keep this up,” he confessed, purring as you nibbled his jaw. “Slow down, please,” he panted, lifting his hips away from you.

“Tae,” you called, breathing heavily, almost begging him.

“I want you a lot, ____, please tell me you do too,” he was almost feverish with need, his brow furrowed, his beautiful eyes glittering in the dark.

“Isn’t it clear?” you asked in return, trying to chase him on his retreat.

He tutted and pushed you down. “I want to hear it.”

“I want you, Taehyung. I need you. I want to see you lose control.” Your mind was gone, far far away, your brain malfunctioning as his curls tickled your upper chest.

“I don’t wanna go all the way,” he murmured, “I just… I just wanna—” he huffed out frustratedly. “I just want to make you feel good. And to feel you close to me.”

You bit your lip. “Maybe—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to make love to you. I really want to. But this is going so fast and I wanna savour every step. Take my time.” He pressed his forehead against your chest. “I just like you so much and I want you to know it means something to me.” He paused and you waited for him. “I don’t want you to think this is just a random thing to me, and I don’t want to be a random thing to you.”

“You’re not.” You cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “We can take our time—”

“You must think I’m a coward,” he murmured, voice filled with self-hatred.

You held him closer, trying to convey all your affection. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe with me. I get you, baby.” You rubbed the tip of his nose with yours. “Let’s take baby steps. We can just mess around. You want to make me feel good, and I you. No need to have sex to go there.”

He nodded. “I wanna keep touching you,” he murmured. “I wanna feel you with my hands.”

You blinked slowly, eager to feel his fingers on you, inside you. “That sounds great, baby,” you encouraged him, watching his shy smile and the gentle blush on his cheeks, out of exertion and shyness.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” he whispered in your ear before kissing the soft spot underneath it, his free hand moving down, from your breast to your stomach, slipping underneath your shirt, moving up against your naked skin.

You gasped once his palm cupped the underside of your bosom.

“Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “Feels very good,” you answered, caressing his hair out of his face, his eyes moving from your chest to your lips to your eyes.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, reaching for your nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“Bless you, yes, baby. So good.” It was natural to trace his mouth with your finger, his lips parting to welcome it into his mouth. Your hips arched up, meeting his thigh to grind against him. You needed more pressure against your clit, your entrance clenching and widening as you felt wetness coat your folds uncomfortably. You refused to pressure him into leading his hand downwards, still you thanked several deities when his gentle fingertips started making their way to your belly button, dipping his digit in to study its shape, feeling all the ridges and tender skin. “It feels so cute,” he said after letting your finger out of his mouth, watching as you brushed it against your neck to dry it up. “I wanna make a little sculpture out of it.” He giggled. “Sorry, that’s so childish.” He shook his head.

“It’s adorable,” you replied, “it’s— Mmh, Tae. Yes.” He managed to scatter your thoughts across the universe once his fingers dipped into your jeans.

“Undo the button please,” he growled, reaching for the wet spot on your panties. “Darling dearest, you’re fucking drenched,” he said, a deep cry giving away just how desperate he was. “Can I get in your panties, precious?”

Mouth gaping, you nodded, an embarrassing mewl echoing across the room as he touched a slightly delicate spot. “That’s too sensitive,” you keened, a strangled purr leaving you once your back arched, his thumb relieving the disturbing pressure and wetness.

As slight friction began to build, Taehyung bit his lip, the vision of you so erotic and calming at the same time. It felt right, oh-so-right, to have you underneath him like that — maybe slightly overdressed, but adorably pliant and needy.

“Want them inside, darling?” he asked you, your head nodding yes quickly, without a shred of doubt. “Here, talk to me, sweetheart. Like this?” he murmured, waiting for your feedback.

“Yes,” was all you managed to utter, his digits hitting your sweet spot without even trying. “Rub there, please, stretch me,” you told him, guiding him as your hips started to roll, his thumb meeting your clit and causing a small whimper to exit your mouth before you clamped your lips around his neck.

“You feel amazing, darling. Soft and so hot and so velvety. You’re so dang slippery, it feels insane.” He kissed your head. “Want to make you cum so fast. I want to keep you up for hours like this, and then kiss you until you fall asleep. You’re spectacular, ____. I can’t take my eyes off you, my precious.”

You felt overwhelmed with the way he pushed his fingers inside you, pressing his long, strong, skilled, digits against your walls, stretching you so impossibly wide that you felt like you could probably fit four fingers in to the knuckles. But you didn’t have time to think much, simply arching your hips up and pushing your jeans and panties to your mid-thighs, trying to give him more space for action.

“Is the angle alright?” he checked in, binding his wrist a little lower, getting better leverage to finger you harder.

“Keep going like this,” you exhaled, your hand moving down, fixing his thumb as he struggled to find the right spot, “let me handle this, focus on the inside, please.”

He nodded and kissed your lips. “Sorry.”

You kissed him again. “No need to apologise— Yeah, right… there…” you said, starting to thrust up in earnest. “Clits are complicated but you’re doing so good inside,” you licked your lips, trying to ease the pain of them drying up with your and his breathing.

He bent down and chased the tip of your tongue as you ran it across your mouth, drinking in your soft hiccups and gasps as you neared your climax, his mouth crashing onto yours as you finally came apart underneath him, his kisses muffling your moans and cries.

Taehyung felt desperate as he slipped another finger inside you, giving you as much fullness as he could offer while you clenched around his digits, actually sobbing once you processed his generous offer.

It took you maybe thirty seconds before you could calm down, taking your fingers off your clit, whispering an “okay, slow down” to Taehyung, who halted the arching and pistoning of his fingers to simply press against your g spot and cup your mound with his palm.

“All good?” he asked, grunting a little as his arm cramped up.

“Yeah, are you?” you murmured back, noticing his wince.

“Cramp,” he huffed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Want me on top? You’ve strained yourself already as it is,” you scolded him apprehensively.

He shook his head and withdrew his hand from your crotch, cleaning his fingers with lewd, erotic swipes of his tongue. You felt ready to begin all over again. “I need to be on top,” he said, drying his hand against his t-shirt before propping himself up on both elbows before bending down, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I kinda want to grind on you, if you’re okay with it.”

Nodding, you helped your hips up, fixing your clothes back in place but also leaving your zipper and button open. “Clothes on?”

You felt his head move in an affirmative motion, his hips starting to press against you. “I know I must look like a teenager to you.”

“It’s adorable. Makes me feel very young,” you said before chuckling. “It’s been so long since I felt this good with anyone,” you confessed, holding him to your chest, assisting his motions by moving your own pelvis in a wavy pattern. “It’s so comfortable. So familiar and nice,” you whispered in his ear before biting it gently. “You make me feel like I’m not an utter mess in this attraction thing.”

“You’re not a mess. You just feel attraction differently.” He managed to gather his thoughts and words long enough to reply to you. He thought it was important for you to feel that it was okay, that he didn’t mind, that all he cared about was how happy he felt by your side. “You’re hot, you’re smart. And you’re so…” He grunted as he found the perfect angle and pressure, his high rushing towards him. “So magnetic. And good…” Another purr left his mouth as he started humping you in earnest, going so fast you doubted you would survive having him inside you, his torso crashing on you as he hummed and bit the crook of your neck, crotch attached to your thigh as he pushed, harder and harder, his glutes impossibly tight under your palms.

“Yes, baby. I’m here, Tae. It’s all okay, babe.”

“So good,” he rumbled, still hiding against you. “So, so good,” he moaned again, your face tensing in a kind, elated smile.

“Lay on me, baby,” you kissed the crown of his head. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, and it had little to do with the orgasm and the freaky show. You loved his tenderness, his gentle approach, the way he had checked in on you throughout the whole night, wide puppy eyes staring at you in focus and adoration and wonder. And the way he had asked to take it easy, the way you had felt no pressure, no need to search for attraction, but finding it there, in the way his hands felt familiar and welcome and so, so loving, in his face and his smile and his stupid, stupid, ridiculously fluffy hair. There was attraction and even though you had asked yourself why at the beginning, you didn’t dare doubt it now. It was just like oxygen in your blood, like black holes and shooting stars and the moon phases. Undoubtable. Solid. Proven. Undeniable. It had become a main axiom to your existence.

I’m in love with Kim Taehyung.

It was like the world suddenly spinned the other way around. You let the revelation sink in, your hand running up and down Taehyung’s spine.

“You’re safe with me, babe.”

He nodded and nuzzled in closer. “Are you staying?”

“Yes, sweetie. You’ll be sleeping in my arms tonight, baby.”

You felt him smile against your neck before he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes.

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[t-o-m-hollands]

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

*

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

*

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

*

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

*

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

*

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

*

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

*

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.