#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !

[kisses4kaia]

mdni. 18+ content. another installment of this au.

college!luke castellan doesn’t care about hickies.

of course, his frat brothers tease them relentlessly, but he does nothing to rebate the suggestions from most that they were from you. it wasn’t any secret that you and him had been fucking—casually, of course, he didn’t have time for relationships—for some time now, but it always left you a little jarred when he would be so open to the display of red bites left splayed on his neck.

“won’t they see?” you ask a bit dumbly after luke asks you to mark him through passionate kisses. rudely—your friends thought—he’d pulled you away from the dining hall with no explanation other than ‘needing you’.

“what?” he says, slightly breathless from kissing. the question had taken him aback because, had he not made it clear by now?

“won’t your friends see the… you know?” the sheepish tone in your voice elicits a deep chuckle from luke before he presses his lips against your neck, not hard enough to create hickies just yet, but not exactly gently either. “you want the truth, princess?” your eyebrows furrow a little dumbly but you nod with curiosity. “i think you love seeing ‘em on me, and you love when people know they’re from you,” he says. “and you know i don’t care if anyone sees. i know you know me better than that, don’t you, baby?” luke’s timbre is so low, so arousing and you can hardly keep the needy whimper in.

you just nod, no more doubt within you as you trail kisses down his scar, to his jaw, down to his neck and collarbone. the satisfied groans you elicit from him as you find that spot on his throat sends you in a daze almost immediately. his lips catch yours again before he flips the both of you over, settling on his knees in front of you.

luke’s mouth is everywhere, nibbing at the surface of your skin, laving his tongue over the fresh ache. his strong hands pulling your shorts and panties down in one go. “gonna mark you here,” he says, catching the plush flesh of your inner thigh between his teeth, sucking on the area and conjuring a livid stain on your skin.

he forges more and more red marks onto your skin before he finally puts his mouth on your neediest place. luke’s suctions his lips around your clit, forcing a choked gasp from you and a hand flying down onto his head. he groans against you as your back arches and your fingers tangle in his hair, tightening and tugging. he works hard, like he’s being paid to eat you out, but really, he knows he would pay to die between your thighs.

just as luke’s tongue pushes it’s way into your sopping hole, you feel that blissfully hot, white, sensation swim over and past you. your thighs are most likely suffocating luke, but he doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice really.

his tongue fucks you through your orgasm, and upon coming down from your high, luke’s head rises from your middle.

“we’re still casual, though?”

[kisses4kaia]

he shouldn’t like it this much.

that’s all patrick is thinking as art’s warm, unsure mouth works its way onto his painfully hard cock. your voice coos in art’s reddened ear, manicured hand tugging and swirling his blonde curls. you’re guiding him, teaching him how to open up his throat and take all 8 inches of patrick.

art’s tongue slides over patrick’s weeping tip, causing the brunette to squirm and nearly growl. you see patrick’s hand twitch on the chair’s wooden arm, and he hears you ask something out of earshot to the blonde boy. he’s hesitant for a moment before he nods, letting you peel patrick’s calloused hand off of the arm and place in on art’s head. naturally—instinctively—patrick’s hand twists and pulls on the golden tresses.

“go ahead and lick from the base to the top, yeah, good. he likes that, angel,” you’re scratching the nape of art’s neck with one hand and patrick’s muscly thigh with the other, both parties being grateful for the extra stimulation.

he shouldn’t like it this much. he shouldn’t be this close to cumming. this is wrong, and he knows it. he has tashi and you have art and this is all wrong; but the taboo of it all just makes him hotter and hotter hotter—and now he’s cumming down arts throat without warning.

he doesn’t even realize how far and hard he’s slammed his friends head down onto him, choked gasps and pleads weaving with his squirming thighs and your nipping on his chest and neck. patrick only realizes what he’s done when his best friend looks prettier than he’s ever looked with tears in his eyes and his cum dribbling from his pink lips. he wanted to push him onto his chest and make him sob, let you watch, if you wanted—tashi, too.

he shook the thoughts away as he wiped the spend from art’s lip and stuck it into his own mouth, making eye contact with you.

and when it’s all over, your praises don’t ever end, only after you’ve all bathed and patrick’s been dropped off back home to an unsuspecting tashi and art falls asleep on your chest do you let your voice go out.

you think you’ll invite your favorite brunette lady next time, for you felt rather lonely with your two boys.

[kisses4kaia]

patrick and degradation hi

you weren’t even thinking when you said it. he was pissing you off so fucking badly and there was so much happening, you couldn’t contain it.

“you’re such a fucking idiot, patrick. so fucking stupid, you’re such an asshole, god.” you grit out between groans. you’re straddling his meaty thighs, slamming yourself up and down on his obscenely hard cock, and he’s gone. his head isn’t on earth, his conscience a mere cloud of you and heat and you and pleasure and pain and you and you and you.

“fuuuuuck,” he groans out, face twisting up into an expression you’ve grown so familiar with. it’s a look of agony and desire, a red flush spreading like a forest fire from his cheeks down his neck and taking roots in his pecs. “oh please, fuck, gonna cum, baby, shit,” he’s sputtering out, abs flexing as his moans grow louder and more often reoccurring, and it’s not made any better by your biting.

dragging your teeth along his collarbone, biting down on the sweating sheen of his flesh, all the while growling the meanest fucking words that patrick is melting to hear.

“fucking pathetic, so dumb, got you brainless, don’t i? maybe i should get you like this more often, so you don’t say stupid shit anymore, hm? bet you’d like that, fucking freak,”

and he’s shaking through his orgasm, busting a gooey load into the latex of his condom as he praises your name, over and over. you slow down momentarily, allowing him a break, but a few seconds later, you’re back to chasing your high like your life depended on it. he lets you, lying whimpering and liquid for you as you meet your own peak. patrick’s limbs are tingling still, blotches of warmth making him a pied beauty underneath you for your eyes only.

less than a minute later, your gasping for air as your climax rams through you, biting your lip so patrick’s name doesn’t slip through and feed his everest comparable ego. “who knew you’d be so into me talking shit on you? you would love to hear what me and my friends say when you aren’t around,” you chuckle, still catching your breath as you fall down next to him.

“it’s my kind of dirty talk, baby.” he leans over to kiss you on the cheek, and you groan, pushing him off of you before dressing yourself and leaving him, alone in his hotel room. it’s almost like you were never even there.

[kisses4kaia]

superbowl tn who loves football !! luke def does .

just imagining loser!luke get soo mad when his favorite team fumbles a touchdown, or when the ball is taken from his fav player and he just needs to calm down. and what a better time than halftime?

so like the sweet girl you are, you make no complaints when luke wordlessly and unexplainedly manhandles you onto your back spreading your legs. he kneels on the ground before you and throws your calves over his shoulders which are clad in a jersey reading his favorite tight end’s name on the back as he pulls your pretty little panties to the side.

usually, he would take his sweet time prepping you, teasing a little cruelly, but right now? right now he just wants to bury his face between your plush thighs, slobber a little mindlessly all over your pretty cunt. god, he’s so messy, too ! he’s paying little to no mind to your squeals and writhes as he just holds a strong arm to your pelvis, restraining you from trying to run away from him any further. “please, luke! slow down, sh-shit!” you moan in a high-pitched tone, the pop singer’s half-time performance on the tv now background static over the disgusting and bestial ways he’s devouring you like a wolf would prey.

everything is so primal and animalistic with the way his tongue fucks into you—because, its not because he’s desperate to drive you to pleasure, but because he’s found a vaguely familiar, warm, place for his worked tongue to dwell. he’s made you cum, what, thrice now? and not once has he stopped or even seemed to notice.

worse for you, he hasn’t resolved his anger yet, and as retribution for when you try to tug at his dark curls to dispel the achy overstimulation he’s caused, he slaps your agonized cunt and utters some filthy degradation before returning to his ministrations.

and when he realizes halftime has come to a conclusion and the game is back on, he simply presses a parting kiss to your sensitive little clit, sits back up onto the couch next to a heaving, crying, you, and glues his eyes back onto the screen in front of him; leaving you to limp off to take care of yourself.

“grab me another beer while you’re up, hm baby?”

[kisses4kaia]

patrick likes his girls mean!! he loves the stuck up, entitled, princesses who demand their every need be catered to. so when he meets you, all designer rackets and chanel sponsorships, he’s gotta bite.

you’d heard of patrick, of course. whom of your peers hadn’t? the effervescent tennis prodigy with a blinding career practically inscribed in his fates.

you couldn’t lie, learning about his reputation as not only a tennis god, but as a sex one, too… you had to bite.

hell if you were going to make the first move, though. that was quite literally never happening, and so you bided your time.

luckily for you, patrick was rather impatient—much differently to yourself—and would never miss the opportunity to make his way towards you at one of your dad’s events at your exorbitant, cherrywood-littered, home.

“that’s your third glass of champagne.” his voice startled from behind you. you swiveled on your heels to face the owner of such a bold tenor. “excuse me?”

patrick smiled to himself, nodding towards your glass. “tough night?” he’s suave, a large, single, step and he’s right next to you.

about to spit at him the meanest offended verbiage you could offer, your eyes found themselves catching onto his broad shoulders, and then practically raving all over his figure. his forearms, worked and muscled, were cut off from your view at the wrists, hands shoved deep into his pockets. there was a shock of dark, gelled, curls on his head, pairing dangerously fine with the honest and abyssal ultramarine of his eyes.

“you gonna keep checking me out or are you gonna answer my question?” he wore a stupid, smug smirk that had you scoffing. “sorry, do i know you?” you wished you could have looked down at him when saying this, but even with your heavy platform versace heels, you still had to crane your head to meet his eyes.

and of course, your question was redundant, but from the sounds of him thus far, he could do with a little ego death.

“patrick, zweig. i play tennis. and you do, too, don’t you?” he knew the answer to that question and he knew exactly who you were, because your father’s foundation that this very event was being held for, was titled in your name. “oh, that’s right. yeah, your parents were, i think.. third place at last year’s st. jude’s fundraiser?” his face twisted up in shame so satisfactorily, you had to physically bite back an evil giggle of victory. “well, patrick. it was really nice talking—“

“i’ve got something stronger than champagne in my car.” his tone was flat, practically monotonous, but his words had an implication of sheer fun, and who were you to skip out on that?

so, here you were, orange vodka bottle in your right hand as you jerked a whining patrick off with your left. “god, you’re so fucking pent up. what is it, tennis? or is it that no girl wants to fuck you, so you haven’t blown a decent load since back at school?”

ooh, he would tell it to you so straight, spit out evidence-backed statements of how easy it was to get a pretty girl on her knees for him whenever he wanted, he would. he would, if his mind wasn’t so fogged up with the pleasure, and the drinks, and mostly you. you you you.

“fuck—t’s so good, so good. please, i wanna cum, wanna cum,” he’d plead through the thick steam growing in the increasingly too-small cockpit of his car.

“how bad?” nipping at his ear, you were waiting to hear him beg, and he was waiting to swallow his mass of pride enough to get it out. “so bad, really fucking bad. i need it, need you, fuck. shit—please, need it so much,” he was so convincing, and it would’ve swayed a kinder soul, but then again, patrick likes his girls mean.

“no.” with your hand lost on his stupidly bricked length, patrick groaned, and bitched, and whined, and complained about how unfair you were being, and how he’d never do that to you, and blah blah blah. “well, i can’t say i care, so. maybe i’ll see you later. bye, patrick,” your fingers twinkled goodbye in a wave, and you were out of the vehicle and back inside the party without another word.

it wasn’t over then, of course not, and you knew it. thus, it came as no shocker when an unknown number randomly applepays you $1000 in the middle of the night, along with a text that reads as follows.

had a great time. hope we run into each other again sometime soon. and, don’t spend it all in once place, yeah? - 💸

[kisses4kaia]

And if request Art and Patrick threesome during a camping trip then i’m the issue

anon!! how dare you ?!??!! unacceptable—thank u for 1.7k🫂. (fwb!patrick, fwb!art, handjob, etc. mdni.)

summer was always a haze with the three of you. spending each night in a stuffy motel as you traveled vast distances for tournaments, leisure, or whatever needed tending to, got tiring—fast.

with school out of the way, you made the most of your free hours with your two best friends. but now, after two months of back-to-back games on a multitude of continents, you were all in need of a break. and according to patrick, a forest camping trip was as good as any—sexier, too, whatever that meant.

the roadtrip was an endeavor of its own, patrick’s jeep he’d gotten for his 17th birthday 3 years ago transporting the trio of you out of the suburbs of town into the outskirted woods.

and well, you may or may not have been intentional when letting them make out with you, grope, pet, and bite the whole way to the wooded mountains outside of town. however, their greedy hands were always stopped just above the golden crest of your belt. annoyingly, you’d push them off of you and hop into the passenger seat, leaving them hard and frustrated. “c’mon,” patrick groaned your name. “what’s going on, man?” he’d beg, but you’d only shrug. “just not feeling it right now, that’s all.”

but finally, when the sky was making its daily transition from enlightened to dusk, the jeep was parked in a clearing within the forest and the back was opened up. the seats were pushed down to allow for all of your car-camping gear to be set up: a thin mattress laying down the floor, pillows, throw blankets, chargers and other necessities all strewn about the stuffy car.

and after dinner (leftover wingstop from the drive), the three of you retired to your pillows, the boys’ bodies on either side of you, legs tangled in with yours.

finding serenity in the warmth of the blankets and pillows and man-sized cuddles sandwiching you, plus the owl’s call and nearly audible twinkling of the stars in un-light-polluted night sky, you found yourself latching onto a dream of a US open trophy. but, all your hopes were cut short by a soft pair of lips sticking onto your neck, sucking on your jugular.

another mouth found its way onto your wrist, kissing up your arm til it found your shoulder, at which it then moved from the blade to your shut eyelids, finally to nipping at your earlobe. you knew that had to be patrick, him never being one to stay put in one place for long.

art was needier, kisses on your neck intensifying as his middle grinded up against your thigh, whimpers leaking through desperate nips and wet pecks. “please, can you touch me?” art whispered in your ear, and you found your hand gravitating towards his waistband. “‘course, baby.”

“thank you, thanks so much,” art muttered as he felt your hand wrap around the base of his cock, starting slow as you began to pump and then sliding up to circle your thumb around the achy weep of his tip. patrick whined, feeling slightly neglected as he indulged in the lovely sounds you were pulling from his blonde friend. you were quick to move your hand from art’s hair to patrick’s need, sliding past the confines of his sweats and boxers.

you stroked them both with equal vigor, speeding up and slowing down at the same time for both boys. you knew what you were doing, and so did they. somehow, the synchrony, the knowing that the two best friends were feeling equally as good together, everything, made it so much hotter, and that much more erotic.

the best friends locked eyes with each other, nodding with that look in their eye. there was a mutual understanding between the two mindless, whimpering, males, and all it took was an unspoken three, two, one… and they were spilling their loads into their boxers and onto your hands with obscenely loud, lost in the night moans.

pulling both your arms out of the pants of your best friends, you licked both clean before sliding under the thin fleece throw blanket barely covering half of each of the boys’s bodies. “night night.” you bid sweetly, as if you hadn’t just given the pair the strongest orgasm they’d experienced in a long time.

“yeah, night, baby.” “goodnight.”

[kisses4kaia]

i just want to suck art and patrick’s dick at the same time ssorrh i don’t even know how that would work but id figure it out

ugh i love when you guys

because it’d be soo messy shut up. like having both the boys lean against the headboard of your hotel room’s queen bed, fingers interlocked as you lay atop both of their thighs. pumping patrick’s cock whilst your tongue swirled and spit on art’s, sliding your mouth up and down the side length of cock whilst massaging art’s saliva-smeared balls.

eventually, they’re both close, so you bring their cocks together at the tip, pressing them together until they’re red and purple and squirming and sweating. you, with some effort, manage both of their tips into your mouth at the same time, the conjoined pleasure pushing both of them so close to the edge it’s nearly unbearable.

“can we come? please, baby we wanna come so bad, right, patrick?” art turns to look at his best friends face, but his eyes are rolled back and his brows are twisting in the middle, mind too far indulged in the pleasure. “patrick,” art nudges him in the arm, squeezing his hand as if to say ‘you still there?’ and when the brunette’s eyes open to land on art’s face, he doesn’t say anything before he’s locking lips with him.

through the disgusting sucking and slobbering on the boys’ cocks and hips, you hear art groaning into his best friend’s mouth. “please,” you think you hear him mutter, hips bucking, and although his focus is on patrick right now, you know he’s talking to you.

the sight was one that enthralled you with heat, and you needed to see it elevate that much further, hear their noises gasp into the others mouth whilst you sucked them to completion. “be good and cum for me.” you whispered, and with patrick’s balls in your mouth and his tip pressed to art’s, he came in 5 seconds flat. art, too.

😙🥰🤞👍!!!!

[kisses4kaia]

god college!luke makes my emotions go haywire 😡😩 i’d honestly start dating someone else to spite him

you know what anon. ima need you to claim an emoji bc ur thoughts are TOO GOOD (also thank u sm for 1.5k💋)

so we’ve discussed previously that luke castellan does not get jealous easily.

however.

he never thought you would go this far. sure, you had danced on other guys at parties to get a rise out of him, maybe flirted here and there in front of him, but never this.

getting into a relationship—a serious relationship—with his frat brother? that was a new low. so what if he’d purposefully lead other girls into gross bathrooms at bar outings so you would see? this was uncalled for. how dare you?

so naturally, at your new boyfriend’s birthday party, when you’re sitting on his lap, helping him unwrap your present of a jean-paul gaultier cologne he’d wanted, luke—in classic luke fashion—thought this would be his chance. your sorority sister, drunk off of her wits—bless her heart—came up to you and whispered some slurred imperative about how you needed to get to ‘the square’.

your eyebrows furrowed at her as her eyebrows raised, questioning the significance of ‘the square’ and why the man who prompted her to ask chose there. you said no words, excusing yourself after finding her a water and alka seltzer.

“you really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” are the first words you say to luke, button up shirt open and lying on his back on the false grass. “me? you’re one to talk, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes at his use of the nickname, crossing your arms as you stand over him.

beneath the twilight, your exposed shoulder skin glistened like the moon, just a sliver of it visible in the northern night sky. luke had obviously had something to drink or smoke, or both, because he slurred his words as he patted the turf next to him. “sit down. c’mon, like the good ol’ days,”

‘the square’ was a small patch of land in the middle area between his frat’s and your sorority’s backyards. it was insignificant to most everybody else, but you and luke had claimed it as yours on drizzly nights like these, when the owl called and adolescence snored. it didn’t even hold sexual reminiscences, for each night you spent on the square was spent just talking. he would gloat about some things he did over the summer, interrogate you on your sex life, laugh at your offense and crack bad jokes. he was the worst person to spend valuable time with, but you returned every night, nonetheless.

“i’m surprised, castellan. been here a full sixty seconds and you haven’t tried to fuck me,” you remained standing over his lax body, crossing your arms over your chest. “do you want me to try to fuck you? because i’m down,” he looks up at you with that smile of his. that toothy, million dollar, smile that reassures whomever it is on the receiving end that everything is okay and there’s not a thing to worry about.

you snort, giving in and sitting down. luke pulls you into his lap before your butt can even hit the cool grass, eliciting a yelp from you. his lips press against your shoulder, strong, warm arms wrap around your waist and you can’t help but melt into the body beneath you. “luke,” your voice is meant to be a warning, supposed to remind him and yourself that you belong to another and this was not right, but he did nothing except for hold you tighter and smile against your skin.

“he doesn’t make you feel like i do.” he spoke the words out of your mind, the voice of truth you swallowed down with a knowing conscience that it would rise to the surface eventually. this wasn’t what you wanted. your single goal wasn’t to make luke jealous, it wasn’t even to show him what he was missing. you just wanted it to be different. you wanted somebody to take you seriously enough to call you theirs.

but anybody who did wasn’t him.

“luke,” this time, you weren’t trying to ward off anything. this time, you were welcoming him and all his invasive, rude, luke-like, traits and the pain you knew would come with letting him in once more. “i know, baby, i know.” he said no further words before flipping the pair of you over and letting your back onto the ground. you focused on none else other than the feeling of his lips finally landing on yours, the trace of his fingers across your denim skirt’s hem. “can i?” luke’s fingers dipped past the fabric, drawing swirls on your skin. “mhm, yeah,” your smile is audible and spreads to luke’s lips.

if there was one thing luke always did, it was worship you. this time was no different. his lips were everywhere, and when they weren’t pecking kisses all over you, he was breathing praises like you were a mortal saint against your skin. and when he entered you, he fucked you like he couldn’t believe he got the chance to feel you again. but he knew what the outcome of this would be; of course he did.

you didn’t know him as a particularly selfish lover, but the way he chased his high, rutting his hips against yours to the point of overwhelmed stuttering suggested that to be true.

and when it was all said and done and the past hung in the air like a wonder of the world, luke stood and looked down at you like you previously did him.

“break up with him.”

“why?”

“you know why.”

there was no denying that, so you did none else than nod.

“yeah. i do.”

[kisses4kaia]

i think…i think about art fucking me…but then patrick fucking art…sandwhich style…yk?

get out of my head anon.

it would be art’s idea, 100%. he’d be fucking you so stupid while patrick had you suck on his cock, getting it nice and messy and wet for him. the thought came to art as he watched patrick tap his cock against your pouted lips, mesmerized by the glossy coat of saliva dripping from the entire length.

“pat—pat,” art slowed down the movements of his cock into you, completely ignoring the whine and squirming of your hips and the begs to ‘keep going!. “what’s up, man?” patrick says, a little breathless but flushed in the cheeks, lips, and chest, turning him godlike in any mortal’s eyes.

“i want you to fuck me.” the blonde was blunt, unwavering as he stared stone into his best friends eyes. patrick doesn’t trust his own words after feeling his cock twitch against your face at the ask, so instead he just nods. slowly. “like—like at the same time?” he clarifies, hand moving down to massage at the fat of your tits, less in hopes to please you and more trying to keep himself grounded. “mhm.” art nods once, eyes fiery as though they were offering a challenge.

patrick cursed at his friend with a smile. his attention is drawn down on you as he placed a little peck to your lips, a promise to return, all before his weight is lost at the head of the bed. very soon, however, you feel it redistributed behind art, gentle kisses pressed onto his shoulder blade as patrick pumped two saliva-lubed fingers into his friends taut asshole.

gently, he eased the blond’s hips back into yours and encouraged the pistoning of his mean cock into your pussy through the push of his digits in and out of art’s ass. “so pretty,” patrick cooed at both of you into his best friend’s ear, forcing him to whine and nod as his eyes, glued onto the mesmerizing giggle of your tits through every pump, fluttered shut in pleasure. he found himself very close very quickly, warning patrick through breathy huffs and curses. “fuck, pat, i’m gonna—“ his sentence trailed off as all he could do was whine when patrick’s fingers found themselves missing from his hole, which now pulsed and breathed with want.

“i’ll take care of you, baby, don’t you worry. hey, dont stop fucking her, understand?” patrick placed a biting kiss onto the lobe of art’s ear which burnt bright red as he kept fucking into you with a certain and desperate rigor and adoration. it seemed art’s entire world flipped upside down as he let out the sluttiest moan probably ever conceived at the delicious stretch of patrick’s envy-inducing cock into his asshole. “god! please, fuck, i need it, need it so bad,” art begged as he pulled nearly all the way out of you and backwards onto patrick’s dick.

“i said, don’t.” thrust. “stop.” thrust. “fucking her.” thrust. patrick’s needy, incessant, sloppy, pounding into his best friend had the blond falling on top of you, sucking on your tits as the unforgiving ramming of his brunette’s hips into his did all the work for him. “that’s so good,” art whimpers at both you and patrick, practically drooling all over your chest.

cumming came fast for all three of you. you were first, and also priority for both the men. as art nipped at the fat of your areola, patrick reached around art’s body to make a mess of the arousal drowning your cunt. your orgasm came over you in twitches and tears, biting down on art’s shoulder—unintentionally triggering his own climax.

“gonna cum!” art hardly warned through the spurting of white ribbons painting your insides, washing over his body in shakes and tremors. “fuck, you’re so tight,” patrick’s voice is up nearly 2 octaves, his clearest sign of being close to his peak, and art swears he can feel his cock twitch inside of him.

“please cum, pat. for me.” your eyes were round and pleading, his fucking kryptonite, and you knew it—so it was no surprise that with a whine and a curse, patrick is pulling out and splurging his load onto art’s back.

falling down next to you and easing you in between the both of them, art and patrick don’t bother cleaning up as they let their exhaustion win and pull them under, responsibility a mere, distant, irrelevant, obligation.

[kisses4kaia]

art is the kind of boy to be so happy just to be owned.

to be claimed, to be the possession of a reckoning force, to be under the sovereignty of a royal monarch. the royal monarch that is you.

he’d let you do anything to him, really. his codependency should break your heart, force you away from him for his own good, but you can’t seem to find the morality inside your depraved heart to let him go.

i mean, where else would you find someone who worships you so reverently, unconditionally? who else would cry at your feet to keep being yours, even after spitting venom at him, calling him weak and pathetic? whom else’s cock would stand tall and proud for you, although all you’ve done to him is degrade him endlessly. his tears only made you more sick, more twisted.

and, honestly, he was fine, more than that. art loved to be pushed around by you, and more than anything, he loved knowing he was your’s. <3

sigh. he really did deserve better.

[kisses4kaia]

jj maybank wants to hate you.

you, with your obscenely expensive lip oil from dior. with that seemingly endless closet filled with the most delicate—fucking exorbitant—fabrics of clothing. you, with all your skirts so short, tops so tight, you were fucking insufferable.

the kook princess, the very symbol of all it is jj would always have to admire from afar, never touch. it made him incensed beyond articulation.

but when you bat your lashes at him at an illegal bonfire on the beach, wordlessly taking the joint from his fingers and pulling a drag, jj seems to forget all about this innate hatred for all things kook.

“you wanna know the truth, jj?” you say sweetly. he’s smirking stupidly down at you, grateful for the dark embers of the fire for casting a dim glow upon the both of you, hiding the flush of his cheeks. “what’s that?” he says, voice a little slurred from the abundance of beers he’s drank.

you press up onto your tippy-toes to whisper in his ear. “i’ve had a huge crush on you for years,” you giggle through the confession, the kush beginning to take effect. it took a moment for your words to register in jj’s head, but when they did, he swore he could feel the blood rushing to his cock.

“yeah?” he grins bigger. you nod with a sweet little ‘mhm’.

that same night, and for so many nights after, jj takes you behind whatever building he can find, bullying his cock into your impossibly tight cunt.

at first, he fucks you with his hatred in mind, the notion of ruining your pristine, tantalizing, onerously gorgeous, body running rampant through his mind. but soon, too soon for his liking, jj comes to realize that he actually cares for you. you were so sweet. not at all obnoxious or needy. now, he found all those things he used to loathe about you endearing.

of course, you knew this was coming. this was the plan from the beginning. contrary to the outsiders belief, you weren’t a dumb kook; you were just really good at pretending to be one.

[kisses4kaia]

im begging you on my knees sobbinggg to write pussy drunk billy that loses control at the mere smell or touch of us  😩😩

ur so real for this . billy the mutha fuckkin kid the man u are — also ur patience is so appreciated baby💕

“please, darlin’. i’ll be fast, i promise, i just—i just need you so bad right now. please, angel, just this once?” billy breathes against your neck in between kisses. “billy…” you sighed out, a near groan as you tried to press some distance between the two of you. he doesn’t even regard your attempt before he’s pushing you back onto the grimy bathroom wall.

“i have to get back,” you tried to reason, but as billy’s calloused hands ran up your thighs to hike up your little linen dress, you couldn’t really remember what it was you needed to get back to. “drivin’ me crazy out there, don’t you know? with that way you touch my hair, or the way you hook your fingers through my belt loops. goin’ fuckin’ insane, ‘cause of you,” his hands make quick work of his belt and buttons and zipper as you subconsciously pull your own panties to the side.

he bites his lower lip to contain a smile at your needy state; knowing you longed for him making him want you that much more.

“i’ll be quick, baby.” he promised, spitting in his hand and stroking himself gently before letting his cock slip past your slick folds and inside of you.

there’s an apprehension that is left unspoken as you and billy hasten to your climaxes, his hand dropping from your hip to circle his roughened thumb pad against your puffy clit as his thrusts sped up and fell desperate to lust. “come on now, you gonna come for me or what? i wanna feel you, angel. go on, then. come for me, darlin’,” his gruff voice reverberated against all five of your senses, sending you over the edge with a choked gasp, a long since held in moan breaking through. “shh, baby. they’ll hear you all the way in montreal, you know that,” he said, smirking through his words, pleased at the effect he has on you.

it only took a few more thrusts before he was groaning and gasping and whimpering in your ear, head pressed to the crook of your neck. he pulled out and painted white ribbons over your stomach, dress pulled up and exposing your lower abs.

“so good for me. always such a fuckin’ doll. ‘ll keep you forever, what do you think about that?” your mind is barely unclouding as you nod, murmuring a little ‘uh huh’, pulling billy in for one last kiss before he goes away. grabbing the bandana out of his back denim pocket, he cleans the mess off of you and leaves with a kiss to your cheek, and a little, frisky, gentle, smack to your ass.

[kisses4kaia]

brothers best friend billy bc i am self-indulgent ☺️ very poorly proofread😴 edit; here’s another installment of this au <3

william h. bonney is a gentleman.

he is a gentleman, but fuck, if you whisper another word into his ear, warm breath fanning over the cusp, he’s not above bending you over the poker table and fucking you in front of everyone, including your brother.

and billy knows, he knows you’re trying to rile him up, knows you’re just trying to get a ride rise out of him, but did you really have to hit him where it hurts? you’d learnt not too long ago that billy is quite sensitive on his ears—when you nibbed him on his earlobe while he was balls deep inside your tight cunt and he came on the spot—and if you didn’t take advantage of that from time to time, you reasoned, it would be an injustice, truly.

“oh billy, don’t you know fucking your best friends little sister is wrong? how long has this been going on—2 months, huh? hmm, you ever gonna tell jesse? oh, no. he would kill you if he found out, wouldn’t he? and you’re still taking that risk for me; how romantic of you, billy,” your voice is a tantalizing taunt, and it’s winding him up, so much so that he has to take a swig of his whiskey to cover up the flush spreading on his cheeks.

your whispers are received from billy with a shudder, whom you’re standing behind while he sits at the poker table. nobody really even notices you talking to him, not even jesse. he’s focused on winning, as is billy, but you just make it so much damn harder for your lover.

the game is on its last play and it’s gotten quite intense. “reveal your hands,” the dealer commands and jesse lays down his cards before billy shows him up completely, 4 aces over jesse’s straight.

the sportsmanship is friendly even after billy gathers the whole pot for himself and jesse goes to catch a drink at the bar, giving billy the perfect opportunity to figure out what the fuck your little show was about.

his large hand is wrapped around your—by comparison, small—wrist, and he’s dragging you outside the saloon, all the way to his house just down the block.

when the door slams shut, billy’s lips are on yours faster than you can blink.

he has this way about his kisses—they’re always needy, but not all-dominating. he doesn’t want to own you, you can see it is his eyes, the eyes that are so much softer than lil the other men you’ve come across, who look at you like a piece of meat. he kisses you with a certain passion, a fire that you haven’t been able to find with anybody else, and it ignites something bubbly inside you. he’s feverish, and you reciprocate his urgency, fingers hooking into his two front belt loops, pulling him closer to where you need him the most.

“fuck, pretty. really tryna rile me up, huh? fuck was that, back at the game?” his lust-blown pupils do nothing to hide the fact that you won. you got just what you wanted, so with a giggle you respond, voice teasing. “i just wanted to see how gentlemanly you could stay before you would eventually break—i knew you would break,”

billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, before placing his lips on yours, more gently this time, and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you to his bedroom that you’ve grown oh, so, familiar with.

he surprises you when rather than laying you down on your back unto the bed, he sits down himself, begins unbuttoning your linen button-down and unbuttoning the boot-cut denim jeans that hugged your ass so fucking well, before pulling all of it off of your limbs and helping you pull his own trousers down.

with gentle maneuvering, billy eases you onto his hard, awaiting cock. a soft gasp leaves you, and a deep groan from billy reverberates throughout the room. “this is what you wanted? to sit on my dick, make your pretty, little pussy cum? yeah? go on, use me. ride my cock, hm? you own it, it’s yours,” his breathy words only speed up your pulsing around his dick, and pull a aroused moan from your throat.

he sounded so honest, so real. it was times like these, with him underneath you, coming more and more undone by the second, that felt the most raw. it was times like these, when his hands where welded onto your hips, surely leaving bruises, that you realized, you didn’t want this with anybody else, ever. you never wanted to leave his loving embrace, and it’s with that epiphany you speak.

“fuck, billy, i love you. i love you so fucking much, oh my god, fuck!”

his hips falter slightly at the sentence, but almost like a serendipitous parallel, billy cums with a loud moan right along with you, orgasms perfectly in time with one another.

and as he comes down from his high, riding you through your own, his response to your confession is uttered—in hushed tones, in fear that if he dare raises his voice, dare speak freely, dare open his arms, you may disappear, like sand through his calloused fingers.

“i love you, too, angel. i think… i think want forever with you.”

[kisses4kaia]

something about kissing a pretty girl in the back of a downtown, hole-in-the-wall, parisian jazz bar. maybe she bought you a drink, maybe she charmed you with her cool, relaxed baggy jeans that sat perfectly low on her defined hips, or perhaps it was the lack of makeup on her face—save for a strikingly favoring red lip that enticed you. anyway, the low, moody, lighting enchants her golden brown skin with a dusty, soft glow (she’s talking about politics and you can’t really focus because she has a small pizza sauce stain right above her cupid’s bow that you feel an indomitable urge to taste). somewhere, billie holiday is playing faintly, but her drowsy blues can scarcely be made out over the laughter and buzzy chatter of the purely human setting you found yourself in. she’s beautiful and all smiles and jokes, god, how she makes you laugh.

maybe it’s 3 am by the time she takes you, hand in hand, stumbling down the quiet streets of south france, finding a new endeavor to embark on for the both of you. you’re dog-tired, it occurs to you, but you’re having so much fun with this woman you faintly realize you haven’t learned the name of that you put your exhaustion on the back burner of your mind, to be dealt with some other night. not this one. no, this one is her’s. this night is for the two of you. just tonight.

[kisses4kaia]

MORE BROTHERS BEST FRIEND BILLY THE KID I BEG OF YOU

GIBSON GIRL .ᐟ

pairing— brothersbestfriend!william h. bonney x fem!reader

warnings— smut, forbidden relationship, p in v, oral (m and f receiving) EVERYONE IS LEGAL!!

a/n— this took an absurd amount of time sorry! she’s here now tho so plz reblog if u enjoyed! (also not a part two to the first one 🤍)

“billy, make sure she’s safe while i’m gone, will you?” jesse asks his best friend in reference to you, his innocent, sweet, little sister. and naturally, without any hesitation, billy nods. “of course, always,”

there’s something about his tone when he says it, something that hints that his opinion of you isn’t entirely fraternal, but perhaps something more profound. jesse doesn’t catch onto that, though; never having been the brightest tool in the shed.

almost ignorantly, he just nods at billy in respectful acknowledgment, kisses you on the cheek, all before leaving the house, heading into town for whatever errands needed running, leaving you and billy alone for many unsupervised hours.

god, the tension between the pair of you was palpable—thicker than molasses and sweeter than it, too. to make matters worse for the outlaw, recently, you took up a new hobby—making billy squirm. making innuendos just barely passable as innocent banter, being on your best behavior and letting him know you were like this just for him, then going and turning it around completely, becoming a complete and total brat, not heeding to mind a single word he speaks.

and fuck, it was driving him insane. he felt so ashamed of himself on nights when all his mind could conjure up before bed was images of you—images the lord would frown upon sincerely—and end up with a cum-splotched torso and a still unsatiated cock. he hated you for it.

you, with your too-tight denim shorts in july, and with your ribbons in your pigtail plaits, and your sweet, soft, wickedly tantalizing, eyes and even more venomous voice. everything about you drove him mad, and it was the very nature of your relationship that irked him the most—because, he knew, as desperately as he wanted, he could not have you. you were his best friends little sister, for christ’s sake! it was never bound to end well for him. honestly, he felt like the fates had fucked him.

so now, when you are in your bed, reading a romance novel you’ve already read twice, something outside of your window catches your eye. billy is currently out on the farm with the horses, tending to them. not an uncommon sight, however since it’s august, and this is the midwest, and it is hot—almost naturally—billy has abandoned his linen, button-up, shirt and is wearing nothing but a dirt-stained wifebeater, his trousers, and gun holster—and of course, his cowboy hat. you bite your lip at the display, sure this must be a product of one of your many erotic dreams about your brothers best friend, but all of that is debunked when he looks up at you, his catching the way your bottom lip is folded behind your teeth and your lingering gaze is burning onto his toned arms—probably a result of workin so hard as a farmhand and cowboy his whole life, you reckon—and meeting your piercing gaze.

you decide to push yourself off of your pretty, bowed, sheets and make your way downstairs to the trouble that lies within the man you grew up right next to.

“you know, it’s rude to stare,” billy chimes while you sit on an old, rackety, rocking chair residing on the back porch of your house, watching billy on the ranch. “and you think i’m above being rude?” you cock your head slightly, almost challenging him but not quite. he rolls his eyes, obviously wanting to snap back but can’t find it in him, not when you’re looking at him like that.

soon, he’s done with the work needed to have been done (admittedly, he did make haste so as to keep you waiting on him), and he’s grabbing his shirt off the pole of the wooden fence that is caging the horses in, tying the sleeves around his waist. he doesn’t spare you a single glance as he walks into the home, but you know he’s silently beckoning you to trail after him—after all, you were only out here to ogle at him, weren’t you?

when you enter the threshold of your home, your eyes land upon billy, who is pouring himself a glass of cheap whiskey and plopping down onto your couch.

“c’mon, sit down,” billy offers, sweat on his brow as the brown liquor swirls around the crystal glass, his legs spread wide and his demeanor exuding assertiveness. “well, now don’t be silly, there’s no other seat,” you acknowledge the lack of another sofa in the cozy living room, and the one billy did sit on, was only big enough to seat one. “oh, that’s no problem, doll, just sit on my lap, hm?” he cocks his head at you, daring eyes telling you all you needed to know. your raise your eyebrows and smile. “are you sure that’s what you want me to do?” your voice is a single warning, and billy is clearly throwing all caution to the wind, because he laughs. “c’mon, baby, i’m a big boy, i know what i want,” you knew what his underlying message was and the implication urged you to begin walking towards the couch.

blue eyes bore into yours as you throw a leg on either side of his thighs, skirt splaying over the tops of your thighs. he downs all the liquor in the glass before placing it onto the small coffee table next to him, eyes never leaving yours. carefully, but not fearfully, he drags a finger from your calf all the way to your waist, before both of his large hands take a rest at your love handles. “careful, billy,” you say in a singsong voice, allowing your hips to slowly, very slowly, begin moving downwards unto billy’s crotch. your arms lazily wrap around his neck, forearms resting on his strong, broad, shoulders. he kisses his teeth, bringing his face closer to yours ever so slightly, whiskey breath fanning over your face, chest, décolletage. when his lips finally encase yours, there’s so much built-up tension flowing in the passionate manner in which he kisses you, his palms grip onto your hips possessively before pressing all over your back, grappling desperately to get his calloused hands everywhere on your body all at once. he felt like he was drowning in you, but he would never call for help, for he needed you this instant and there was nothing stopping him from having you right here, right now.

“get on your knees,” he grits through his teeth, lust seething through the low growl that is his voice. you hardly think twice before moving back onto the plywood floor, knees already taking splinters, but you didn’t care, not when billy was unbuckling his denim trousers and letting his cock spring free from the confines of his boxers.

billy revels in the wide-eyed expression on your face as you take in his size. his cock was beautiful—angry, red, and proud, tip leaking with precum, pretty veins running vertically along the length. you swallow your surprise and slowly, you wrap a soft hand around the base of his length, bringing your lips down to his tip and pressing teasing kisses on it. the man above you lets out a soft groan, relaxing his muscles and allowing a strong hand to run through your hair, not quite gathering it yet, but maintaining it out of your face.

after peppering gentle kisses all over his hard cock, you finally flatten your tongue against the underside of him, licking up to the tip. you wrap your lips around his achy head and take as much as you can of him into your mouth, warm throat tightening around him. it takes everything inside billy to not immediately start fucking your fragile face, and when your tear-pricked eyes met his darkened blue ones, he roughly pulls you off of him. he throws you onto your back on the couch, like you weigh no more than a feather, hikes up your skirt and pulls your pale, pink, cotton, panties to the side. as he begins sliding his cock between your puffy folds, his tip brushes against your sensitive bud, and you whine, needing him to quit dangling the carrot and fuck you already. at the pathetic sound, billy just coos, pressing a gentle, loving, kiss to your pouted lips, before slamming his cock into your unprepared, sopping, cunt. you cry out against his lips and as he begins rutting his hips against yours, he’s trying to find restraint. he knows you probably won’t be able to walk properly for a week if he keeps fucking you like this, but the pent up tension finally being released urges him to keep fucking you primally—and plus, you wanted this, didn’t you? with your teasing, and your fucking miniskirts, everything you did was a beg for billy to fuck you into your place, right?

even in his sex-crazed state, billy’s still a gentleman who’s concerned with your pleasure just as much as his, and uses one of the hands he had rested beside your head to draw fast circles on your clit, pulling the most melodic sounds from you. they pushed him closer and closer to the edge and before you both knew it, billy was pulling out of your cunt, making you whine at the empty feeling, stroking himself a few times before painting your abdomen in his seed.

when he came down from his high, billy dropped down to his knees before you, skipping all the teasing he wanted to do (he would, next time) and licked a fat stripe up your slit, stopping at your clit and sucking momentarily. the muscle continued to work at you, dipping and fucking into your achy hole, and within minutes, your orgasm had crashed into you like a powerful ocean tide, struck by poseidon himself. you cried out his name, explicit weaved between your moans. billy just rides you through it, strong hands holding your wildly bucking hips down as you spasmed through your release.

“good girl, such a good girl,” billy cooed, the praise making your face go warm, even after he saw the most intimate parts of you. you brush off the compliment, afraid your own voice would betray you and instead reply “i take it this won’t be the last time we do… this?” and billy just chuckles darkly, picking you up off the couch and sitting himself back down, placing you prettily on his lap. “no, sugar. after this, you’re mine. understand?”

[kisses4kaia]

on my knees, foaming at the mouth, begging for more sub coryo

u guys are so funny oh my goodness😭 (slight au where sejanus did not die because we love him🥰) i got a bit carried away as you can see!! but that’s ok !!!! also, university!corio .. okok go read now plz enjoy and reblog :)

being the girlfriend of the winner to the plinth prize whilst simultaneously biting your tongue constantly was no easy feat.

every thoughtless, careless, borderline sexist, comment corio received from older men—and even some of your male peers—along the lines of, “oh, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? bet you keep her on her knees, huh?” (whilst you were right there, mind you!), infuriated you beyond belief and typically made corio tense up and awkwardly brush them off.

because no, corio did not always keep you on your knees. as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. you had him on his knees, every night, begging and pleading for a taste of you. and if he was a good boy, he would get one. you were assertive, not cruel.

you so badly wished you could shut them down, tell them exactly how it is, but you still loved and respected corio, and you knew what might happen to his reputation if that kind of secret got out.

so you kept on biting your tongue.

and tonight, corio’s arm is snaked around your torso and his large palm rests on the small of your back.

you’re at a elite party he was invited to, making friendly conversation with clemensia and sejanus while throwing witty comments back and forth with your boyfriend, when all of a sudden, one of crassus snow’s old friends come up to the both of you and it goes how you would expect; however, this time, something’s different.

this time, he laughs boisterously and nods, agreeing with the crude comment the man made. coriolanus shakes his hand and says “oh, absolutely. would you expect any less from my father’s son?”

you are fucking appalled, and the astounded expression on your face doesn’t do much to hide it.

when the old man whose name you didn’t bother to remember finally leaves, corio finally looks down at you to see your narrow eyes shooting daggers into his.

you say no words and storm off, and he’s hot on your trail. “baby? baby, hold up, slow down!”

you heed no mind to his words, and only stop your stampede when you find an unoccupied bedroom and drag him inside.

it was glamorous, which was to be expected, considering the host of the party was volumnia gaul; she always was one for dramatic flare. the ceiling was high and the walls were crowned in gold paint. the layout was simple, there was nothing but a queen-sized bed, an empty dresser, and bare vanity gracing its presence, all but proving that it was not it use, and perfectly fine for you to punish coriolanus in.

“what the fuck was that?” your voice is scornful and with the way your face twists up and contorts into a look of contempt, he knows he’s in for it.

he stumbles over his words, trying to think of a way he can phrase his words to deescalate the situation, lessen the blow for himself. “i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. please, honey. please forgive me. i’m begging you,”

the last phrase causes you to look up at him before smirking wickedly, “are you?”

you can see it dawn on him, the realization that you really are going to make him beg—the proper way, down on his knees.

he sighs ashamedly before letting his knees buckle, right one hitting the ground, the left following suit.

the slicked back hair on his scalp gleams perfectly underneath the warm overhead lighting the small chandelier provides, and his glossy, devastatingly blue, eyes are boring into yours as his bottom lip begins to quiver ever so slightly.

“i’m so, so, so, fucking, sorry. i’m so stupid, i just didn’t want him to think lowly of my fathers kin. i fucked up, i know, just, please, please, forgive me,”

he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks and you can’t help but revel in how hot this all is. having one of the most powerful men in the capitol at your feet, pleading for you, you have to work hard in order to conceal the ache between your legs.

“show me, then.” you turn around on him and walk to the bed, sitting, before crossing your legs and leaning back, dangerous, siren eyes inviting corio to crawl to you.

he doesn’t even hesitate before getting on his hands and knees and desperately pawing at the ground, trying to get close to you again. and when he reaches your sat figure, he grabs your ankles, uncrossing them and pulling your high heels off slowly, all before kissing his way up your calf, and up to your mid-thigh, where the slit in your dress begins. he looks up at you pleadingly, expression reading ‘may i?’ and you could praise him for being so polite if he wasn’t enduring punishment.

you nod slightly, raising your hips just enough so corio could hike your dress up, bunching up at your waist.

his eyes stay on yours, watching you intently as he pulls your delicate, lacy, black and pink, panties down your smooth legs, before gently placing them on the floor next to him.

when you part your legs ever so slightly, the eyes boring into yours spark up with excitement and hope. he finally breaks eye contact when he shuts his eyes and lays his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up the ego-boosting amount of arousal that’s drooling from your achy hole.

he’s so perfect for you, timing his transitions between fucking into you with his tongue and sucking on your clit just the way he’s learned you like just right, never lingering too long on one part of you.

at this point, you have your legs wrapped around his head tight, nearly restricting his facility to breathe, shamelessly moaning and praising his ministrations. “fuck, yes corio! oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum? yeah? so fucking pathetic,” you spit at him in between borderline moans so pornographic that you’re apprehensive that somebody outside of the four walls you’re in may hear you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you that much, considering the lack of you lowering your own volume.

and the sounds, the sounds are vile, fucking disgusting. his salivated muscle messily dragging all over your labia, his perfectly pouted lips making out with your pussy like he’s in love with it (he is). all of the insanely erotic factors of this moment don’t do anything to hold off your impending release, and with a weak cry of the boy beneath you’s name, sweet syrup leaks out from your tight hole lands onto corio’s anticipating tongue, and you can feel him smile against you at the taste of it.

he drinks it all down in no time and when he continues to lather his tongue all over your clit, not seeming to want to be done, you have to physically pull his head away from you as a result of overstimulation.

he frowns but when he sees the look on your face, your exhausted, satisfied, fucked-out, face, he has to bite his lip to contain his smile.

“i did good?” there’s a special twinkle to his eye, and you find it all-enamoring.

“so good,”

“you forgive me?”

“yes, but next time you pull some shit like that, i’ll jerk you off under the dinner table, you hear me?”