#Constructive criticism is welcome

[inkedtension]

Hypothesis: You’re Mine

requested. Nerd Gojo x reader (smut)

***********************

You don’t know exactly when he started studying you, but if you asked him, Gojo Satoru would say it was the first time you beat him.

Not at math—that’d be too predictable. He had pride in his equations. He had owned that mathlete crown since middle school. But you walked into physics lab on the first day of your second year, not just knowing the concepts, but folding space-time diagrams like origami, talking about entropy like it was a bedtime story.

You were beautiful. It hurt. And worse—you were clever. Unforgivingly clever.

He was done for.

From that moment on, you were the only variable worth solving. And Gojo, loser among men, gangly and twitchy with glasses and pens sticking out of his hoodie pocket, began documenting you like a Nobel prize experiment.

“Subject: [Name]. Lab Partner. Goddess. Entity of Devastation.”

You always looked perfect. Not just cute or pretty—sharp. Lip tint just enough to make him bite his own. Glasses? Rarely. You didn’t need them—your vision was already too clear. And your answers in class? Always correct. Always concise. You didn’t speak often, but when you did, people shut up.

And he listened. He recorded. He analyzed.

He had a whole Google Doc titled:

“Nobel_Potential_Tensor_Calculations.”

The Complete Observational Thesis : Personality, Patterns, Perfections, and Maybe One Day… Consent.

It had tabs:

Wardrobe rotation patterns (updated every week)

Pencil preference (Which he archived when you left them behind)

Tone shift when addressing classmates vs. him ("Everyone else = flat or neutral. With me = teasing, sarcastic...flirty?? Hypothesis: She knows. She wants me dead.")

He was beyond salvation.

Everyone thought you had a thing for the basketball team. Guys with tattoos and overconfident smirks. 

But no. You weren’t into the jocks. He’d studied that, too. Watched how your eyes barely twitched when they flirted. But in the lab, when he muttered something under his breath and you leaned in with a smirk and said, “Come again, Satoru?”—

That was the first time you called him by name.

Yeah, he almost did come again.

His brain exploded. Then imploded. Then exploded again.

He fumbled with his notes, his pen, his mouth. You’d said Satoru like it meant something. Like you were letting him in on something private. And that was the moment.

He got worse after that.

He rewound that syllable in his mind on loop, like a prayer: Satoru, Satoru, Satoru…

In the privacy of his dorm room, he’d press his face into the hoodie you once borrowed when the classroom was too cold. He never washed it. He never could. It smelled like your shampoo and something divine.

His hand would drift down. His breathing shallow. And all he’d see was your expression when you said his name.

He wasn’t proud of this part of himself.

He nearly died. From arousal or humiliation—or arousal by humiliation—unclear.

 But he wasn’t sorry, either.

You knew.

God, of course you knew.

You noticed the way he twitched when you leaned too close during lab. The way his hand would tremble if yours brushed it by accident. The way he stared—like he was watching a star about to collapse into itself.

You weren’t oblivious. Just patient. Meticulous.

You knew what he was. A pervert. A loser. A genius. And you liked it. You liked him. How can you not?

But why let him know all that? It was more fun this way.

You wore a little more perfume when you knew you’d be lab partners. Purposely tied your hair up so your nape showed. Sat next to him in the library, thighs barely brushing, and didn’t move.

You whispered his name sometimes—only sometimes—just to watch him suffer.

"Satoru, can you hand me that? Thanks."

And that one time you said, "You smell nice today."

He didn’t breathe for twelve whole seconds. He counted.

He didn’t want it to stop.

He had dreams. Filthy ones. You, in his hoodie and nothing else, sitting on his desk with your legs parted. Wearing his glasses, and they were fogged from the heat of it all.

He didn’t want it to stop.

He'd wake up sticky, aching, and trembling, whispering your name like a lunatic. Then he’d go to class and pretend he hadn’t spent the last eight hours picturing your moans.

Every time you leaned over to help him debug a line of code, every time you tilted your head and smiled lazily at him like you knew he wanted to ruin you on a lab bench—he choked. Figuratively. Sometimes literally.

He’d beat off after class so often it started to feel like a Pavlovian response to the sound of your voice.

But he never asked you, never touched you. Never even tried.

Because Gojo Satoru, freak that he was, needed your yes more than he needed oxygen. He'd wait. Forever, if he had to.

But if you ever whispered that consent?

He’d ruin you with the kind of obsession that doesn’t come back from the brink.

One rainy Thursday, you sat next to him during a lab session and sighed dramatically. “Laptop’s dead. Guess I’ll just wait.”

He offered his. A little too fast. “You—you can use mine.”

“Oh?” You blinked slowly at him. “Won’t that leave you helpless and alone without your lifeline?”

He flushed. “I–I can manage.”

Of course, that was the moment Suguru texted. Something about the court. Satoru hesitated. You looked up at him from under your lashes, already pulling the laptop toward yourself.

“Go. I promise not to look at your other things.”

He laughed nervously. If only you knew.

Except… you did.

And by the time he returned—sweaty, flushed from playing one very bad half of basketball—he opened the lab door and nearly dropped dead.

There you were, brows slightly raised. One finger delicately on the trackpad. Lips formed in what could only be described as a fell-from-hell smirk and—

Amusement.

A single chill ran down his spine.

“Uh,” Gojo wheezed, stepping closer, dread forming in his gut like a black hole. “What… are you reading?”

You turned your head slowly, like a predator who’d just caught something squirming.

Your voice came out smooth. Too smooth.

“You’re thorough, Satoru. I’ll give you that.”

Well in your defence, his hard drive had an entire folder encrypted under layers of fake research data—labelled as “Nobel_Potential_Tensor_Calculations.” Inside was the real data. About you.

It had everything. What coffee you liked. How often you changed your perfume. A spreadsheet of your class schedule. A compiled zip of your voice memos from shared project meetings. A screenshot folder filled with blurry images from zoom meetings—your face caught mid-laugh. He had graphs of your seating preferences. Charts of your skirt lengths per semester. Hypotheses filed under “Effects of Verbal Affirmation on My Autonomic Response.” Subfolder: She Called Me ‘Satoru’ Twice This Month.

Creepy, you'd call, if you hadn't done some 'research' on him yourself.

well, he doesnt have to know that, right?

You looked up slowly. Smiling. “’Behavioral Log, 3:52PM. She touched my hand accidentally. Temperature spike. Heart rate elevated.’” You raised a brow. “This is... dense research, Satoru.”

His mouth opened. Closed. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry. His cock? Already twitching like a traitor.

“I—It’s just a dumb— It’s not real research, I just—”

You tilted your head. “Didn’t know I was the subject of an ongoing study.”

He stepped back, hard, like your chair was a landmine. His whole face flamed. His breath was shallow. You were still reading. Still smiling, smugly.

“I especially liked the part where you documented what lip balm I wear.” You tilted the screen toward him. “‘Subject applied Burt’s Bees pomegranate at 9:42 AM. Lip-to-cup contact observed. Resisted urge to bite desk.’ That’s cute.”

His soul left his body.

You kept going, merciless.

“Also, I can’t believe you actually made a flowchart about my laugh. What were the categories again? ‘Soft and rare,’ ‘cynical chuckle,’ and…” You grinned, devilish. “‘Accidental wheeze—induced during suggestive jokes.’”

He was going to combust. Right there. Just explode into a puff of shame, lust, and regret.

He wanted to fuck you on that desk. With his glasses slipping down your nose, with his name on your tongue, with your thighs shaking around his head while he shoved that smugness right out of you. Right here. Now.

And then—you walked away. As if you hadn’t just lit a match and dropped it into the very core of his existence.

Well, you were wet.

Gojo sat down. Hard.

He stared at the screen.

His entire manifesto was still open.

“...fuck,” he whispered.

He came in his boxers on the way to the locker room. No hands. Just the memory of your voice purring the word Satoru while reading from his worst-kept secret.

Arousal by humiliation, it is.

He didn’t talk to you for three days.

You didn’t make it easy.

You laughed a little too loud when he passed by. You pressed too close at the vending machine. You dropped your pen on his desk. And today—today you “accidentally” fell into his lap during the club meeting.

“Oops,” you whispered, blinking up at him.

He’d frozen. Completely. You were sitting on him. Right on him. His cock pressed against your ass through just four-maybe layers of fabric. He was stiff in more ways than one. If he didn’t move you soon, he’d—god, no. Not again.

You stood too late.

He excused himself with a choked, “Sorry! Be right back!” and nearly tripped out of the room.

He ran to Suguru again. “Spare pants. Please. Please—”

“You came again?���

“Shut up, it’s not—shut up—”

Gojo didn’t even want to know how much Suguru already knew. He didn’t even want to think about how Suguru might’ve pieced this together.

The next day, you were nowhere. No hallway run-ins. No sarcastic greetings. No sly jokes. He was almost relieved.

Until someone grabbed him and yanked him into the abandoned AV room.

“—wha—!”

You. Chest heaving. Eyes angry. Hands gripping his collar.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Shut up.”

You shoved him against the wall, your body flush against his. He could feel your warmth through your clothes. Your breath on his neck.

“You wanna fuck me, right?” you asked lowly.

He blinked. “What?”

“You wanna bend me over this table and fuck me like a little experiment, right?”

His knees nearly buckled.

“Well?”

He opened his mouth to stammer something—anything—when you slowly, deliberately, knelt.

He stopped breathing.

“Tell me to stop,” you said, undoing his belt.

“Tell me,” you repeated, glancing up at him. “Tell me no.”

He was shaking.

When you pulled his pants down and his hard, flushed cock sprang free,

Your lips parted slightly in awe, eyes widening at the full length of him, flushed and twitching, precum already smeared against your lower lip. You let out a low, breathy gasp.

“Oh my god, Satoru—” That broke him.

A sharp growl escaped his throat—one you’d never heard from him before. He yanked off his glasses with one hand,

“I wanna see you in them.” he murmured. His voice was hoarse now. Deeper.

His fingers brushed against your hair as he bent slightly, lifting the frames.

You watched him , even though your heart was thudding in your chest. There was something raw, desperate in the way he handled the glasses. Something that made your pulse spike.

He pressed the glasses back onto your face. The delicate weight of them slid down your nose slightly.

The moment your mouth wrapped around him—warm, wet, slowly easing him past your lips like you were savoring him—Satoru’s mind went blank.

Gone. No equations, no frantic calculations, no escape route. Just the heat of your mouth and the dangerous way you were watching him, eyes half-lidded, smug, daring him to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You’re really—ah—”

Your hand gripped the base of his cock, stroking him gently while your tongue flicked over the head. His legs trembled.

His hand on your head tightened slightly, clutching your hair, not pushing, just guiding. You moaned—just faintly, just enough—and the vibration nearly made him lose control. He throbbed against your tongue.

“Shit—okay, yeah, like that, just—fuck, you’re perfect—”

You were trying to keep control, but he could see the strain in your throat as you took more of him. Could feel your saliva sliding warm and messy down the base. Your jaw trembled around him. Your hand squeezed his thigh for balance, and that alone made him buck forward just a little, hitting the back of your throat.

You choked, just a bit. Gagged. Pulled back with a small whimper and your eyes watering.

And then—then you looked up again. When did he pull up his oversized cardigan and put the edge in his mouth? You didn’t know but God, was it hot.

The glasses were a little crooked now. Your lips were swollen. And you smiled.

He let out the loudest moan yet. Desperate. Raspy. Feral.

“God, you’re—are you even real?” he whispered, breath hitching again. “Been jerking off to this for months. And you—you just—fuck—”

You moaned around him again, deliberately this time, teasing.

He let out a choked curse. His grip in your hair tightened more firmly now, finally taking control of the pace—slow, deliberate thrusts into your mouth, watching his cock slide between your lips. His thighs were tensing. His voice was breaking.

“You wanted this,” he hissed, gently rocking his hips into you. “All those little games—you knew. You knew what you were doing to me.”

You pulled off for air, nodding.

He groaned—long and low—and then pushed back into your mouth, deeper, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Don’t stop,” he begged, desperate now. “Fuck, don’t you dare stop—just like that—”

he came down your throat while pushing your head down so that your nose touched the base of his happy trail.

He swears he never came that hard his entire life.

Well, it was safe to say he didn’t hold back after that day.

[generic-enthusiast]

Based on a prompt by @amethyst-writer

It's been a couple weeks since Darry and Ponyboy agreed to stop fighting. Of course, months of a strained relationship, of barely contained hollering and silent tears at night aren’t going to vanish with a simple conversation. They're going to keep on arguing, no one could believe anything else, but at least Soda won't be forced to be a middleman anymore. They won't tear their family apart anymore because they're communicating and talking to each other and not bottling up their emotions until they explode in a slap and running away and two of their friends dying.

But old habits die hard and Ponyboy is late again.

"Where've you been?" Darry asks, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

"M'I late?" There’s a testy undertone to Ponyboy's voice, daring Darry to disagree. Is he the only one putting any sort of effort into this whole "no fighting" thing?

"Yeah, buddy, you're late."

They aren't screaming. Two months ago, they would be screaming. Now they're trading tense, passive-aggressive statements with long stretches of silence in between.

Darry doesn't know which one he prefers.

"Sorry."

"Can you stop with the sarcasm for a second and actually talk to me?"

"I am talkin' to you, Darry, you just don't care about what I say 'cause you already got your whole speech prepared."

A scathing reply is crawling up Darry's throat and dancing around his tongue, tickling his gums and pulling at his teeth, trying to force his lips open.

Pony ran away and Soda ran away because you can't keep your temper down.

"Right." He shoves it back and down his throat "I'm sorry, Ponyboy."

Ponyboy can't meet his eyes and shifts his weight to his right leg.

"Don’t worry 'bout it, Dar. I'll try an' be on time next time."

He is. On time, that is, the next time he goes out. Which is the day right after, by the way. As if he didn’t want to spend time with his brothers.

The problem this time is that he's gone out with Curly Shepard and TPd their principal's house.

Pony didn’t even tell Darry. He had to find out when the school called him because they got caught.

"I just can't believe you were this stupid! Don't you ever think, Pony? How do you expect to get out of here when all you ever do is get into trouble with Curly Shepard, who spends more time in the reformatory than in his own house?" Darry takes his coat off aggressively as they walk inside the house and Ponyboy flinches back on instinct.

Darry freezes.

"Shoot, Pony, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't mean to scare you." His voice is soft and careful now; he's talking like he would to a scared child on the street who's missing his parents and scared of the big stranger talking to him.

Oh.

"I'm sorry, Pony." His voice is pleading and he's forcing tears back because he knows it won't help anything if he starts crying now. He's apologising for so much more than just taking his jacket off and they both know it, but Ponyboy won't meet his eyes. He looks anywhere but at Darry, his face drawing back awkwardly as his shoe tries to make a hole in the floor.

"S'fine Darry, I know you didn't mean to."

Pony may say it's fine, but nothing about their situation is fine.

Darry starts noticing. Every time he pulls a chair back. When he wanders out of the kitchen with a knife. A quick hair-ruffle without warning.

It all feels violent. Reminiscent of that night that gets further away with every day that goes by but still haunts Darry's mind the moment he closes his eyes.

And he's trying, he's really trying, to make sure Pony knows he doesn't mean it. Blubbering out apologies, moving slower, announcing actions.

None of it's enough.

Ponyboy doesn't seem to spend any time at home anymore. He's always out. With Cathy or Curly or Mark or even Bryon, who seems to hate him for some reason Darry can't wrap his head around.

He gets home right for dinner and hardly says a word.

It's Darry's fault, if course. No matter how much he apologises, no matter how much he tries to take back all the stupid yelling (and that night, that goddamned night that haunts every night that's come after), it's never enough. Ponyboy isn't going to forgive him and, honestly? Darry can't blame him.

But they promised. They promised Soda that they would try and that they wouldn't hurt him anymore.

And now they’re back in the same place: unspoken tension strung tight in the air whenever Ponyboy and Darry are in the same room, Soda trying his best to dissuade it without taking sides.

Darry doesn't know what to do anymore.

Is there even anything of his family left to save? Did their last hope at functionality die with their parents on those train tracks ten months ago? How can he get his little brother to forgive him?

Does he even deserve forgiveness?

Soda's gone to sleep and Darry's own eyelids are heavy but Pony isn't home yet and he's waiting up.

Ponyboy's fine. He's come home late before, always in one piece. Darry himself used to come home at ungodly hours of the morning when he was still in highschool, and his parents never waited up.

No one waits up for their kids when they go out with friends.

But the moment Darry thinks about going to bed, Ponyboy appears in the park, drowning because Darry trusted him to cool down and come back.

Sue him for being nervous.

The door squeaks open as Ponyboy comes inside and Darry leaps to his feet.

"Where the hell've you been?"

Ponyboy shrugs his jacket off and hangs it on the hook by the door before answering.

"Out."

"Out," Darry repeats sarcastically, "like you always are these days. I'd be surprised if you spent a single minute in this house that wasn't so we could feed you! You ever think about your brothers when you're off on joyrides with Curly Shepard – don't look so surprised, you know I talk to Tim –"

"If you know where I am all the time then you don't gotta worry about it, do you?"

"Yes, I do hafta worry about it because you’re my little brother and Curly Shepard is nothing but trouble."

"Like you ain't friends with Tim–"

"That’s different and you know it. I don’t know how you'd even know who I talk to since you never spend any time at home anyway, but–"

"You ever think that maybe I don’t wanna come home because all I ever get for doin' it is you hollerin' at me? Oh, it's all better now 'cause you apologise fer yellin' all day, but that don't change the fact that you do!"

"What else am I supposed to do? You know damn well we can't keep tearin' Soda apart and God knows you ain't puttin' in any of the effort. Tell me, Pony, what do you want me to do? 'Cause that's all I do, aint it? Just follow your every–"

"I want you to be a better brother!"

A beat of silence.

Ponyboy's breathing quickly, his chest shaking, and Darry can hear the tears he won't let fall.

"D'you remember when I lost your football a year ago?" His voice is fragile, tense, barely audible over the silence that's rushing through Darry's ears. "The one the whole team had signed. You hated me for days. Then we bounced back a week later without even a sorry. And now–" His voice breaks and a faint hiccup makes it through his defences. It takes all that Darry has not to wrap his arms around his little brother "–now ya can't even say two sentences without a sorry bein' in the middle of them and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of it because I ain't fragile and I ain't gonna break if ya tell me to do my homework! I just didn't want you on my case all the time, but even that's better than whatever this is.

"You wanna know why I'm always with Curly? 'Cause he calls me an idiot when I mess things up and he wrestles with me and only says sorry when he actually hurts me. 'Cause he don't treat me like I'm made of glass. And I'm not!"

Ponyboy ends his rant with a little stomp that looks so absurdly childish after their fight that Darry almost laughs.

But it's a stark reminder of the fact that Ponyboy is just a kid. He's just a kid and he's gone through about as much as Darry, who still feels unprepared for it. Ponyboy's fourteen but he isn't, not really. Fourteen-year-olds don't have to worry about their friends crumpling under streetlights or drinking so aggressively they end up in a hospital bed they can't pay for. They don't have to worry about carrying out their best friend's dying wish.

Ponyboy's sick and tired of everyone around him treating him like a kid when he can't really be called one anymore because kids are innocent and what part of Ponyboy can be called innocent right now? He's gone through enough loss to know what he can handle and how he should cope, and yet everyone's assumed he doesn't because he's a scrawny little kid.

Darry walks – stumbles – over to the couch and sinks down into it. He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and runs a hand down his face.

He can't look Pony in the eyes, not now. Not if he really wants to say it right. Instead he stares holes into the couch in front of him, trying his best to find where to start.

"God, I–" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "I'm so sorry, Pony. You're right. It's stupid, I wanted to protect you from the world, at first, make sure you got outta here." He laughs humourlessly. "Can't believe I didn't realise how pointless it was. You can't protect someone from the world they live in. Then I wanted to protect you from myself, which was even stupider, I don't even know what I was trying to do, but I was trying–"

He's cut off by a small body – too small, hasn't he been eating? – ramming into him as Ponyboy sits down on the couch next to him.

"I know," Ponyboy whispers as his arms snake around his older brother, his head buried in Darry's shoulder. "You're tryin' and you ain't perfect." He takes a deep breath. "And I also know I ain't exactly helped much."

Darry gives a breathless laugh. "It's fine, Pony. I wasn't a saint at fourteen either."

He wraps an arm around Ponyboy.

"We'll figure this out, someday, right?"

"'Course we will." Ponyboy's voice is muffled by Darry's shirt so he turns his head to awkwardly look up at him. "We did that thousand-piece puzzle that one time, remember? We're invincible."

He laughs again and ruffles Ponyboy's hair.

"Fuck yeah we are."

[graciereadshannigram]

dealing with the demons (the week before my period) and experimenting with a different writing style (fewer words, bigger emotional impact) and this is what i came up with.

it's 500 words, Will doesn't survive the fall off the cliff.

i know this idea has been done to death, but please keep reading if you're interested!

He is not here.

The thought comes quiet, as if whispered by the wind off the water, but it is absolute.

Will’s body is warm, but cooling. Hannibal cradles him, bare skin against soaked fabric, saltwater laced through his hair. His hands, steady even now, smooth damp curls from Will’s forehead, press against his cheek, searching—begging—for warmth that is already slipping away.

Nothing.

He closes his eyes.

The corridors of his mind rise before him, towering and endless. Candles flicker in alcoves. The scent of blood and old books lingers in the air. He walks through the halls, passes the rooms built for keeping—secrets, trophies, love. He looks for Will.

Will is not here.

No. No, that is not right.

He throws open doors, shatters glass, overturns tables.

The corridors twist, mocking. A library, emptied. A bedroom—their bedroom—stripped to bare walls. He searches the shore, the forest, the deep places carved out for them both.

Nothing.

No, he has missed something. He turns back. Retraces his steps. The library. The bedroom. The dark, secret places.

He runs. He stumbles. He calls—a raw, broken sound—calls for Will, again and again, voice cracking, voice shattering—

Silence.

No, no, no—

A sharp inhale. Cold air. Salt.

He opens his eyes.

Will is still in his arms, but he is not here.

The world contracts. A raw, splintering thing wedges between Hannibal’s ribs, shoving, prying him open. The crack of it, the sheer, unbearable wrongness of it, sends him swaying. The weight in his arms shifts, limp, slipping, and he clutches harder—too hard—his fingers digging in, desperate to keep—

But Will does not stir.

Does not wake.

Does not breathe.

Hannibal exhales, a shuddering thing. Not careful. Not measured. He presses his forehead to Will’s temple, gasps against cooling skin, as if he might breathe life back into him, as if he could consume the silence and give it back as breath.

The ocean sighs against the shore, indifferent.

Hannibal chokes on the air between them. His throat aches. His lungs burn. His mind claws for escape, for reason, for something, anything—

But there is only this.

He had known hunger. He had known longing.

But this—this is starvation.

He cannot bear it. His hands tighten, the press of fingers into flesh meant to wake, to call back, but Will does not stir. His body is slack, yielding. His body is not his anymore.

Blood leaks from Hannibal’s gut wound, warm, insistent. The pain is distant, unimportant. He sways with it, does not fight it, does not care.

For the first time in his life, he does not rage against death, does not scheme against it, does not seek to escape.

He cannot live without Will.

He won’t.

The edges of the world blur. The weight in his arms grows heavier, or maybe he is simply growing too weak to hold it.

The tide drags at the shore, pulling away, coming back, pulling away.

The world darkens.

The ocean remains.

[daisymerollingg]

Speed-o'-sound Sonic wasn't fond of the cold.

He never was. He hated it. It was inconvenient. It made you more vulnerable, more dependent. Weaker.

In order to shape unbreakable ninja assassins, the village made sure to prepare them for all conditions and circumstances. One of them, being, of course, winter and its fanged white.

It was the training he loathed out of all. He didn't really hate any of his training, despite being in the lower class and having to undergo the most torturous exercises. If anything, he rather relished in them, took them on with manic enthusiasm.

The next morning he'd wake up with the usual blare of the morning alarm, and he'd drink in the sweet stings of his sores and bruises that stretched across the planes of his muscles. He loved knowing how strong he was getting.

In winter, the village would force them to train outside, bathe in the freezing lake, and sleep on the cold grass. They wouldn't even give them a futon. Only those who performed well that day were granted blankets, but they were practically useless due to how thin they were. It was almost a mockery.

Fortunately enough, they weren't so cruel to let them sleep on snow. Hence when the snow finally came and encased the green land, they would be allowed back into their shared rooms.

Regardless.

He hated the way his body shook with quivers under the moonlight, hated the hunger that made him curl further into himself and wrap his shivering arms around his abdomen tighter. He despised the fact that his classmates weren't struggling as much as he was. It was a genetic defect at best and a hindrance at most.

Even after so many nights, so many years, his body still hadn't adapted enough in deep contrast with the others.

Flash was a top performer at this point, and by some miracle hadn't discarded him and Sonic's 'companionship' of sorts. Flash alone knew about Sonic's incessant struggles. He noticed how quiet Sonic would get in winters, how his features would always foster a ghostly frown. Especially when they were eating their usual portions of tasteless stew, Flashy flash would steal a side glance at his friend, watching as he huddled into himself. Head low, back arched forward, shoulders high to level with his ears, and slim hand hurriedly taking one spoonful after the other.

Flash would wait to make sure that no one else was awake and all the mentors had gone off to shelter back in the village. Boldly, a boldness he had adopted from Sonic, he'd shuffle close to the shivering, silent mess of his friend, who refused to close his mouth so his teeth wouldn't rattle against itself

"Cold?" He'd whisper as he draped the light cloth over Sonic, then moved closer so they were both huddled beneath it. Sonic's eyelids fluttered open, brows still tilted in a deep sneer, frustrated by his state.

He shuffles closer to Flash. "This thing's useless." He refers to the blanket with a light quake in his hushed tone. The spindly thing did little to shield him from the icy breeze, basically cutting through the material.

Flash didn't mind the small puff of cold air hitting his face. He nodded. "Yeah. I only use it for some peace of mind."

Flash's arms outstretch and his hands press against Sonic's neck and back, drawing him into a quiet embrace. Sonic shifts closer with his companions's movement, his forehead resting on Flash's shoulder.

"Peace of mind." Sonic scoffs, leaning into Flash's warmth. 

His curled body's trembles don't seize completely but ease under the arms enveloping him, the body curving around him.

The wrinkles lining Sonic's features slowly begin to smoothen out, and he concurs: 

The winter's cold, but at least he's here. .

Sonic now understood the look Flashy flash spared him when he passed by the room, his gaze falling onto Sonic's sprawled form on the rusted bed, jaw clenching and hissing inhales as his hand clutched the mattress. At that moment, Sonic just so happened to open his squeezed eyes and meet Flash's oddly gaunt gaze.

Back then, it was unreadable. Now looking back, it probably was a parting glance. Not a 'goodbye' or 'farewell' glance. A parting glance.

That bastard.

He'd find him, and he'd settle the score with him. He hated him.

The city, with tall buildings and loud noises, was unkind to him. Not that it mattered to him. It didn't. He was unkind back.

His frame stiffens at the sharp pang shooting through his body. He sucks in a quick inhale between gritted teeth and carefully reattempts to lie down, trying not to place any form of pressure on the poorly bandaged wound on his side.

He was reckless and momentarily forgot about heroes, and greatly underestimated them.

And it was winter.

It was snowing, too.

At least he found a cave. But still, his body continues to shake vigorously.

He feels oddly empty. Not physically. Not because of the cold. Something gnaws at his insides. It strains at his heart and it laddens his already exhausted muscles.

And somehow it makes the cold bite, much, much deeper.

His face crinkles and constricts further.

The winter's cold, and he doesn't like that loneliness feels colder.

[omelette-the-anomaly]

ROTTMNT screenshot redraw

[spinogreen0iq]

okay imma advertise this as good as I can let’s go!!!

I am currently writing a book, book 1 of a larger series. It’s being published chapter for chapter, like a fanfic ig. I think you call it a web novel? Idk

The story (at least the first act) is about a young girl who gets thrown into a new fantastical environment where she has to cope with daily life and slowly uncovers the secrets of her now deceased family, finally having to come face to face with a horrible truth... and don’t forget this is just the first book :) OH and there's shapeshifters. and childhood friendship. and trauma obviously.

My main focus is establishing the characters and getting the plot rolling for this one. Since shit is about to go down in the books after that. Even though the summary doesn’t sound like it, there are some dark themes (mostly of the tragic backstory variety).

If ur not sure if the quality is up to your standards, I’m doing the best I can and I’ve written a few things before, I even have beta readers so umm, maybe check it out :,33 it’s third person perspective btw

It’s completely free, I don’t post it to earn money, I’m doing it so I get to show others my special interest :}

xDDAll I want is to make my autism happy/hj (neglected it for too long lol)

This story saved my life a couple of times, so maybe you’ll enjoy it too? Pls check it out I’m begging you please please please

If all dat seems interesting to you, I’d love it if u went and checked it out :33

At the time I’m posting this chapter 1 is already out and chapter 2 is currently in editing stage, but to be released shortly, as soon as the beta readers are done :33

[multifandomfanboy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Paranatural (Webcomic) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edward Burger & Isabel Guerra Characters: Edward Burger, Isabel Guerra, Edward Burger's Parent(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Gun Violence Summary:

Ed is entitled to a fortune when he turns 18, and thankfully he has an android bodyguard to keep him alive 'til then. He just wishes she’d care about her own safety sometimes.

[calebverse]

SOUTHBOUND

synopsis: caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. but you were willing to indulge him anyway.

cw: explicit content mdni, oral sex (female receiving), clothed cunnilingus, pet names, use of gege/meimei, pseudo-incest, hints at them being forbidden, pwp, coming in panties, praising, they still banter in the midst of eating out, biting, marking || 2.8k words

notes: this work is inspired by this post from twitter! there was a user who said it was very caleb coded but they deactivated T__T so i'm linking the original post instead. the fic was supposed to be a panty sniffing fic (classic caleb things) but i kinda went off the mark... but oh well... also note that i took inspiration from the characterization from the cn dub, using the gege and meimei terminology. i went insane writing this by the way i think i need a whole business day to recover.

caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. 

in comparison to all the times you would ask him for various things – snacks, sweets, little favors, random requests – he barely does any of it towards you. not because you were unwilling to give it. in fact, you were ready to jump on any opportunity to do something – anything – for him. 

he’s the one who doesn’t give you a chance to. 

caleb is stubborn like that – he has to do things his way, has to prove something, has to bear it by himself. so even if he is juggling multiple things at once, even if he is obviously in dire need of help, he will probably have to be on the brink of death to even think of asking for it. 

you would pout, throw fits about this to him. he is one of the most important people in your life, if not the most. so naturally, you want to be there whenever he needs you to. but classic caleb would always shut you out for it gently with a ruffle of your hair or a pinch to your cheek. 

“i want to be 100% reliable to you,” he reasoned with a soft smile one time, wiping your tears with his thumb. “if i can’t help myself, how will i be able to help you?”

caleb doesn’t ask for much, but tonight was different. 

at his request, you sat at the edge of your bed while he was kneeling in front of you. he also asked you not to touch him in any way, and he seemed to be doing the same as he kept his hands to his sides. the moon from your window was the only source of light in your dark room, but it was enough for you to see his ragged breathing, his clenched fists, his glassy eyes. 

he sat still on the hardwood floor, afraid to speak as his mind ran for miles. his ears were red down to his chest. you could see the slight shivers of his form. he looked like he was hurting, and if it wasn’t for the tent emphasized by his sweatpants as his knees stuck to the floor, you would’ve thought he was in actual pain. 

“what can i do for you, gege?” he hasn’t spoken for what felt like an eternity. so you asked him softly for the third time that night, resisting the urge to cup his face into your hands. you held onto your bed sheets instead. 

“p-please…” caleb said, but you weren’t sure what he was asking for, or if he was talking to you or to himself. he looked up with wet eyes and you thought he was in tears. “you already do so much for me, meimei…  you already—i can’t possibly ask for more. for this.” he gritted his teeth. “i never should’ve come, i never should’ve knocked, i should’ve just passed by your door and –”

“but you are here now.” you told him. “please tell me what you need, caleb. i’ll give it to you.”

“i don’t know if you—”

“if i can give it? really? you wouldn’t have come to me if you thought i couldn’t.”

“right. right, pipsqueak. i know you can give it. all of it and more. i just—” he let out a shaky breath. “i don’t know if you want to. i don’t want to scare you.”

you leaned down and nudged his knee with your foot, urging him to look up to you. “you can never scare me, caleb.” 

his adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his gaze never straying from yours. there was a hint of doubt and uncertainty happening behind his eyes. you were about to speak again, wanting him to come out of whatever shell he was hiding within his brain, when he spoke in a breathy whisper.

“i just need—” he clenches his fists. “i-i need you to stay still for me. hands on your sides, at all times. could you do that for me, pipsqueak?”

you nodded. 

“and if anything makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, yeah?” 

you nodded again. 

“words, baby.” he whispered. “i need to hear you say it, i need your words.”

“yes.” you breathed. “yes, i’ll tell you.”

but you know your gege, your caleb. he loves you dearly, and you knew he would never do anything that will hurt you. you trust him completely to the point you would let him have his way if it meant his relief, his comfort, his happiness.

caleb searched your eyes for any hint of hesitation or regret only to be met with none. with a small frown, he seemed to be mumbling to himself, as if he was at war with himself, and you were only able to catch a few words. “okay. right. i’m so… i can’t believe… i just need this—one act of selfishness and i’ll get over it.”

with those last words, he leaned in closer, nuzzling his cheek to your knee. he kept his hands behind his back. with closed eyes, he planted a small kiss on your knee. 

your mouth parted in slight surprise, but you did as he first instructed – to remain perfectly still. he laid his face on your lap, his hair tickling you lightly. he seemed to just stay there for a while, the only sounds filling the air was his quiet and content breathing. and when you thought that was it, he started to place kisses all over your thighs.

every kiss left a burning mark on your skin, spreading all over until it reached the heat between your legs. he nuzzled his nose along the expanse of your skin, his damp lips gliding along. he looked up to you with his gemstone-like eyes, the ones you grew to know and love. the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine, your legs involuntarily widening. it was only a small and subtle movement, but caleb took advantage of it, moving his face in between your knees. 

his kisses moved inward, and you can feel him smile against your inner thighs. “so pretty, so so good…” he mumbled. “all you have to do is sit still, and you still affect me so much. do you know, pipsqueak? do you know how much you make me feel?”

you pulsed between your legs as he whispered to you. an involuntary whine escaped your lips when his face moved another inch inward. he hushed you with a nuzzle of his cheek. 

“how are you feelin’?” he asked. 

“t-ticklish.” you replied. “but i’m okay.”

he smiled. “and you’re still keeping your hands to yourself, remaining perfectly still. my pipsqueak is so good… you’re doing so well.”

you can feel every inhale and exhale he took, increasingly aware of how close he is to your heat. as if he could read your mind, the teasing fucker casted his eyes down and lightly blew against your clothed pussy. you squeaked, visibly shivering at the action. 

“sensitive,” he remarked with a small smirk. 

you couldn’t even come up with a snarky reply. your brain was occupied screaming and blaring caleb’s name. 

caleb. caleb. caleb. gege. caleb. your caleb. caleb, who sat right between your legs. caleb, who looked up to you as if you held the world in your hands. caleb, who raises the hem of your nightdress with his sharp nose, letting them bunch up on your hips. caleb, who kisses your clothed stomach. caleb, who trails down lower, only to stop by the small ribbon of the panties you wore. stay still for caleb. be good for gege. your caleb. caleb. caleb. caleb—

“i can smell you from here, baby.” caleb said, disrupting your messy train of thoughts. he plants one more kiss on your clothed stomach. “is that your arousal? your desire? god, it’s all i can think about right now. do you still want it? think you can still give me what i want? you kept asking me what i want, no? can i show you? will you let me show you?”

“you talk so much,” you whined, shaking in anticipation.

“now now, i’m the one who is in need, but you’re the one complaining?” he chuckled lowly. “always so impatient, pipsqueak.” 

caleb rose up from his knees. he leaned towards material of your sleepwear that met the underside of your breasts and made a trail of kisses down to your stomach, your abdomen –

“good thing for you, i hate making you wait.” 

– and finally, your clothed pussy. 

he lets out a moan, as if the very contact was enough to pleasure his whole being. but he doesn’t stop at one kiss. oh no, not at all. if you had to describe greed as a person, it was the way caleb’s face never left your heat. 

caleb peppered it with small teasing pecks all over. he moved lower, closer to your hole, and you let out a moan you were holding. one kiss, two kisses, and another two more until he finally raised his head to give you what almost looked like a drunken smile. his lips were shiny and moist. your eyes widened. there’s no way—

“so wet.” he said, and the husk of his voice went straight to your core. he licked his lips, making sure you were watching the way his tongue moved. he hummed at the taste. “so good, baby.”

before you could even feel embarrassed, caleb dived back in between your legs. gone were the sweet small kisses he had spread from your stomach to your knees. he gave open mouth kisses against your clothed core obscenely, making him look like he was a man dying of thirst and the only way to save him was to drink from you. if you were damp then just as caleb commented, you sure as hell were wet now, a combination of your slick, sweat, and his saliva. your poor panties were ruined, basically sticking like second skin from caleb’s actions. 

you were unable to hold your noises back as you were trying to keep your hands to your sides and sit upright. suddenly everything was overwhelming – you were too dressed, he was too dressed, he was too far for your liking, you needed his lips everywhere else. there was nothing you wanted more at that moment but to discard your clothes along with your underwear and put your hands into caleb’s hair, to pull his face towards you even more, rutting against his mouth. but you remained still except for the involuntary squirms of your hips, desperate for more friction. 

“ah– fuck, caleb!” you gasped as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe over your clothed slit. you closed your legs involuntarily, trapping his face in between your thighs. he nipped at your skin lightly, but you yelped in response. 

the drunken look in his eyes was replaced with a warning gaze. “i said stay still.”

you shivered, widening your legs again. “m’sorry, gege.”

his eyes softened once more and kissed the same skin he bit, an unspoken acceptance of your apology. you watched him dart his tongue out over your clothed center, licking and drawing small indiscernible patterns that drove heat to build up under your belly. it felt heavenly – caleb’s lips and tongue gliding all over your pussy as it weeps for him – but the barrier that was your panties was becoming annoying, keeping you from feeling all of him.

“caleb,” you said, eyes heavy and chest heaving for air. 

he hummed in response, the vibrations going straight to your cunt.

“m'wanna feel you.” your words were heavy and slurred, struggling to come out of your mouth.

he shook his head between your legs, his nose nudging your clit, and you whined. 

“why–”

“can’t touch you.”

you had the energy to roll your eyes. “s’very funny of you to say, considering you’re basically – oh, oh– fucking me with your tongue.” 

“this isn’t fucking you with my tongue yet.” he said, eyes full of mirth as he tilted his head to the side. he leaned against your thigh. “but it seems like that’s what you want, huh? did you mean this?”

his tongue darted out, relentlessly lapping over your bundle of nerves, causing you to squirm. his licks went from short and quick to long and slow until he reached your slit. his tongue probed at your entrance along with the thin and soaked layer of your ruined panties, moving inside and out.

“caleb!” you moaned, nails digging into your palm. “fuck– please, i need more.”

“greedy.” he mumbled. 

“says you.”

“oh baby, this is nothing. you haven’t seen greedy.”

caleb wished nothing more but to have you all to himself – he could imagine you with your back arched as he fucked you until your walls were molded to the shape of him. he wouldn’t make a grand effort to keep his hands behind him and instead let his fingers roam all over you, touch your skin, smoothen the tangles in your hair, embrace you through it if he could.

but he knew that this was already overstepping the line. he wasn’t supposed to do this, you weren’t supposed to agree. caleb made a pitiful excuse that, if there was a barrier, if you two were still clothed, if the two of you didn’t touch each other with your hands, if you remained still, it was ‘modest’ enough. it wasn’t past the breaking point enough. that the two of you can still have a way to back out, or to pretend it never happened, that it never counted. 

(oh, but it does count. to caleb, especially. the taste of you will haunt his dreams. he is beyond ruined, he fears. he might never be able to taste anything as sweet as you. might never stop craving you.)

your only response was a shameless moan. all sense of modesty and embarrassment was thrown out of the window as your brain was cloudy with pleasure.

“please…” you moaned. you raised one leg up on the edge of the bed, giving caleb more access to fuck his mouth into you. he groaned, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cock twitch through his sweatpants. you bit your lip; if he doesn’t want to remove the barrier, then you might as well give him room so you can feel him as much as you can. 

caleb gathered enough spit into his mouth and let it drool all over your heat. you threw your head back as he swirled around your wet slit. lips and teeth worked around your swollen bud, causing you to whine and clench onto nothing. 

“yes, right there, oh my god,” you panted, completely disregarding the fact he instructed you to stay still and rocked your hips into his face, matching the rhythm he settled with. “please please please–” 

he doubled his efforts, flicking and sucking your clit with the occasional probing of his wet muscle into you. heat engulfs you as you chase your high. and when you came, it was in white and scorching hot pleasure that you thought you were going to burn right there on the edge of your bed. caleb helped you ride it through, kissing your pussy as it spasmed against his lips, your release coming in gushes. he drank in as much as he could through the cloth of your panties, moaning at the taste. 

caleb looked up as you came down from your high, committing everything into memory. the sound of sighs, the feel of your body twitching above him, a sheer amount of sweat dripping from your neck and disappearing into the valley of your breasts.

it was a view he would dream of for days. maybe even longer. 

“my pipsqueak,” he muttered, soft pecks all over your thighs and lap, just as how it all started. there was nothing but adoration in his eyes. mouth shiny, lips wet, your release all over his chin and cheeks. “you were so beautiful… you gave me everything i wanted and more– thank you, thank you baby.”

you vaguely remember what happened after. only hazy visions of him helping you to bed and getting you a fresh set of sleepwear, of kissing your forehead and thanking you once more before leaving your bedroom. you were almost sure you dreamed it when you woke up the next morning if it wasn't for the cold and ruined panties you still wore. along with the mark of his teeth imprinted onto your inner thigh. it was proof enough; it was real, he was there.

caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. 

but if this is where it gets you when he does, you were willing to give him everything and more.

[nekrosmos]

Cw: 18+ (MDNI), first time

Nikolai had thick fingers.

Which was a good thing, as there was no way that John would have been able to take him fully during the first weeks of their relationships. Someone more experienced than he was could have, but John needed time, needed gentleness and care.

When the two first shared a night together, back in John's Liverpool apartment, Nikolai had him shower, clean himself up as he prepared the bed. Clean sheets, a large, soft towel for him to lay on, and a tube of lube on the nightstand. He dimmed the light, a certain shyness still very much ingrained in a recently out of the closet Price. Nik understood, of course, and was happy enough to offer him the perfect setting, hoping to have his friend and lover relax. He knew that the captain was nervous. Excited, but nervous, and he wanted to make sure that John felt safe around him, no matter what.

When Price came out, slicked wet hair, skin red from the hot water and smelling like the most enticing thing Nik had ever smelled, all Nikolai could do was smile, the view so hypnotizing he almost forgot what they were here for.

Gently, he guided John, taking his hand, kissing it, kissing his skin, his face, his lips as he had him sit on the bed, then lay on his stomach as he climbed on top of him.

Nikolai wouldn't go too far with him tonight, that was their deal. Small steps, one at a time, as John grew accustomed to him and his own pleasure. 

So, Nik laid next to him, an eager hand running against the naked body of his most trusted friend, lips kissing his freckled shoulders while his fingers wandered lower and lower, making sure that John was alright, every step of the way.

He felt him tense up slightly when his fingers reached his entrance, caressing it slowly, carefully for a moment, while his dark eyes observed his partner for any reactions. John was flustered, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, groaning when he felt Nik touch him.

Even then, with John's face almost fully hidden, Nikolai thought of him as the most beautiful thing he ever had the pleasure to have his hands on. The perfect shape of his body, his ruffled hair, the blue eyes peaking through their hiding spot to glance at him from time to time, and the way he reacted to his every touch. It was intoxicating. Nikolai placed a kiss against John's forehead, his free hand running through his hair before grabbing the small tube, opening it and spreading the cold liquid against his fingers.

From the corner of his eye, he could see John's hand squeeze the pillow he was laying against. Nik smiled again as he placed more kisses against his skin, this time his back, almost as freckled as his shoulders were.

"We can stop any time, John. I won't hurt you."

This got a reaction out of him, John's head turning and glancing at Nik, his cheeks flushed with red.

"I trust you, Nik. I'm just nervous." 

Nik nodded, moving himself up so he could kiss John’s face again, and then his lips, both of them eager, hungry as Price groaned against him, leaving him almost breathless, until Nik began to push a finger inside of him, the groans replaced by moans as they kept kissing sloppily. 

The resistance against Nik’s finger was natural, the heat of John’s body almost intense against his fingertip. He was slow, gentle, listening to every single sound coming out of John, ready to move back if something was wrong. 

He was barely a knuckle deep when John tensed up again, Nik immediately stopping himself. A few more kisses and sweet praises whispered in his ear and John’s body relaxed, his hole opening up as Nik pushed deeper. 

The way John’s body was able to take his finger was beautiful. Nik could feel his entrance stretch around him, but slowly give in, soft muffled moans coming from John as he was experiencing something new, something intimate and special that Nik knew he had been craving for a long time, perhaps even without realizing. By the time he had pushed his finger as deep as he could inside of him, John was fully relaxed, limbs limp as he laid on the bed, head in the pillow he was holding. 

The moans and groans echoed louder when Nikolai began to withdraw his finger before pushing it back inside, making sure to make it as pleasurable as he could for John. His hips began to move as Nik’s hand moved, looking for friction against the bed, his cock probably hard under him, although Nik wanted to wait a little longer before touching him there as well. For now, he wanted John to experience the pleasure of penetration, relax into it and allow himself to discover what he liked. It was going well, judging by the swears now leaving his lips. 

“Fuck, Nik, That’s already so much.” 

“Da, but you will be able to take more, in time.” 

This got another swear out of John, and another one as Nik pushed deeper again, fucking him so thoroughly with just a single finger, his thighs shaking ever so slightly under Nik’s touch. 

This continued until Nikolai could feel John getting closer, his body heating up and his moans getting more desperate, hole fully relaxed around the intrusion. 

So, Nik rolled on to his side, guiding John to do the same so that his free hand could wrap itself around his hardened cock, slick with pre-cum and begging to be touched. The sounds escaping John’s lips were outright sinful, a perfect melody to Nik’s ears as he dragged his palm up and down his shaft, thumb playing with John’s tip as he quickened the thrust of his finger inside him. 

It didn’t take long for John to finish, hot white seed spreading inside of Nik’s palm and on the towel he had laid under him earlier, body tensing up for a second before giving up, the bliss of his orgasm spreading through him, unable to form a coherent sentence as he rested against Nik’s bigger body, shielding him, protecting him as he felt John’s ecstasy coursing through him. 

John was breathless, his skin burning hot, cheeks red and lips parted as he tried to compose himself. 

It was getting difficult for Nikolai to ignore how hard he himself had become, his cock pressing against John’s ass under his sweatpants. 

One day, he would take John, fully. But not tonight. Tonight was not about him, but about John and his pleasure. 

Nik smiled as he pressed another kiss to John’s temple, then his cheek, stopping right under his ear lobe, the skin of his neck sensitive to his touch. 

“You did so good, John. I think you could take another finger, da?” 

The shiver that ran down John’s spine was all the answer he needed, as he leaned back to grab back the tube of lube. The night would be long, and he would make sure that John enjoyed every inch of his fingers as he basked in the bliss of his pleasure.

[dreadflyer]

Me in the morning

Actually managed to finish it, and it doesn't look *too* terrible. Thank you everyone for inspiring me to draw and contribute to this silly little thing

[ravenswritings]

── pretend

> love & deepspace; rafayel x fem reader > smut (explicit sexual content - nsfw) > 5.2k > a slight re-envisioning and expansion of the kindled scene from the gem affection card > content: 2nd person pov, petnames (your highness, princess, good girl), mostly pwp, switch rafayel and switch reader, cowgirl, missionary, creampie > [ ao3 ]

The best way to convince the palace maids to leave you two be is to act like you are lovingly wrapped up in each other. But where’s the fun in just pretending?

“Then I shall wait by the door. I’ll always be ready to tend to you, Your Highness.”

What had initially begun as a way to hide the marked-up map and mask your discussions of escape was gradually devolving into pure indulgence. Words of let’s make it convincing turned into what’s the harm if we continue? Rafayel sits atop the soft velvet covers of the bed - map long forgotten even though it was only moments ago that he threw himself on the bed to hide it - with you perched on his lap and your own self-control quickly waning. You hold a grape between your fingers, the fruit coated in a light, watery syrup, pressing it lightly against your lover’s lips.

It’s not as if you two could continue discussing your potential escape with the head maid just outside the door. It was too risky, all too likely that she would overhear something that would compromise your chances of getting back home. In the short time that you’ve been stuck in this world, you’ve deduced that the staff here would much prefer to have you stay, to fill the place of the missing princess and act like nothing is amiss.

You refuse to remain here forever, though.

Still… You two are so very close to settling on a concrete plan. It wouldn’t take much more time or effort to decide on your next steps, make the necessary preparations, and set out into the desert to search for the cave that should hopefully allow the two of you to return home. The temptation of indulging in Rafayel’s affections in this moment is simply too good to pass up. There’d be plenty of time later to finish your discussion.

In the meantime, you’ll continue to play the roles of the salacious princess and her favorite haughty beauty, basking in each other's company, plying each other in soft touches and teasing kisses, until the maid standing just outside the door leaves. It seems like a perfectly fine way to spend the time.

“Since Your Highness wants to spice things up, I’ll do my best to satisfy your every need.”

Of course, Rafayel just has to draw things out; he didn’t immediately part his lips and accept the grape that you had tried feeding to him, and now he’s teasing you back, playing. He grasps your wrist, long fingers curled firmly against your skin. Bringing it to his mouth, his warm tongue swipes up towards your palm as he tastes the syrup that had begun dripping down your inner wrist. Your fingers twitch at the jolt of anticipation that runs through your body, suddenly losing their grip on the slick fruit.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the grape as it bounces down Rafayel’s jewelry-adorned chest, leaving a shining, reddish trail as it soon rolls to a stop right at the edge of his waistband.

“Can’t take it anymore?” Rafayel teases, taunting you for your slip up, lifting his gaze to your face before his eyes flick down to where the grape had settled. There’s a ghost of a devious smirk on his lips, so subtle as he feigns innocence, eyebrows lifting to sell the sweet puppy-dog look while he tilts his head. “It’s so far away. I can’t get it. Your Highness, could you…”

You laugh quietly at Rafayel's apparent helplessness, rather enjoying the situation the two of you have found yourselves in and his insistence on playing coy. “I suppose I can get it for you…” you murmur, unable to help the smirk that twitches at the corner of your own lips. He wasn’t the only one who could draw things out, tease, drive the other wild.

You lean forward, pressing into Rafayel’s space, grasping his chin firmly as you tilt his face to the side to allow for easier access to his neck. Your hand cups his jaw briefly before trailing lower leisurely, the pads of your fingers brushing against his throat. If you pressed harder, you knew you’d be able to feel his pulse - but your touch was agonizingly soft and sweet against his skin. He swallows; breathing shallow.

“Did it fall over here?”

The words lilt in the same feigned innocence Rafayel used earlier. Pretending to be oh so clueless about where the grape had gone and thoroughly investigating its potential whereabouts, you allow your nails to graze his collarbone, brushing lightly against the gold adornments he wore.

“I think you need to go… a little lower,” he rasps, clearly trying to appear more unaffected than he truly is at this moment. A soft huff of laughter leaves your lips, but you happily play along with his false ignorance. Your hand runs down his chest almost lazily, the metal and gems of his body jewelry softly clinking as your fingers brush across them, the muscles of his abdomen jumping at the feather-light touch as your search continues lower and lower. Soon enough, your touches halt once they make contact with the fabric of his pants.

“Here?” you ask, head tilted and eyebrows raised, fingers hovering just over the runaway fruit. When you glance back up to your lover’s face, you see that a red flush had already settled across his cheekbones. His smoldering gaze is heavy on you, the gradient of red of his eyes prominent and rich in the subdued, warm candlelight of your bedchambers. You can’t help but notice how well his eyes and blush compliment each other.

Before he can say anything else, you pluck the grape up between your fingers, then pop it into your own mouth. If he wouldn’t eat it, fine; it’s yours, then. Swiping your tongue across your digits to clean the residue off, you make eye contact with him. The mild surprise in his eyes makes you feel giddy, and you want to keep pushing your luck.

So - given he had propped himself up on his elbows to play around and tease you - you firmly press him back down against the bed, in a rather similar manner that echoes the beginning of this little session between you two. But this time your push is much more slow, deliberate. His hands instinctively move to your hips, holding you steady as your positions shift against each other. You can’t help but smile at the way his eyes narrow; he’s trying to figure out your intentions, your next move. With him splayed out beneath you, that dark trail the syrup-coated grape left behind practically begs for your attention. You know what you’ll do.

Despite the intensity in your eager gaze, Rafayel is quick to regain his composure. “You're quite the tease, aren’t you?” His voice is husky, barely above a whisper. He looks amused as he watches you, sitting so pretty and coy on his lap. “I think you enjoyed that more than you let on.”

“Maybe,” you respond vaguely with a cheeky smile. And then you’re scooting back slightly, putting a necessary distance between you two so you can enact your next course of action. Leaning down, your lips press against the bare skin of his collarbone, right at the very beginning of the sticky, sweet line of syrup. You hear his breath hitch in anticipation, his chest stilling beneath your lips.

With your hands placed on his biceps as you brace your body against his, you move your face a bit lower, flatten your tongue against his pec, and drag it upwards towards his shoulder, licking the skin clean. Rafayel’s digits noticeably twitch against your hips and you hear him exhale a long, shaky breath just above your head. Pulling your mouth away from his skin, the tip of your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and you glance up at him briefly while you shift further down his body. But before you can get too far ahead of yourself, one of his hands moves to grasp your chin firmly, stopping you from reaching your next destination.

A swift tug pulls you up, and a moment later your lips lock with Rafayel’s in a firm kiss. Despite the initial surprise you felt, only a heartbeat passes before you’re melting against him, a little sigh leaving your nose as your arms loosely loop around his shoulders. You break the kiss to breathe, to press yourself ever closer to your lover. Rafayel's eyes, hooded as he gazes up at you, flutter shut as you lean in once more, meeting in another searing kiss. His hands depart from your hips and slide upwards to cup your face, leaving tingling trails that cause you to shudder. He lets out a soft moan against your mouth as your own hands roam down his chest in return, fingers tugging at the gold jewelry adorning his torso.

“Mmm, I love it when you take charge,” Rafayel purrs, words mixed into a sigh as he breaks the kiss. His fingers tangle in your hair and tug you back gently, preventing you from pitching forward and stealing another kiss. Who’s really in charge here? Regardless, arousal washes down your spine at his easy confession, at the light but persistent grip he has on your hair. Your eyes are half-lidded as you stare down at him, head tilted back just slightly due to Rafayel’s hold.

His eyes flick to the closed door of your bedchambers at that moment, and your gaze follows his. That’s right, you think to yourself, pulled slightly from the fog of your arousal as if just remembering where you two are and what transpired before you two started getting lost in each other. Is the maid still out there?

Well, it didn’t matter either way, in the end.

A charmingly wicked grin spreads across Rafayel’s face as your eyes meet his again. “Someone might still be out there. But don't hold back, my love. Let them hear every moan, every gasp,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning against your skin. His hands move to your hips again, gripping the flesh tightly as he ruts his hips up against yours, the friction causing your breath to hitch in your throat. His thumbs massage little circles into your hip bones and you squirm at the slightly ticklish sensation. “I want you to ride me, Your Highness. Show me how much you enjoy your favorite concubine.”

His pupils are blown wide with adoration and desire, red flush still so pretty across the apples of his cheeks. The dim candle light casts shadows across his features, but you swear it only accents his already devastating beauty. A smitten sigh escapes your lips. “Well, I can’t say no when you look at me like that,” you coo, lifting a hand to trail your fingertips across his face, brushing strands of his dusky purple waves away from his eyes and lingering along his jaw. You certainly couldn’t deny his demands when they sounded so sweet coming from him, no matter how haughty they come across. And why would the princess deny her favorite’s wishes, anyway, when they are so easy to grant?

“Besides…” you add, voice coming out in a whisper while you tilt his chin up with a single finger, your eyes locked on his. The heady emotion in your eyes reflects your next words: “I want it just as much as you.”

Lifting your hips slightly, you begin to untie the navy blue sash around your waist. A more desperate part of you wants to just bunch your skirt up to your thighs and get on with it to save time, but you know it’s just going to interfere, getting in the way of you enjoying your dear, sweet, beloved Rafayel. While you love to tease him and draw things out, this side of you is warring with the one that wants to dive in and lose yourself in him. His hands grasp and lightly tug at your skirt, pulling the now-loose fabric a few inches down the flare of your hips.

As much as you loathe to separate from him, you shift off his lap, moving to the side and stepping off the bed. Working the skirt the rest of the way off your hips, you let the light, flowing layers drop to the floor along with your panties. After stepping out of the little pile around your ankles, you settle back down on the bed beside him, drawing your legs loosely up beneath you. Your palm brushes across his waistband, a short distance above the tent that had been steadily growing between his legs, your nails lightly teasing the skin right along the edge of his pants. Rafayel’s eyes flutter closed as he exhales shakily.

“You’re pretty like this,” you hum, allowing your eyes to roam his figure from head to toe before returning to his face. He opens his eyes with a soft chuckle and the heat in his gaze sends a buzzing anticipation across your nerves.

“Pretty, huh?” The words are smug, as if he already knows just what you thought of him. He knows he’s pretty, of course. But you nod, readily feeding his ego. Your fingers deftly tuck themselves into his waistband, tugging the sash loose. The sheer coral fabric that draped across his chest, as well as the teal and crimson panels of fabric that hung around his hips, fall slack. Rafayel flicks the coral fabric over his shoulder while you remove the excess fabric from his lower half.

Once he kicks his pants off, nude aside from the gold adornments across his chest and the shimmering teal cloth tied to both biceps that loops behind his back, you waste no time alighting yourself on his lap once more. Rafayel places his hands at your waist, though they only remain there briefly before sliding upwards, drumming along your ribcage. His thumbs brush against the fabric of your top; the body jewelry you wear, identical to your lover’s, softly jingles with the motion. Your hands press against his shoulders to steady yourself, pussy hovering above his hard cock. Lowering your body, the pretty flushed tip catches at your slick entrance briefly before it slips, brushing right past your clit.

You bite down on your lip to stifle the whine that threatens to leave your throat. Rafayel’s breath stutters; a short, shuddering gasp at the sensation of his tip dragging across your folds. Your walls clench at the spark of pleasure stemming from that sensitive bud, and you can’t help yourself; you rock against him again, folds practically gliding against his shaft, leaving your arousal along his length. A groan leaves your partner’s lips, equal parts frustrated and eager.

“Make me yours, princess.”

His demand is strained, desperate; as if he’s barely holding himself back from grabbing your hips and rutting into you. He wants you to indulge, wants you to claim him - and you’re going to grant that wish of his. It’s your wish, too, after all, even though you know very well that he’s already yours… and that he’s been yours for a while now.

Your response to him comes in the form of your hand grasping his length, holding him steady as you tuck the leaking tip against your entrance again. You ease yourself down onto him slowly, taking him into your slick heat inch by inch. The leisurely descent is almost agonizing, but you pride yourself on your self control as you try to draw the act out; you’ve always relished the initial stretch of your walls whenever he first enters you, his girth providing the perfect amount of stretch. Rafayel’s jaw clenches while you take your time, trying to keep his breathing and hips steady as you work your way down. A pleased little sigh escapes you once you’re fully seated on his lap, his member nestled all snug inside you, filling you so deliciously.

With both of your hands braced against his shoulders once more, you lift your hips until just his tip remains inside. A short pause, a deep breath. Then, your tight heat engulfs his length again, quicker this time. You grind against him, back arching as you rock your hips, though you continue to take your sweet time. The languid drag of his cock as you ride him drives you crazy, but it allows the pleasure to swell gradually; the warmth of arousal slowly spreads from your core to the rest of your body.

“Your Highness…” Rafayel gasps out between breathy little moans that you manage to pull from him. Every few thrusts, his hips buck upwards as he ruts into you - a whine escapes your throat each time it happens, and you find yourself shuddering as your head starts to hang between your shoulders. Your hands curl into fists against his chest, leaving pale pink lines as your nails scrape against the skin. “Aren’t you being too much of a tease, now?”

When Rafayel’s grip around your waist tightens and he starts to control the rhythm of your bodies, clearly tired of your mischief, you put more of your weight into your descent and firmly plant yourself on his lap. His brows twitch and his lips curl into a pouty scowl when he’s unable to continue to thrust up into you, the pace coming to a grinding halt. Your knees tightly press around his hips, further restricting you both, though you can’t help but rock your hips in small, torturously languid circles while you try to catch your breath. A strangled groan leaves Rafayel’s lips as he throws his head back, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your abdomen, one of his thighs jumping in response to the constrained, regulated pleasure.

A breathless laugh escapes you in a huff and you can’t help but smirk at his crumbling composure.

All movement on his part halting, Rafayel’s eyes narrow, shades of ruby red briefly gleaming in stark contrast against the dark azure surrounding it. His expression is dangerous, and suddenly you realize your mistake. A shudder wracks your body, though you’re not sure if it’s due to uneasiness or anticipation.

He’s going to swallow you whole.

And you’ll let him. You’ll welcome it, even.

There’s a moment of stillness, of bated breaths - then, your vision spins as Rafayel flips your positions. Fingers clutching his shoulders, you cling to him as your world shifts. Your back is pressed into the mattress now, and he’s hovering above you. With the way his bangs frame his face, the flickering candle light is blocked from fully reaching his eyes; the shadows make his gaze even more intoxicating. Given how tightly both your hips had been pressed together before your hubris, his cock easily remains firmly lodged inside you despite the shifting of bodies and power. You suppress the low moan that bubbles up in your chest, arousal spiking as he pins you beneath him, his cockhead pressing right up against your cervix. Fuck, you feel so full like this.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against your cheek; it feels almost cool against your warm skin. One of his palms rests on your hip, while the other is planted against the bed. A shiver runs down your spine as his breath fans over your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart pounding with anticipation. Quietly, he chuckles; you almost feel it more than you hear it. When he pulls his face away slightly, you open your eyes and they flit up to meet his gaze. With a smug smirk, not unlike the one you gave him moments ago, he speaks. “Forgive me, but I’m getting impatient tonight. I need you, princess.”

“Rafayel–?”

As if to prove his words, he pulls out just slightly before rutting back into you again sharply. You’re left breathless as your back arches upwards, and your thighs twitch against his hips. Rafayel pushes himself into a more upright position, moving both palms to your waist, using your hips as an anchor and holding you tight as he starts to steadily roll his hips against yours. A keening whine leaves your throat as your head lolls to the side, overwhelmed with pleasure even as your walls greedily suck him in.

“You’re - hah - so gorgeous like this… Gonna make you feel so good…” Rafayel groans, heavily affected by the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him, your arousal drenching his length and making a mess where your bodies meet. Though subtle, you can feel your own pulse in your walls that are stretched tightly around his girth whenever he presses his cock in as deep as it can go.

Your body begins to adjust - somewhat - to his unrelenting thrusts, becoming used to the waves of pleasure that flush through your core. You focus your gaze on him; his cheeks are flushed with desire and exertion, a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples and along his delicate neck, lips parted as a result of his panting breaths and husky groans that accentuate the cadence of his hips. Eyes fixated on his mouth, his pretty lips that you want on yours so badly, your fingers twitch against his shoulders before they move.

Hooking your fingers through the gold metal dangling inches away from his sternum, you yank him down; he yelps and frantically catches himself with his palms against the mattress, pulled off balance by the sharp movement. His rhythm falters, hips stilling at the sudden change in position. You then loop your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close and not allowing him to escape. Most of his weight rests on you, though his forearms dig into the bed on either side of your ribcage, propping him up just enough so that he isn’t crushing you. Capturing his lips with yours, you muffle the gratified groan that crawls up your throat.

The kiss is messy, sloppy as your open mouths press against each other. Teeth graze plush lips, slightly too abrasive, though neither of you can bring yourselves to care. Tongues meet, brush past one another, depart. Rafayel coaxes a moan from you as the tip of his tongue curls up against the roof of your mouth, and you retaliate by sucking his bottom lip in, biting down; a breathy whimper escapes him. He breaks the kiss momentarily to inhale deeply, rocking his hips against yours as his lust-hazed mind remembers that his length is buried deep in you, hard and throbbing.

With the current angle of his hips, each time he moves against you, friction greets your clit. Your legs, hooked around his waist to keep him close, help corral his body in towards yours each time he rolls against you. “Nn, Rafayel…”

“Hm?” His answering hum rumbles against the crook of your neck, where his lips are leaving soft kisses along with light, pinching nips from his teeth. A swipe of his tongue and a loving peck soothes the skin, and his hand - one now roaming your body, nails dragging lightly across the side of your plump breast and down the curve of your ribs - provides a sweet, tantalizing distraction. Your eyes flutter shut and you tighten your hold on him, fingers clutching at the string of body jewelry that rests against his spine.

Each time he drives his length into your sopping wet pussy, a short little moan bubbles out of your mouth. You’re too far gone at this point; any thoughts of banter and teasing nonexistent in your mind. All that matters right now is Rafayel, how he’s making you feel, and how he’s indulging in you as he chases his own pleasure. “Please, Raf… I need…” your begging drops off into a whine. The muscles in your lower abdomen are tense, a manifestation of your desperation because you need to cum soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“You’re taking my cock so well,” Rafayel praises, statement husky and ending in a low moan. “Nngh–! Such a good girl, such a perfect little princess for me.” He’s just as close to falling apart as you are, his breathing heavy as he pants against your skin. His fingers press into your skin in a halfhearted attempt to ground himself.

Your eyes roll back into your head when he calls you a good girl, his perfect little princess - his voice sends a white-hot flash of arousal straight to your core, and your pussy practically drools around him in response, body shuddering as your orgasm edges ever closer. When Rafayel’s fingers start moving in tight, quick circles on your clit, you bite down sharply on your bottom lip, subduing the high-pitched cry torn from your throat.

“Raf - ah - Rafayel…” you babble, and your fingers clutch at his back, tugging at the jewelry as if it’s your lifeline. His tip brushes against that spongy spot repeatedly with each pass of his hips, and you vaguely notice the barely perceptible tremble of your limbs in the midst of your lust. “I’m–I’m close–”

And with a well-timed, sharp thrust while his fingers press down on your clit, you come undone. Your back arches and you cry out, walls clamping down tightly around his cock before fluttering, subsequently coaxing his orgasm from him. Your breath hitches when you feel the subtle, telltale warmth pooling deep in your canal, right up against your cervix. The sensation is accompanied by a sultry mix between a groan and a whine coming from Rafayel, forehead pressing against your collarbone.

With a shuddering exhale, he relaxes against you, weight bearing down on you, suffocating you just a little. Your fingers untangle themselves from the body jewelry and ghost over his shoulders, his skin sweaty and sticky beneath your touch. After a few moments where you try to catch your breath, you lightly smack his bicep. “You’re crushing me.”

Rafayel grumbles a bit, complaints unintelligible, but pushes himself up onto his forearms, peeling his body off of yours. He shifts back, pulling his softening cock out of your pussy - your walls clenching almost instinctively as if trying to keep him in - then flops over onto the bed beside you. Now with his weight off you, your lungs can get the air they need. Inhaling deeply, your eyelids slide shut as you allow your body to go limp against the gold-embroidered velvet donning the bed. It’s soft, easily holding onto the warmth from your activities.

Moments later, Rafayel’s hands grasp at you and pull you against him. Your face scrunches at the tacky feeling of your sweaty-and-cooling skin against his, but the mild distaste is easily overshadowed by the warmth of your heart as you indulge in a bit of skinship after your little romp. Lying on your side, you press yourself against his front and sling an arm over his waist lazily, letting out a tired but pleased little sigh. A few heartbeats later, you crack your eyes open and look up at him, head resting on his arm - your own personal pillow (until your beloved complains that his arm is going tingly and numb, and then you’re going to have to deal with him rolling away in the other direction, and you’ll delegate yourself as the big spoon).

Rafayel’s eyes meet yours and his eyes light up with the grin that spreads his lips. He nods his head to the side, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Think she’s still out there?”

Snapped out of your blissful little reverie, you huff, a pout on your lips as you reach up and pinch his cheek softly. The way his skin squishes between your thumb and forefinger is reminiscent of a marshmallow. “I don’t know,” you answer with a sigh and you press your face against his chest again, hiding away from reality. “I guess I don’t really care. It’s not like they don’t already expect this from us.”

“True.” The agreement is punctuated with a quiet laugh from Rafayel, softened as he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head. “Though I think it’s funny that you took on the role of the promiscuous princess so easily.”

He yelps as you retaliate with a sharp bite to his shoulder.

The candles in your bedchambers continue to burn late into the night.

You’re unsure when exactly the maid beyond the door left - all you knew is that she was gone from her post by the time you and Rafayel had bothered to extract yourselves from each other to go check.

You’re leaning against Rafayel’s side as you two sit up side by side in the bed, cheek pressed into his shoulder. Even though the incense has long been extinguished, the faint smoky fragrance continues to linger in the room, contributing to the ongoing intimacy of these moments.

Plucking a grape from the bowl in your lap, you hold it up to your beauty’s lips. He obediently opens his mouth and you pop the fruit in, fingertips brushing against his lips. His eyes flick from your face to the map that he’s holding up before the two of you. Chewing absentmindedly, his gaze traces over the notes the two of you had scribbled into the parchment earlier.

Popping a grape into your own mouth, you also look over the map. You two have marked the caves that are most likely to hold the mural that should allow your return back to your original world. With a decisive hum, Rafayel folds the map up, setting it off to the side. He then turns his body towards you, and you make a disgruntled noise in the back of your throat as your support - in the form of his shoulder - moves away from you.

His hands grasp the bowl, taking it off your lap as he cradles it in his arms; then he slots himself in your arms, resting his weight comfortably against you. You slump against the propped up pillows and cushions that support your back, allowing him to use you as his own pillow. He noses your collarbone, brushing freely along the skin, your jewelry having been removed some time ago. Rafayel picks up a grape and holds it up to your lips to feed you and pamper you, just as you had done for him. You take the grape into your mouth while giving a teasing nip to the tip of his finger at the same time. He smiles up at you, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You know, all things considered, I’d say our time here hasn’t been terrible,” Rafayel starts, grabbing another grape to feed you. Once you take it, he licks the watery syrup that lingers on the pad of his thumb.

You shrug and nod your head. “Yeah,” you agree, though your tone is more ambivalent. “I won’t lie, it’s been kind of fun. A vacation in and of itself, almost. But…” You run your fingers through his dusky purple hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Rafayel practically melts against you. “I’m looking forward to being back home.”

“Mm, me too.” Rafayel’s long arms deposit the bowl of grapes - now nearly empty - onto the side table before settling back down into your embrace. His fingers trace languid, abstract images into the bare skin of your torso, his blue-pink eyes drowsy and half-lidded. A yawn escapes his lips and he nuzzles his face against your chest. “Does tomorrow night sound good to you?”

“Yeah, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

In the meantime, you’ll happily luxuriate in these moments with Rafayel as the princess and her sweetheart, certain that you two will find your way back home.

[matteoberrettini]

i guess we are who we are 'til we're not

[princezamlovesthedishwasher]

In honor of Yuri Week I present to you,

the lifestealers as women tierlist

[thatoldbooksmellsstuff]

The most haunting part of the Athenide AU is not even Perseleia Athenide but Perse Jackson.

Anyways I made a fic for her. My dearest complex character <3.

See, I was dead when I woke up this morning , and I’ll be dead before the day is done

[love-jelly]

THE VALIDATION.

sypnosis: precious, sweet choso would never ever deny you in any way, always opting to let you do whatever you wanted for your own entertainment and satisfaction, even if it includes giving you his heart and body.

contents: tutor!choso, sub!choso, dom!reader, pet names (choso: cutie, baby, bubs, darling, pretty prince, good boy | reader: mommy), dirty talk, hair pulling (m!receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex (does this even count idk), choso is desperate for some puthy (YOUR puthy), overstimulation (m!receiving), praise kink

word count: 1.4k+

a/n: based on this idea by @hotlinemurder ! tysm to maki for blessing my tl with this idea and i hope i did it justice !! hope u enjoy !! minors dni. ageless / blank / minor blogs will be blocked if seen interacting!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

choso tutors you every wednesday and friday afternoon from twelve pm to two pm every other week in the university library. a timeline you both come up with to nicely accommodate both of your schedules- him with his studies and you with your parties and whatnot. not to say you don’t focus on school, you do, life’s just easier when you can ignore all the pending assignments that are due at 11:59pm and all the teachers that seemingly have it out for you.

but choso is sweet, unnecessarily so even when you try to quietly yawn at his rambling that seems to bounce off the walls of the study room you two rented. even when you start doodling in your notebook, when you’re supposed to be writing down what he’s trying to teach you. life is just more fun when you let go, something you’re sure choso doesn’t know how to do when you don’t show him how to.

choso is a straight-a student and tutor, teaching you topics better than any of your professors on the surface. but when you have him in the palm of your hand, with actions that are only a little suggestive? you’ll surely have him fucking you better than any of them too.

a few taps from the tip of a black pen on your notebook shakes you from your thoughts, choso gazing at you with concern evident in his eyes and a cute frown.

“you do know midterms are two weeks away, right?” the concerned lilt in his tone is cute but not cute enough for you to really care, knowing you would rather be doing anything else than studying calculus four.

you look up and smile apologetically, “sorry, cutie, but partial differentiation of functions is not on my mind right now.”

he blushes softly at the pet name but holds his ground, “but you didn’t come to any lecture last week. these questions are gonna be on the exam, you have to know them.”

you stand up, going behind him to undo the two buns he keeps atop his head, “‘s alright, i have you, don’t i?” the locks of hair unravel like a pretty present as you massage the mop around, evening the spread of his pretty brown hair.

“that’s why i’m trying to teach you right now but you won’t even listen,” he softly whines in slight protest, distracted by the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair.

“i have a better idea- don’t you wanna have fun?” you twist yourself onto his lap, thighs fitting atop his as you straddle him. you twist your hand into a fist to garner a hold of his hair, pulling it back to lift his head to expose his pretty wide eyes.

“b-but-” he stammers, moving his head to the side to avoid your eye contact, not sure what excuse to use. you roughly pull his hair again to force him to face you again, a mewl falling from his lips.

you cut him off with a soft voice, “you want me to stop?” you press chaste kisses to his jaw and throat, leaving an especially hard one on his adam’s apple, a soft sigh slipping out from his mouth.

he groans, unable to find an answer in his now-muddled brain. “please-”

precious, sweet choso would never ever deny you in any way, always opting to let you do whatever you wanted for your own entertainment and satisfaction, even if it includes giving you his heart and body.

“please what, baby?” you smile lightly, knowing he would always give into pleasure, give into you. 

“please make me cum,” his usual honeyed, deep voice is exchanged for a separate breathy, higher tone that’s reserved for your ears and your ears alone.

“all you had to say, bubs,” you lightly grind your core to his hardening, twitching cock, that seemingly was begging for some sort of stimulation that could help relieve the hot bubble that was forming in his lower belly.

something between a whine and a groan erupts from choso’s lips as you go in for another kiss, you swallowing up his sounds by connecting your lips.

“we’re in the library, darling. remember to be quiet, ‘kay?” you remind him with a sweet smile as if you weren’t the reason for his loud volume.

he whimpers, “s-sorry, mommy, please-” he chokes out, “c-can i put it in?”

you reach down and pull his cock out of his pants and give it a few jerks. “do you deserve it?”

choso scrunches his face in pleasure, eyes shut and lips wet with both his and your saliva. he manages to open his eyes a bit and breathe out, “yes- yes i do- please?” his brown orbs plead with you for stimulation- for pleasure- for mercy.

“put it in then, show me how desperate you are for me,” his fingers are fumbling around, pushing your skirt up and realizing you’re wearing his favorite lacy violet panties underneath, he groans quietly to himself admiring the wet spot on it for a second. set back on his prior mission, he pushes his cock into your panties, creating a large wet spot as he humps the scratchy material to find pleasure.

“my pretty prince, right? look at you, you just wanna get off, huh? i’ll let you use my pussy- so you better use it well.”

“thank- you, mommy,” he mewls softly before aligning himself with your hole. he quickly shoves it in- catching you off guard, forcing a hiss and moan from your lips that he quickly shuts up with a kiss that you dominate early on.

his hands have you in a vice-like grip that’s sure to leave bruises, holding you a few inches above his own body as his hips uncontrollably rut up into you, balls slapping on your buttcheeks.

“f-fuck- what would your parents say about this, huh? their p-precious little boy so desperate to cum inside of a woman?” you bite his earlobe, moaning directly into it, only serving to make choso’s dick impossibly harder.

“do-don’t-”

“don’t what, bubs? don’t tell your parents? but with how much you c-cum inside me, won’t we have to tell them when we have a b-baby?” you chortle in his ear, his face tinted red from embarrassment but still rutting up into you, desperately searching for release that feels so close with the way you’re clenching around him, still wanting to cum inside you as if it was his lifes goal.

“c-can’t- please- please let me cum inside.” he nearly sobs, his orgasm feeling like it’s approaching.

“don’t stop, don’t stop. you’re doing so so good for me, bubs. keep going- just a bit more, you’re almost there, baby,” you whisper into his ear, keenly aware of the effect your words have on him.

“please, please, please- let me-” 

“you wanna cum? you wanna cum in me? give your parents a grandbaby? you want that huh- you want your parents to know what a dirty whore you are for wet pussy- my wet pussy? come, come inside me.” your filthy words spill out of your mouth and into his flushed ear like whispers of an eternal bliss in hell.

a chain of “yes”s leave his lips in needy murmurs as he nears his climax. his thrusts into you become shorter and sloppier as you hug him closer, quieting your own moans by putting forth effort in marking up his neck.

a long, languid moan is ripped out from choso’s chest with his hips still rutting into you, albeit slower now, steadily fucking his cum into you, although his cock is still semi-hard. “let me- let me make you cum, please?”

you breathily laugh, “keep fucking me, baby, i’m almost there.”

choso continues his actions through strained movements, overstimulating himself, still roughly but quietly moaning through his own pain and pleasure. pulling you closer and staring at your pretty face filled with pleasure, he seems to be mesmerized by every feature on your face that contorts to prove that you were finding as much bliss in this as he is.

“fuck, i’m close, baby. gonna make me cum? make me cum,” choso quickens his pace, grunting in exertion. with a hand slapped over your mouth to hold back your shriek, you cum, spasming around his cock. fucking you through your orgasm, choso whines. he was so focused on making you cum that he didn’t realize he was nearing his second orgasm and with one last thrust into you, he spills a second load into you.

“good boy, choso. you did so well,” your validation makes him feel tingles all around his stomach, butterflies awakening in his stomach.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

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a/n: honestly i hate this n i felt like it was WAY too fast paced. BUT i promised a fic so here's one amidst my busy schedule :') life stop fucking me in the ass when :/ thank you for reading !!!

[multifandomfanboy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Homestuck Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Karkat Vantas, Sollux Captor, The Signless | The Sufferer Additional Tags: POV Karkat Vantas, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Witchcraft, Witches, Redundant tags are redundant, Alternia is Terrible, SBURB/SGRUB (Homestuck) Summary:

One day, Karkat Vantas decided "hey I’m already cullbait, why not add to the pile" and began learning the forbidden art of magic. And things kinda spiral off from there