#EXCEPT when it has pink legs and dark eyes and a dark tip to its bill

[electric-skillet]

Monologuing to myself about my interests so that I can be Normal in a real conversation

[fckmebarnes]

imagine lawyer bucky having you under his desk sucking his cock and playing with his cock while he has meeting or important phone calls

note; this turned out way longer than i expected it too!!! i’ve been thinking of lawyer!bucky a lot and i need him more in my life so…maybe ill add him to my universe <3

minors dni! 18+ smut. cockwarming, bucky fucks you while on a call, he ties ur wrists, he’s just kinky ok. i need him

i’ve been thinking about this lately :(

you keep his cock warm with your mouth - he knows this and you know this. it’s what you’re best at when you come with him at work.

he doesn’t normally bring you along - you’re a distraction. he knows it and you know it. you use it to your advantage to get what you want.

and you always get what you want.

that’s how you’re in this position now, knees against the shaggy tan carpet, hunched over bucky’s lap. you’re completely naked, except the underwear he made you keep on just so the toy he pushed snug in your cunt that morning while you were asleep - stays in.

his desk shielded you, no one would know you were under there. the wooden oak desk was one of bucky’s prized possessions after he opened his firm.

“it was my fathers,” you remembered him telling you, watching as he trailed one of his flesh fingers down the dark oak. you knew it was important to him, and it made you feel special he allowed you this close to it.

your mouth, however, was preoccupied with bucky’s cock shoved down your throat. he was on a business call? you heard his voice try to not grunt with great effort as your tongue moved on its own accord. it traced the small outlines of the veins of his dick, making him grip your hair harshly.

he leaned back in his chair just enough to see your eyes looking up up him with the most innocent face he had ever seen your face adorn.

he wanted to ruin it.

he took his metal hand and brought it up to his faces, resting his pointer finger against his pink plush lips.

“shhh..” you only groaned in response as you felt his hips buck up, his metal hand flying for your hair and digging his fingers deep. he tugged onto you, the tip of his cock hitting the back your throat as he cleared his.

“gentlemen, i know we have to come to some type of settlement, surely?” his voice was i wavered, as if he wasn’t fucking the shit out of your mouth at the same exact time.

you heard some response above you, meaning the phone was just above your head. you felt your cunt throb at the thought of them being able to hear you get throat fucked.

“o can’t do another trial. i’d have to file an adjournment request for it and i just don’t have the time.” he looked down at you as he said that, his hands being very full at the moment.

your hands were gripping his clothes thighs. he only wanted to pull himself out through the zipper of his slacks. he had some class.

grunting at a particular harsh thrust, he leaned over to mute the call before pulling you out from under the desk, ultimately emptying your mouth of his cock.

you whines in response, and he just chuckled as he bent you over the desk, slapping your ass harshly with his right hand. his metal one snaked up your spine, fluttering touches against your skin making you break out in goosebumps and soft whine escaped your lips.

“i’m going to unmute this call, and when i do - my cock is going to be buried deep in this sweet pussy,” he paused, his metal hand finding the nape of your neck as your elbows dig into the cool wooden oak, your hips pressing against the edge surely to leave a mark.

but you didn’t care. you wanted to remember this moment.

the one where he had his legs in between yours to knock them spread wider, your cunt glistening and soaked just from being his desk pet and sucking his cock alone. he knew how needy you got, he knew you would keep begging and begging under you couldn’t take it anymore.

and he loved it.

he undid his belt fully now, pushing his slacks and boxers down as your back was arched perfectly for him. he took his shit jacket off the back of his chair and folded it up enough to create a cushion before positioning it under your head as a pillow.

“hands behind your back, princess.” his voice was low making your shiver, and you heard the metal clink behind you.

fuck.

he grabbed your wrists as soon as you laid your head down on the make shift jacket pillow and sighed as he tightened the belt comfortably around your wrists.

“you look so pretty like this, baby. spread open wide for me while on a call. you love this, don’t you?” you nodded, biting your lip before being brought back to the moment when you heard bucky’s name being called from the speaker across the desk from your face.

“james? you there?“ he leaned over, the tip of his cock pushing into your cunt as he leaned over the entirety of you to unmute the call. this had him bottom out fully into you.

“still here, sorry about that. look, tell you what - i’ll withdraw my motion,” he stood back up enough to pull his cock out of your cunt all the way, admiring the way you looked bent over and bare for him. “if you get your client to at least send his discovery.” he pushed back in easily, your slick collected at the base of his cock as he pumped in and out of you with ease.

you listen to the men grovel to each other again as bucky out the call back on mute and grilled your hips harshly before slamming into you.

“such a good girl, you know that? staying quiet while my dick is deep inside your pussy. you’re fucking soaked, you know that?” he grinned as you let out a moan, his cock twitching at the sound.

“you sound so good baby, keep making those pretty noises. it’s music to my fucking ears.” he groaned as you moaned again, his metal hand wrapping around your waist to find your clit and pressing his thumb firmly.

“bucky,” you whined gently, biting your lip and looking at him with the most innocent and naive eyes you could give him.

“awe, what is it, doll? you want me to touch your swollen clit?” you nodded as he started slow circles, his cock still deep inside of you and stretching you out so much you were borderline cock drunk.

“please i..” you let out a moan as he pushed harder, your cunt pulsing around his cock with each stroke.

“beg for it.” his voice was deep and direct, sending a tingle right to your core. he felt it as soon as you clenched around him, tears pricking your eyes as the men continued to bicker.

“please bucky, please fuck me..! i need it so bad i..” you felt his right hand push your face further into the suit jacket as he moaned your name, feeling his cock twitch as your cunt pulsed. his thumb went in fast circles, making your toes curl and your stomach tighten.

“go on baby,” he groaned as he heard his name again and unmuted the call. “i don’t know, honestly. i can have my legal assistant take a look at my calendar.” he muted again before continuing his assault on your clit.

“cum for me, show me how much you want it. how much you need my cock.” you moaned loudly, biting your lip and felt a heat rise to your cheeks. your eyes kept trained on bucky’s his chest heaving and those stupid dog tags peaking through his unbuttoned dress shirt clinking against his chest.

you couldn’t speak as soon as you felt your orgasm hit, your cunt clenching his cock and your fingernails digging into your pals as your body went limp a giant the desk. it felt like heavy, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin mixed with each others fluids.

his moans as he kissed up your back and leant over your body with his as you felt his cock twitch and instantly filled to the brim. his lips kissed the shell of your ear with the breathy moan.

“you’re so good to me, baby.” he whispers gently against your ear, his breathing slowing as he sat up and leaned back.

he pulled his cock from your drippy cunt just enough to see his cum spilling out of you. he chuckled before leaning over and undoing the belt from your wrists

he rubbed them with his cool metal hand before pulling you up and into his lap, taking his suit jacket with him and you bottoming out on his cock once again.

“keep my cock warm while i settle this case, okay baby?”

[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 4)

Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer picks you to be his baby mama. Rated E

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

You’re resting against the trunk of a tree at the top of a little hill.

It’s picturesque — the hill is gentle, sloping down to a field of tall yellow-green grass. You can smell it, wafting up with the pollen from golden flowers. The sky above is alive with pinks and oranges bleeding into yellows and whites. A symphony of coos, chirps and pitter-patters of tiny things skittering around have an oddly calming effect as you settle back and allow yourself to exist. 

Eyes closed, you hear the sound of something larger than a mouse rounding the tree trunk. 

“I got it!” A feminine voice breaks the calm.

You don’t have to look to feel the other person at your side. They lower themselves to the ground, knees brushing against yours when they cross their legs to sit next to you. 

You don’t have to look, but you do. 

There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.

She’s not wearing any clothes, and you can see faint scars and wrinkles against the uninterrupted expanse of her skin. 

“It’s so pretty, I’ve never seen one so red.” The woman is happy to see you, speaking with all the familiarity of a sister. 

She presents an apple to you, taken from behind her back like a surprise. 

It is red. Red like an oversized ruby, or a still-beating heart full of blood. All except for the missing chunk made by delicate teeth, yellow-white meat peeking through.

You accept her offering without a word. Even when it’s imperfect, you’re mesmerized by the fruit.

“I took a bite. I’m sorry.” She gazes at you, eyes flinty. “Does that bother you?”

You shake your head vehemently, holding the apple between your hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “No, of course not.”  

The woman’s lips quirk up into a satisfied smile, growing bigger when you lift the apple to your mouth and bite into it. The taste is extraordinary — sweet juice bursts against your tongue when the crisp flesh gives under your teeth with barely any resistance.

You savor the first bite out of necessity but soon you’re ravenous. You can’t get enough. 

Your companion exhales gently through her nose and looks up at the colorful sky. She seems to relish in the breeze that passes by, making the leaves above you rustle and the tall grass ahead blow back quietly. 

The apple is almost gone when she looks back at you, teeth showing as she grins. “Careful there!”

She giggles, reaching out to tap the hand of your hand in warning. It’s all playful, even when you pout and draw back. 

“You’ll eat the seeds if you keep that up.” She says. “Something might take root and grow if you do.” 

Her words give you pause, but only for the length of four or five heartbeats. The core of the apple is no less refreshing and before you know it, you’re holding the stem. 

“Thank you.” You tell her earnestly. 

The stem rolls in your palm, until it appears to wiggle and your brow furrows. In the back of your mind, you think you should be more startled to see it moving on its own. But when it grows pink-gray and ringed, and you realize it’s a worm, you simply place the flat of your hand on the ground below and watch it find its way into the dirt. 

Sudden warmth against your cheek has you looking back up. The woman is inches from your face. Her eyelashes are dark and long and you could count them if you wanted. 

The woman kisses you without a word, hands coming up to cup the back of your head. Surprise does spark up your spine as her tongue darts behind your lips. It’s as if she’s drinking deeply from you before she lets go. 

“Forgive me. I wanted another taste.” She giggles again. “It’s even sweeter than I remember.” 

Your face burns. You open your mouth, ready to ask the questions burning the tip of your tongue before the thud of footsteps sound from behind you. 

She frowns, light leaving her eyes as she glances behind your shoulder. “Oh I was hoping we’d have more time.” 

Her eyes cut across to yours. “Wake up before he sees you!”

———

A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea swept over you as soon as you opened your eyes. You laid still for a long moment, trying to reign in the urge to vomit before you deemed it safe enough to observe your surroundings. 

A vague sense of confusion surfaced through the malaise when you realized that you were in your living room. There was a carmine blanket tucked around you, and with moderate difficulty you raised your head to see that, yes, a fluffy pillow was resting under your head.

Your reality conflicted with the still-present smell of tall, wet grass and a chill from the summer breeze against your skin.

With ridiculous care, you turned your head back into the pillow and muffled a whine. You couldn’t recall feeling a hangover of this caliber ever before in your life.

‘Wait.’

You weren’t hungover. Well, maybe you were but not from alcohol. 

Your neighbors had invited you to dinner, then drugged you. 

Already sick, you forced yourself to breathe deeply before shifting on the couch and pulling up the blanket. Despite confirming that your body was still clothed, you found yourself shaking. 

It didn’t make sense to you how anyone could do this regardless of their intentions. You could not fathom why two people willing to harm you in one way hadn’t done more than that. 

Your relief was short-lived, as dull and diluted as it was, when you twisted to lay back down and came face-to-face with:

A black glove, some aspirin and a glass of water sat on your coffee table.

You blinked rapidly.

There was a small business card in stark contrast to the otherwise colorless ensemble. It was thick stock, white, and flashing fancy golden script:

Lucifer Morningstar

Your stomach dropped as an unnaturally white face with glowing yellow and red eyes flashed in your mind. 

The hallucination you’d seen last night — his image faded from your mind and you were left drifting in a blank, black void. 

No thoughts. 

———

The headache and nausea were considerably lesser when you woke up again. 

Looking at the items on your coffee table — ‘glove, aspirin, water still there’ — you looked at each one and for one, strangely hopeful moment you didn’t see a card. 

Oh no, it had just fallen on the floor. 

———

Lucifer Morningstar 

It was an odd business card, with its little red, white and gold designs on the edges. Fireworks, you eventually guessed. The ‘i’ in both first and last name were punctuated with them as well. 

As you’d popped the aspirin in your mouth and downed the water, you flipped the card over. You could feel your eyebrows rising to your hairline at the hastily written message on the back:

Proof you weren’t dreaming. 

Please Call Me

1-666-666-6669

Pacing was out of the question. Your limbs were still unsteady no matter how much you willed them to function. 

You were trapped on the couch trying to accept what your brain had been screaming at you since you awoke for the fifth time. 

How much time had passed? 

                                      Heaven and Hell were real, and so were God and the Devil. 

            And the Devil had paid you a visit. 

———

The indent you’d made into your stupid, hand-me-down sofa was probably permanent now that you’d spent who knows how long just rotting there. 

Contemplating, processing, fearing. 

Fleeting memories of tantrums you’d thrown as a child paralyzed you. Moments in your life that you’d already regretted so much they kept you up some nights — randomly, provoked by nothing — piled up in your brain. Each one harshened that sinking feeling inside your body. This kind of horror was the kind a person feels right before they die. 

How long have you been judged from above for your wrongs?

Were you already doomed to Hell? Is that why Lucifer himself wanted ‘to meet’ you? Did he make it a personal habit to visit each lowly sinner and taunt them?

God was real, so did everything actually happen for a reason like so many said? 

Why did bad things happen to good people? 

Was your dog in heaven, waiting for you and you’d already disappointed her by getting a one way ticket in the opposite direction?

———

You figured out that the ringing in your ears was actually your phone’s alarm when the natural lighting in your apartment was almost gone. 

You managed to get to it on the other side of the room half-stumbling from your seat. 

“Hello?” You rasped.

“… So you finally decided to answer your phone.”

———

It took you banging on the door and shouting against its old, glossy surface before Cass Farrow cracked it open. 

A myriad of expressions crossed her painted face before she opened the door fully. When she faced you, she smiled. 

“Honey! It’s been days! We didn’t wanna bother you but we were worried! It’s good to see you up and about!” 

The way she acted, as if nothing was wrong, as if the world had turned upside down, had you balling up your fists. Your ragged nails delved into the skin so deeply you could feel the sting of blood.

“I-I need…” You couldn’t stop the copper taste of saliva filling your mouth. 

You would not throw up. “I need to speak to your boss.”

Cass blinked owlishly at that. “My what?”

‘Why? Why? Why are you shocked?’ You shouted in your mind.

“Oh honey,” The low tone did nothing to soothe you, only raise your ire. “I don’t know what —” 

“The Devil!” Your raised voice made the elderly woman jump. “Or Lucifer, or Baphomet — whatever the fuck you call him! I need to talk to him.” 

You scrambled to grab the business card you’d stashed in your pocket. 

“You had him in your apartment, so I know he’s in there somewhere.” You said while waving it in Cass’s face frantically. 

It was deja vú when Mrs. Farrow eyed the card and her face paled considerably. 

“Oh.” 

———

Lucifer wasn’t ‘home’. At least, he wasn’t in his personal Airbnb via the Farrow residence. 

However, Cass waved it away. “He’ll think it’s you or about you or something to do with you and come running.”

Trying to push yourself and demand she tell you more proved to be too difficult. All you could do is stand with your arms crossed, waiting while the (clearly practiced) worshiper combined a series of dried plants in her hands. 

Cass gathered them up and laid them carefully on a side table before fiddling with the furnace and a long lighted match.  

The fire blazed to life instantly from the little flicker it had begun as when Cass threw the plants in. It rose higher, and higher, until it had disappeared past where you could see behind the lintel. 

You had it in you to be stunned when Lucifer appeared from out of those flames. He was perfectly pristine and intact when he stepped out, hunching slightly to avoid his top hat bumping into the smoke chamber. 

The devil was as you remembered him, but also worse in that you couldn’t reassure yourself that his visage was merely a product of your fucked up, overly-imaginative little brain. 

He was so… white.

His skin was practically blinding as freshly-painted walls hit by a sunbeam. 

Lucifer stepped into the room with a flourish. “I came as soon as I coul-”

‘Fuck.’ You’d been spotted. 

And there went Cass, out of the living room to hide away in her smelly kitchen. 

“You’re here!” Lucifer cajoled, theatrics on full display as he beheld your presence. 

The top hat came off, held in his hands as he graced you with a bashful smile like he was some gentleman caller and not Not-Satan. 

“I-I didn’t expect to see you here waiting! But I’m so glad you are. Did you get my card? I thought about just leaving the glove because the card can seem so impersonal —”

“I just got fired.” You blurted out. 

The unusually flat face contorted into an anguished expression. “You… you lost your job…?”

“Because of you.” 

“B-because of me ?!” His already youthful tenor of a  voice raised some octaves. “What —”

You pointed a finger in his direction. “Yes! You !”

“You appeared out of nowhere and fucked up my entire worldview. I've had existential crisis-es… cris-ies? I don’t fucking — I’ve had life-altering spirals before but that was fucking nothing compared with this!” 

“And now I’m out of a job and I’m alone in a city I don’t fucking know with cult-worshipping neighbors because I can’t go back to where I was and you’re just standing here like you have no idea why I’m upset!” 

You hadn’t expected to get this far. You hadn’t expected to go on a tirade at all, really. Distantly you felt tears sliding down your cheeks and the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage. 

Shame, guilt and fear began toiling deep inside you. 

Lucifer had been backed against the wall, hands raised placatingly and expression mirroring your own internal panic. It quickly turned into concern as he took in your sorry state of being. 

“Please, no.” He reached out for you and you retaliated by jolting out of reach. “Oh please don’t… I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I never… if I’d known…”

He was reaching into his coat and pulling something out before your sight cleared. It was a handkerchief with the red moniker L.M. on one corner. 

The King held it out to you like a peace offering. Or a white flag.

The force with which you snatched it out of his hands was unnecessary but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You said you picked me. What did you mean by that?” You mumbled into the handkerchief. 

Lucifer’s mouth screwed up into a frown, brow creasing. “We don’t have to talk about that —”

“No.” You made eye contact, watching him squirm. “We need to talk about it. Explain it. Now.”

“Ahh… ok, yes, um…” He fiddled with the bow tie at his collar. “Well, like I said before, I wanted to wait until we got to know each other because… because it’s kind of a big deal.” 

Your stern frown implored him to continue.

Lucifer winced. “It’s sort of a-a favor I wanted to ask of you. And I thought that if we talked about it over time maybe it wouldn’t sound so monumental… but actually, now…”

The fidgeting worsened, and his nimble fingers had graduated to fussing with the clasps down his front. Eventually, Lucifer yanked his jacket down to straighten it. 

“So, I’ve been around for a really, really, really, really long time.” The Devil started. “And I’ve kind of been on my own for *like* ever and that’s fine, whatever, can’t complain. Normally it’s all about warding off boredom.

“But! Lately, it’s been harder and harder to just —” He made a fist and punched down onto the palm of his other hand to elucidate. “— Just, ahh, not be bored? I guess?”

“And it’s been interfering with all the shit I gotta do. I mean I have no-oo motivation, none at all, and it’s becoming a big problem. The other Sins have actually noticed. Like Satan? You know, we talked about him when we met — yeah, he came up to me not too long ago, saying —”

Your heart stopped as Lucifer’s eyes went completely red, blazing in his skull like magma and accompanied by long horns protruding from his head. 

His voice took on an unearthly, gravelly quality as he, presumably, mimicked Satan: 

“‘We’re worried for you, man. Ozzie says you haven’t been returning his calls. Levi and Bee miss you on their outings but you always say you’re busy. Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to us, right?’”

Lucifer was back to normal in a millisecond. “And I do know that. I do! But as much as I wanna take them up on it, I just feel like none of them will really understand what’s wrong. I don’t even understand it. Or at least I didn’t until it came to me out of nowhere, like lightning.” 

He mimed being zapped in the head.

“Visits and parties with my brothers are fun and all, but they end... And I find myself all alone more often than not.”

Lucifer sighed deeply. 

“I don’t really have anything to live for,” He stressed. “Except for myself and…” 

“That’s not much.” He snickered mirthlessly. 

You swallowed. The anger, frustration, exhaustion and still-present fear were blanketed by an uncomfortable bout of sympathy. 

Sympathy for the Devil. 

‘Oh shut the fuck up you.’

“Don’t you live for the suffering of mankind or something?” You sniffled, trying to regain your metaphorical footing in the conversation and, in turn, regenerate that anger you’d been consumed by not a minute ago. 

Lucifer looked from the ground to you, the gleam in his cherry-red eyes fighting to come back to life.

“Aha! No, no. That’s-that’s a Bible thing, right?” He groaned, pulling down the brim of his hat in exasperation. “Ugh, I still don’t know why Heaven insists on that overblown press kit! It’s so fucking old! And inaccurate!” 

Lucifer commiserated with you. “Too much involvement from human hands, too. Ya know? I mean people use it to justify some of the most insane shit I’ve ever seen!”

He cleared his throat at your blank expression. 

“Anywho-oo. What was the question again? Oh! Oh, do I live for the suffering of man — no! No, I don’t. In fact, where I’m from? Being in the middle of that suffering shtick gets old real fast. I’ve stayed away from it for a good while now and really I’ve never been better.”

The blond topped off his statement with a smile, showing those razor teeth while also trying to come across as easy-going and candid. 

A beat passed, in which you felt your lips form a thin line. 

You couldn’t stop yourself. 

You snorted. 

Lucifer looked at you as if you’d lost your head as your snorts turned into full-blown laughter. Until he, of course, wanted to fit in like he knew exactly what was going on. 

“Hahaha, yeah…” Hell’s king chuckled nervously. “I am pretty funny, aren’t I? Ha ha… ha.”

 Shaking your head ‘no’, you tried to reign in the body spasms. 

“So when you say you ‘picked me’, you mean you want me to… what? Be your therapist?” You asked. “The Devil needs a friend’s shoulder to cry on? What?” 

Lucifer fixed you with the first look of genuine annoyance you’d seen (directed at you) from him. 

“No.” He harrumphed. “I need a baby.” 

*

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision

I'm so sorry if I missed anyone who asked to be tagged! I'm having a hard time keeping track.

[creepzkilla]

No because those EJ headcannons 😳 are so good aldhworjeoejekr you wrote him so perfectly 😫

If it's ok, can I request some NSFW Creepypasta Toby headcannons? You can make them as dark as you like, but DAMN I have to admit the way you write characters is so gooooodddd 💖💖💖

↳˳⸙;; ❝ TICCI TOBY KINK HC'S! + BONUS ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗

[A/N]--tyty i always enjoy slasher creepypasta-- the more realistic version of the fandom. its always been more entertaining for me... the mansion kinda HC never really stuck with me unless portrayed really good? its so hard to find fics that are like that... but anyways wtf my first ask this deserves a bonus smut at the end?!?!?! sry for the delay too i’ve had writers block wtf… the second half is shit ngl

NSFW. warning— NOT PROOF READ fem! anatomy, dub-con, somnophilia, toby being a perv, sadist, bondage,breeding, exhibition

TOBY IS A CLOSET PERVERT--

he remembers when he first started stalking you. when he first snuck into your house while you were fast asleep as he kept a watchful eye over your sleeping form. you were ethereal, he couldn't help himself following you home- or going through your panty drawer. you couldn't blame him, really, you couldn't. you look so cute in your satin pink thongs that he just had to steal one. or three.

sadist-- toby just adores watching you contort underneath his touch as you squirm away from him. he won't hesitate to leave harsh slaps across the meat of your ass or dark bruises made from his belt into makeshift handcuffs

bondage-- he loves tying you up in all sorts of different lewd positions. toby takes pride watching you whimper under his calloused hands begging for your hands and/or legs. he knows that those whimpers are only for him.

breeding-- toby has family issues... at first, he wouldn't want kids. he would dismiss the thought of ever having any kids in the first place... not wanting to turn into his dad. he was terrified. that was until he came in your pussy the first time. it was fucking life-changing. he loves the feeling of spilling his seed into your pretty pussy... he just can't go back after that. why buy condoms when he could watch his cum seep out of your pussy? he wouldn't mind having a kid or two.

mutual masturbation-- he goes wild watching your hands disappear into your heat as your mouth lets out a barrage of whimpers and moans. toby can't help but join in. whether you know if he's watching or not.

exhibitism-- this man just dont give af. if he wants you, he wants you. anytime, anyplace.

oral(fem receiving)-- this could be considered a kink because toby could probably cum buy just eating your pussy. he just cant get enough of it. he gets so painfully hard when he goes down on you. so you cant blame him when he paints his pants white.

corruption— this is a big one..you were a virgin, with little to no experience before you bet toby. something about that innocence he just had to protect… something he just had to corrupt. toby remembers when he first taught you how to give a blowjob. he could just cum by the perverted memory.

TOBY DEFINITELY JERKS OFF WITH YOUR PANTIES—

there’s no way he doesn’t. he fucking obsessed with the taste and smell of your pussy. the nights where he can’t come and visit you bet you can find a pair of your satin panties wrapped around his cock. toby just can’t help himself. he loves feeling the feeling of your juices rubbing up against his cock as he imagines runtting against you. it’s his dirty little secret… well it’s not much of a secret when your prairies start showing up stained with a white excrete.

HES SURPRISINGLY KINDA BIG—

now don’t get me wrong… toby isn’t a petite guy, he’s rather tall standing at 5’11 or 6’0. he’s a pretty built guy—he kinda has to be. so when i say surprisingly i mean you wouldn’t really except him to be a whopping 6’0 inches. his girth is on the skinny size but he makes up for it when hes hitting places you never knew existed. his tip is a dark pink, and the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. you never thought that you’d be saying that about a dick or specifically a serial killers dick; but here you are… your not exactly complaining.

—-ˋˏ [‘Ill give you everything’] ˎˊ

—(Toby couldn’t help himself. He really couldnt. You just looked so gorgeous in your pink satin panties— which are your favorite pair— he couldn’t help but rub against the cotton material. It’s not like you’d mind anyways…you’ve always asked him to fuck you awake before, why not take you up on that offer?

He carefully moves the comforter from your shoulders, peeling it back allowing him to slip into your bed behind you . Toby sinks into the bed, spooning your relaxed body as the curve of your ass pressed into him.Almost instinctively your body pressed into the slasher completely, being enraptured by his warmth. You were oblivious to what you were doing to him.

His aching boner stretched against his pants, and fuck it was painful (from aching not actual pain) as he rubs up against your panties. It was almost like you wanted him to do this. Sleeping in only your underwear? It was like you’re asking him to move your panties to the side and fuck you.

His cold finger tips brush against your damp panties, hooking his finger on the seam of fabric, slowly and carefully pulling them down. toby was careful not to wake you—-not yet. He wants to savor this.

It was so unbelievably hot in your bedroom, almost like a sauna. If anything he was helping you cool down. You should appreciate his kind and just actions by taking of your clothes before you got too hot. He chuckled at that thought, ghosting his finger tips over your exposed shoulder, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His lips hovered above your exposed neck, sending chills down your spine. Dark bruises soon began to litter your neck, ruining its once pristine image as Toby sunk his lips deeper in your skin, all while his other hand disappeared into your cunt.

You were so incredibly wet, so incredibly tight. His calloused hands slid in and out with ease, your walls sucking him in ever time. Toby was enraptured with your beauty, your flushed cheeks, your rosy lips, the soft whimpers that left your mouth; utterly gorgeous.

“Toby?” You awoke to nothing but darkness with an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, an all too familiar one. A warmth spread throughout your body like wildfire as the prevalent feelings grew. The sensation— that you couldn’t put a finger on—- just felt so good, you couldn’t help but melt into it.

Toby hummed in response, too busy on concentrating on the task at hand; fingering your tight cunt. The lewd sounds that gushed around his hands was deafening; almost forgetting that you were awake.

“Are you e-enjoying yours-self?” He laughed, curling his fingers inside of you, rubbing up against a patch of sensitive nerves.

You yelped, now being fully awake, clearly aware of the sensation— that is being full. You could only moan in response as his fingers continuously plunged in and out of sopping cunt as your core tightened.

Toby’s lips attached to the crook of your neck once again, tracing over the dark bruises that began to form— biting ever so slightly on your sweet spot (that only he knows of). His unoccupied hand, cupped the meat of your thigh, lifting it up to gain better access for his other hand that was moving at an insatiable speed.

“P…Please, I need you…I want all of you.” A barrage of moans left your lips, as your hand curled behind you to grip the man’s hair that assaulted your skin. Your sharp nails dug into his scalp, tugging on tuffs of his unkept brown hair—signaling your desperation.

Suddenly, he was on top of you. Straddling your exposed bottom half with his thighs, a lustful glint ever so present in his eyes. His lips were a cherry red, presumably from his attack on your neck as well as his hands that were slick with your cunt. You take immediate notice of the large tent swelling in his blue jeans, you could only guess at how painful it was.

“A-are you sure?” Toby hummed, his scarred hands tracing over your waist, “I’m not g-gonna go easy on you.” His voice came out as a whisper, as if it was some horrible secret—a taboo. To which it was, not like you knew or anything— but toby has a secret, commmited horrible sins that can never be reversed— you shouldn’t be doing this with him… He feels guilty almost— yet it’s so enticing… His hands devouring your body as if his hands weren’t covered in blood merely hours before.

But you’ll never know, right?

“I want all of you, Toby.” He looks down at your delicate form, such innocence. Your skin was practically glowing in the moonlight that shone threw the raked blinds, making you look almost angelic. He was scared to touch you, like you would crumble under his touch. Like you would see him for the monster— the pyschopath he truly is, a devil.

Yet, that’s what makes it so exciting, so enticing to see your angelic body beneath him. The danger, the corruption. It only added fuel to the fire, and soon it would become a wild fire.

Your body; merely heaven and earth wrapped into one.

He; the virus, a plague that never stops— pollution your body and everything in between.

Is it really worth it? If he really loved you— he would let you go— right?

“I’ll give you ev-verything. Anything you w-want.” Toby whispers, his hands on your waist crawling towards your chest—drawing secret messages that only you would know. His usual ice cold hands, were anything but cold. They were warm. His hands roamed your body, and spread throughout your body like a flame— he devoured everything in his path.

Your body reacted to him like a magnetic. His name fell off of your lips along with whispered promises and wonton moans. You were meant for him— maybe poisoning you isn’t so bad. Maybe—just maybe, it was meant to happen.

[crystalflygeo]

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Zhongli + gn!reader

cw/tags: rape/non-con, angst, bad ending, yandere-ish zhongli? feral/eroded zhongli, biting, crying, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe)

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the dark/bad ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Bittersweet ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies, and defending their safe Harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

A love that would tragically become a twisted obsession.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Leave me alone!” You scream.

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

“W-wait. Stop-!” You try to push him back, panicked, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he’s immovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands grope and rub all over your body, rough and callous.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His palm presses at a spot on your navel possessively, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You whine.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?!”

Your whole body shakes, with rage, with fear. Your heart about to burst. You grit your teeth and glare at the dragon god with as much venom as you can.

“I don’t belong to you!”

He snarls, eyes widening to serpentine slits.

“Insolent. No matter, I’ll fill you up again and show you.”

The eroded God leans down to bite at your neck and you yelp, sharp fangs break your skin and you cry as you feel the warm blood spill. His claws prick at your thighs as he starts unceremoniously humping against you. The ridges on his draconic cock making your hole twitch and you gasp as he presses in, dipping slightly inside your thigh warmth. No need to prepare your body after so many years of coupling. Your hole already soft and molded to him like a worn-out toy.

“No, please… n-no.” Your voice breaks, tears running down your face.

Everything turns blurry, fuzzy, and your head spins.

How had things ended up like this?

You see no love in his eyes, no recognition. And you don’t recognize him either anymore. This creature, this beast… he is not your lover. He is not Zhongli…

And hasn’t been for who knows how long…

Zhongli raises one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other and pushes further in the slick warmth, ignoring the sounds you make. “Too big! I can’t-!” You scream and it just urges him to slam it in. “No- Ahh!” Sheathed all the way to the hilt, Zhongli groans as you clench around him.

He immediately starts thrusting and you feel the world tilt. It’s all too much, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your walls getting battered by his thick member, his animalistic grunts and groans, and the way your body betrays you… a speck of pleasure mixed in with the pain.

It's so cruel.

“Sto- gh! Stop it! Zhongli, please…!” You sob.

Zhongli hisses, muscles taut and flexing as his hips buck into yours, finally finding that spot that has you choking out a moan, your body shivers, forced to surrender and feel everything, a hot coil building on your lower stomach where the mark of geo glows as he continues to take what he wants from your struggling form. He laps at your skin and nuzzles there, almost lovingly. “Mine.”

Your moans start turning sweeter, previously pained sounds turning to vocalizations of carnal lust, your eyes glassy. You try to fight it, conflicted, but the stimulation is too much.

You come with a raw cry through gritted teeth, tears flowing down your cheeks and your own juices coating your skin causing you to feel dirty in more ways than one. Zhongli continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

You feel him twitch inside you and groan, absolutely exhausted, overwhelmed with emotions, feeling sick, used and abused. He lowers your leg but doesn’t bother pulling out, keeping you there as he nips at your skin, murmuring soft words. “My mate. All pretty and filled up. All mine. Love you.”

You can’t bear to hear those words, spoken in the voice you continue to love after all this time. It shatters your soul, breaking it to pieces like the corroded dragon’s destroyed mind.

Feeling about to pass out, you close your eyes and your head lolls to the side, sniffling against your own forearm as tears continue to fall. “I love… Zhongli. Miss him. I hate you…”

He dissolves the geo shackles into specks of gold and holds your unconscious body in his arms, satisfied with the claims and scent he’s left on you. His tail swishes slowly, pleased with himself as he carries you back to the abode’s mansion.

Home.

Were he’ll keep you safe, bound to him.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover is the key to keep the eroded God confined.

Trapped by the possessive dragon in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

[clockwork-ashes]

Day 3 - Healing | Betrayal

Note: for day 3 of @erisweekofficial <3 i think maybe the relationship eris has with lucien will begin to heal if they both have the same goal! thank you for reading :)

Summary: Eris is invited by Lucien to the human lands, except he does not know the reason why (one-shot). Read also on Ao3 <3

Eris raised an eyebrow, looking into the glass he held. He swirled the red wine in an elegant gesture, the golden rings on each of his fingers sparkling in the light filtering through the partly closed curtains. 

“It’s not poisoned, is it?” Eris asked, breathing in deeply, making a show of it as he brought the glass closer to his face. He scrunched his nose in distaste at the sharp scent of the human alcohol.

Lucien frowned in response, his voice cold as he spoke. “I think it would take a lot more than just a little poison to kill you, Eris.” There were flames simmering in his russet eye, the golden one clicking and whirring softly.  

Eris struggled not to stare at the scars cutting a wicked path down his brother’s face, the permanent marks a painful reminder of all the ways in which he had failed him. He hummed absently before taking a long drink, nearly emptying the contents of his glass. He had to hold back a cough at the bitter taste, earning the flash of a knowing smile from Jurian. 

The former general sat next to Lucien on the ridiculous pink sofa, his legs taking up an unnecessary amount of space. While Queen Vassa was able to sit on Jurian’s other side, their shoulders touching, Elain Archeron was left with no choice but to sit on the armrest. Eris took note that she had purposefully decided to stay as far from his brother as she could, but he thought it was best not to mention the obvious. 

“Are any of you going to tell me why my presence was requested here tonight?” Eris let flames flare in his amber eyes as they rested on his brother’s mate. When she did not balk from his heavy gaze, he bowed his head in acknowledgment and approval. She pressed her lips together tightly, ignoring what he had said.

Vassa inched forward, pushing herself away from where she was leaning on the couch so that she sat closer to the cushion’s edge. Her attention was on Lucien, who licked at the small scar on his mouth, the action seeming unconscious. 

Elain cleared her throat, breaking the silence briefly, but adding another layer of awkwardness as no one addressed his question. 

“I sincerely doubt you’ve invited me to your home as a social visit,” Eris continued, scanning his surroundings while appearing to be bored. Receiving a letter in Lucien’s handwriting had come as a surprise to him, but the contents were so vague that it made him worry just slightly. “Although it’s always a pleasure seeing you, Lady Elain Archeron of the Night Court,” he purred, almost suggestively as an afterthought.

Lucien’s answering snarl was enough to bring an amused tilt to the Autumn heir’s lips. Elain tensed at the sound, although she said nothing. A dark blush bloomed along her cheekbones, reaching the tips of her pointed ears. 

“We always have such a nice time when you stop by unannounced,” Jurian interjected before either of them could respond, his statement dripping sarcasm. “Is it so hard to believe we just wanted to drink some wine with you?” 

Eris snorted, looking down his nose at the general. “I’d sooner believe that the world had spun free of its axis.” 

Jurian shrugged, his body language suggesting he cared very little about what the Autumn Court prince believed. Eris had to admit that it was admirable, but if anyone were to ask he would have steadfastly denied it. 

“I wanted to bring you here,” Elain spoke softly, but her voice carried in the small space with a hidden strength. “I needed to speak with you.” 

Eris furrowed his brows, the index finger of his one hand tracing the stitches on his armchair while the other still held his glass of wine. He could think of no reason as to why she would want anything to do with him. He quickly switched his expression to one of courtly arrogance. “You didn’t have to bring me to the human lands, I would have gone to the Hewn City for you, my lady.” 

Perhaps it was the slight connotation of possession that Eris had implied with his words, but he watched as Lucien’s face twisted in anger. In a decision prompted by years of frustration with how their relationship had crumbled, Eris wanted to see how far he had to push the other male before he snapped. He tilted his head just a fraction and clicked his tongue. “That’s hardly any way to treat your favourite brother.” 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Lucien shifted forward. Jurian threw his arm out, keeping his friend in place. Elain’s dark eyes cautiously flicked between them, but she made no move to intervene. 

“That’s enough,” Vassa declared, sounding every bit like the royal she was. There was an unspoken threat in her gaze as she glared at Eris, unwavering. 

The fingers of Lucien’s hand slowly curled into a fist and Eris paused as he noticed. He briefly wondered if his younger brother was going to hit him, might have even welcomed it. “I think we should speak alone for a bit,” he suggested. 

Lucien’s shoulders tensed in understanding, he almost seemed eager for a fight. 

“No,” Vassa waved her arm, capturing everyone’s attention. “Not happening.”

Jurian placed a comforting hand on the queen’s thigh, nodding. “Something tells me only one of you will be left alive if we leave you alone.”

All the blood had drained from Elain’s pretty face, worry lining her features as she added, “I can’t imagine explaining to the rest of Prythian that we let you kill each other under our roof.” He had not known Elain was living with Lucien and his friends, had been completely unaware that she was no longer in Velaris. 

“All you have to do is say our family name.” Eris faced her, golden flames flaring in his eyes as his lips pulled up into a mockery of a friendly smile. “Such things happen more often than you’d think.” 

Elain’s jaw dropped ever so slightly, even Vassa and Jurian seemed a little shocked by his words. It was as though they had suddenly remembered who was in front of them, had been reminded of his ruthless reputation. Eris could have laughed. They had let a monster into their home and had invited him to sit down for wine. 

Eris turned away from them, looking to Lucien, “I’m going to leave now.” He drained the last of his drink, setting his glass onto the low table and making to stand from his seat. “I’ve wasted enough time being here, I’ll show myself out.” 

No one followed Eris as he walked into the short corridor leading to the foyer. The sound of his boots echoing against the wooden floors created an illusion of the house being much bigger than it actually was. By the time he had made it to the door, his fingers nearly touching the iron handle, he was already thinking about the many different responsibilities he had pushed aside to go to the human lands. He only stopped short of winnowing in a flurry of embers at the sound of a quiet voice behind him.

“Wait.” Elain choked out. “Eris, wait.” 

He breathed out a long sigh, turning sharply to look down at her. She was small compared to him, her hand held out as though she would have grabbed onto his jacket to prevent him from leaving. “Whatever it is, I’m sure—”

“I can help you kill your father.” Elain announced, her statement hanging in the air between them. 

A chill crawled up Eris’s spine as the idea rolled around in his mind. “The Inner Circle has promised to support my bid for the throne.” Even to his own ears, the words seemed empty, intangible. 

“I can help you now,” she insisted, a frustrated edge to her voice. “I know I can, but you need to talk to Lucien, fix whatever is broken between you, and you're going to have to trust me.” 

Before Eris could respond, Elain reached for him, gently holding onto his hand in a gesture that was entirely unguarded. For a moment, the world went dark, the ground pulled from beneath his feet. 

Eris stood next to Lucien, crowns made of leaves dipped in gold rested on both of their heads. There was a dagger, the blade wet with blood, in his hands. 

A bird of flame flew into the sky, cutting a path forward, always forward. Eris moved to follow, his first step heavy as he kicked something. 

When he looked down, a dark trail of scarlet directed his gaze to the decapitated head of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. 

Beron’s dark eyes were open, their depths endless, looking like a bottomless lake. 

Eris felt like he was drowning. 

Choking. 

Elain looked up at him innocently as he jerked away from her. He stumbled clumsily, hitting his back against the door. “What the fuck was that?” Eris breathed as he regained a better sense of his surroundings. 

“The future.” Elain said ominously, offering him a vicious smile, hardly embodying the traits of a sheltered noblewoman. “I’m going to help you and Lucien kill your father.” 

[morganaa-writings]

P x GN!Reader imagine (NSFW):

Warnings: Reader gets a little jealous and pretty short imagine

Minors DNI

_________________________________________

Imagine you and P are set to spy on someone and its at a party, like one of those big fancy ones and you are set to wear a suit/dress but you had an idea of P wearing a dress. By this point, his hair is still black but long now and he's very beautiful, so why not use that to your advantage?

You place P in one of those tight corset dresses, he frowns and looks at you while you brush him off "don't worry, its meant to be tight. Promise you, you'll look great!" You smiled as you fix his hair a little. "So pretty!" You happily say as P looks down feeling shy at your compliment, he loved being called pretty by you.

You both set out to the party and you manage to talk your way through the rich folk but notice P getting shy as people ask/compliment him on things, you also noticed some people getting a bit too handsy on him, holding his waist or touching his hair. Now, you were never the one to get jealous but seeing people essentially flirt with P made you glare a little, was it because of P's soft nature? Or was there more to it? You couldn't answer but you knew you didn't like seeing what you were seeing.

Excusing yourself to the group you were in, you walked towards P. "Excuse me, I'm just going to steal this lovely one back" you said with a sweet smile as you took P's hand and walked away into another room. P looked at you in slight confusion but was ultimately thankful that you were close by.

He yelped as you suddenly pressed his body against the bookshelf that was in the room, the room was dark except from the moonlight that poked through the window, it laid its soft light onto P's figure making him look even more beautiful than he already was. You pressed your body against his as you felt his slow breathing, his lips slightly apart as well as the small pink colour that dusted his cheeks.

"Sorry, P...I just...didn't like when others touched you. It made me feel...funny" you shyly explained, P looked at you as he slowly took your hand and placed it on his hip. "...I only want you...to touch me..." he said softly, looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You gulped as you moved your other hand up his dress, finger tips grazing his thigh as you heard him let out a shaky breath. "Please...touch me..." He said breathlessly.

It wasn't long before soft cries and moans filled the room you two were in as you softly rubbed between his legs, he didn't have anything there but it was sensitive to him, maybe it was a sign he was becoming more human? "Ah-ah...ha...~" he softly gasped as he threw his head back, legs slightly shaking. You untied the corset around his chest and softly kissed and bit his skin, licking the marks you left. Your hand slowly went over his nipple and he gasped at the touch, he was just so sensitive everywhere and you loved that.

You continued to rub between his legs as he gasped and moaned a few more times, you pulled your hand away from his chest and gripped the back of his hair gently and pulled him into a kiss, he moaned into it as he pushed his tongue against yours. He whimpered as you assumed he was close to an orgasm, he wrapped his legs around your waist as he arched his back, his grip on your shoulder tightening. "That's it...good boy..." You cooed as you felt his body tense up before slowly relaxing.

You looked down at the puppet, his hair sprawled out across his face as he gazed at you softly. "(Y/N)...." He whispered before kissing you softly, "P..." You smiled as you helped fix him up before continuing with your mission. You definitely made a mental note for him to wear dresses more often.

[aislynn-wiley1999]

The Duet

After her house loses a Quidditch match, Aislynn finds herself drawn to the Undercroft with promise of silence. Instead she finds Ominis, who has transfigured a piano.

A/N: Light angst and fluff. No heavy romance, but two people who can’t bring themselves to admit feelings.

Word Count: 2.4k

Chapter 7 of “Three Headed Serpent”, full fic found on AO3 here!

Slytherin’s were notorious for being sore losers and haughty winners. So when the first Quidditch game of the term saw the victory go to Ravenclaw and not them, the Slytherin student body sulked. Massively. Most of the older students, including Sebastian, headed off to Hogsmeade to drink away the shame they had. I had never known Sebastian to be a very humble person, so it was no surprise that he took the loss especially hard as the team’s keeper.

I had no desire to watch him, Imelda, and the other team members make fools of themselves in Hogsmeade, so I decided that my time was better spent doing some reading. Mind you, not reading for school. I had recently fallen into the trap of Jane Austen, and I needed to know if Mr. Darcy and Lizzie reconciled after his failed proposal. The common room was not an option, as those who could not go out and drink in public tended to mope about the common room and drink whatever shit brew they could find.

As I approach the entrance to the Undercroft, I thank my brain once again for not allowing me the courage to try out for Quidditch. I am not the least bit athletic and have no desire to be dodging and chasing things.

I creep into the dark room, but stop dead in my tracks when I register the noise. Except, ‘noise’ may be a cruel word for what I hear right now. The soft melody of a piano floats up through the room. Venturing further, I see the piano and its musician in a dark corner of the room, illuminated only by a few small candles.

Ominis is seated, his eyes closed in total concentration, playing the familiar melody with ease. The sight and sound merge into one of the most beautiful things I have ever beheld in my time at Hogwarts, and I am not eager to give myself away before he finishes. He looks angelic, like a being I have never before seen. The focus on his face is evident as he squeezes his eyes shut, playing the haunting tune.

I am mesmerized. I feel as though I have never heard music before hearing him play today, and like the music I will hear in future will not compare. His slender fingers move gracefully as he plays the last few bars. I watch as his hands pause on the keys before slowly lifting them away, sighing with triumph at his playing.

“That was beautiful,” I say. Perhaps beautiful was too plain a word for what it was. It’s clear that I have startled him with my words, as his head turns abruptly in the direction of my voice. I watch him for a moment, as he pants and drops his hands into his lap.

“I didn’t know you were down here,” he stammers out, as if he was disturbing me. “I can stop, if you plan on doing work.” The tips of his ears turn pink, made even more obvious by the candle light that flickered near him. I shake my head, before actually speaking.

“Ominis, it was beautiful. I- I don’t even know how else to describe the way it was.”

A small smile dances on his lips. “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. The piece, I mean. It’s by-”

“Chopin,” we say at the same time, causing his smile to widen. “Do you play?” he asked me.

Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I suppress a laugh. “Barely. Not since coming to Hogwarts, at least. I only really remember some of the etudes that were drilled into me during lessons.”

He scoots over on the piano bench. “Show me,” he says, more of a command than a suggestion. This time I let out a laugh. “Prepare to be utterly disappointed,” I say, grinning.

He shakes his head, still wearing a smile. “I promise, I will not be.”

I sit next to him on the bench, our legs touching and our shoulders pressing together. My mind races on what I should play, having not touched the keys for almost two years at this point. Settling on a Bach etude that I remember somewhat from my adolescence, I place my fingers on the keys.

This time it is noise that comes out of the piano. The etude is not one I have entirely memorized, and I have to pause a few times. In addition, wrong notes sour the melody and I can’t seem to decide if I want to play fast or slow. Thankfully the piece is short, and I find myself playing the last chord with a sense of relief.

I glance over, studying his face. He is wearing a crooked smile, perhaps trying to hide laughter. “Lovely,” he says, almost breathily.

I snort, releasing a giggle. “You are a horrible liar,” I tell him, leaning against him with my shoulder. “Don’t speak to me with poetry, I know that I am a horrendous piano player.” Another thought comes into mind, causing me to laugh. “Have you read Pride and Prejudice?”

Ominis shakes his head. “I feel awfully similar to Lizzie Bennet at this moment, she also can’t play the piano. In the book, she makes a fool of herself doing so in front of the man that is in love with her. I haven’t finished it yet, but I am certain that they will marry. We should try to find you a braille copy!” I say, laughing.

He doesn’t say anything back, and I look over expectantly. Ominis’ cheeks are a bright pink, as if I have said something to embarrass him. “Are you okay?” I ask him.

He nods, but doesn’t say anything just yet. I absentmindedly tap a few keys on the piano before thinking out loud. “I wish that my hands moved like yours on the piano.”

This causes him to speak. “Really, you were not bad at playing. I quite enjoyed it, you should play the next time all three of us are down here,” he says, kindly. He seems to think for a moment, unsure of if he should speak.

“Do you want to try something?” he asks, turning towards me a bit. My eyebrows raise slightly. “Ominis, I don’t think I have it in me to play a duet with you,” I say sheepishly. This earns a genuine laugh from him as he shakes his head. Standing up, he steps behind me on the bench before reaching his arms on either side of me to touch the keys.

“Put your hands on top of mine,” he tells me.

My hands obey his command, tentatively resting on top of his. His skin is soft and cold, his fingers long and graceful in comparison to mine, yet my hands feel on fire as they sit on his.

Ominis slowly starts to move his fingers on the keys, my hand mimicking his. He plays the same melody as before, albeit much slower. The room fills with nothing but music and the sound of our breathing, our breath almost in sync with each other. The piece is tragic and soft, and this moment feels far more intimate than anything else in my memory. His fingers are gentle, commanding perfection from the instrument.

When the piece finishes, we don’t move our hands away. I can feel his breath on the back of my head, how quick it is.

“I was right about you and your lovely playing,” he whispers into one of my ears. His voice sends a chill down my spine, and I instinctively lean back slightly into him.

“You really are a horrible liar,” I say back, my voice a low whisper. The room feels too silent now, just our breathing and the creak of the bench. He doesn’t respond, standing still against me. I notice that he has stayed stationary, despite being pressed against me. My mind races from this small contact, from the contact our hands still have. It frightens me.

I quickly lift my hands away from his, leaving his fingers alone on the keys. My hands feel cold, and I watch as he lifts his arms around me and moves away from my body.

“Why did you come down here?” he asks suddenly. I turn around to look at him, watching as he rubs the back of his neck with one hand. His other hand is absentmindedly flexing at his side, his fingers stretching and then creating a fist.

“I came down to read, to be alone. Or,” I say, trying to correct myself. “At least get away from the moping that was happening in the common room.”

He smiles. “Let me get out of your hair, give you quiet so you can read.”

“No! I mean… stay and play for me while I read. If you want,” I add, smiling at him. He looks unsure, but nods. I pick my book up from where I set it and look around for the sofa that I transfigured months ago. “Where is the sofa?” I ask him.

He turns, smiling mischievously. “Where do you think the piano came from?” he asks me knowingly. I laugh. “You prick! You transfigured my reading couch?”

He nods sheepishly. “I was going to change it back when I left, before you came back down.”

I shake my head. “No, leave it. The piano does so much more good for the room.”

Ominis smiles, before turning back to the piano. I watch his body rise and fall with a big breath, before I am floating as music fills the room once more.

[humanveil]

from a parallel universe wip draft thing:

4. When Joy Comes, Will I Be Ready, I Wonder.

Her life is never quiet, now, except on the rare occasion. Except for when she’s allowed moments like this: early morning, Sunday, the apartment warm and cosy and smelling of pine, cinnamon, eggnog, evergreen. Elliot carried the tree—a real one, barely big enough to make it past her thigh, its spotty foliage equal parts pathetic and endearing—up all nine flights of stairs two days ago, then stood, doubled over, out of breath and unamused while she sat there and tried her hardest not to laugh at him.

It’s covered in glitter now; tinsel, too. Loose sparkles and fallen needles litter the floor beneath it, homemade ornaments hanging on by a thread. Olivia sits cross legged beside it, idly poking at a bauble and smiling when it swings, the gentle back and forth strangely soothing.

It’s been a long few weeks. Moving is never easy, but moving in December with a two-year-old in tow and a killer on the loose had proved downright disastrous. They still have so much to do—still have boxes left open, untouched, half-hidden in the corners. She’s started picking at them when she can’t sleep, but it never achieves much of anything. Mostly, she fixates on the three boxes labelled BOOKS, drawn to the ritual of sorting, re-sorting, the quiet routine a remedy for her late-night nerves. Those nagging thoughts: How is this my life now?

How do I make it last?

They’re mostly hers, the books. Annotated, inherited. Elliot isn’t much of a reader, except for when their daughter asks, her book of choice shoved toward his chest as she demands, Do the voices, Daddy! He always does; a new set for each one. Olivia listens whenever she can, the insides of her cheeks bitten raw and bloody with her attempts to hide her grin. More than once, she’s caught him at the kitchen sink reciting Maurice Sendak, his voice low, deep, a rhythmic whisper.

Oh, please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so!

She’d finally started organising the shelves last night. Had settled on aiming for a semblance of order: fiction and poetry first, then nonfiction, work related, self-help. Alcott sits next to Atwood, Austen, Blake. A shelf down: Dickens, Dickinson, Dostoevsky. She got all the way to Shakespeare before it got the best of her, her throat tight with a tell-tale burn as she thumbed through the Complete Works, its spine cracked and edges frayed, the cover page coffee stained. A dead woman’s penmanship: With sighs of fire, Olivia. She’d had to stop, after that. Moved on to something easier.

Now, she sits amidst the flow on from Bea’s room, books her daughter had outgrown or didn’t like or lost interest in stacked haphazardly at her side. She’d made steady progress til a picture book of JFK had caught her eye (John’s idea of a recovery room gift. You can never start too early, he’d said, which was Munch for, Congratulations. It’s a girl!). The apartment had started to stir around the same time a car arrived at Dealey Plaza, so Olivia had cleared her mess and sat back, poking baubles while she waited for the chaos to trickle in.

It hadn’t taken long.

It never does.

She hears the commotion come to life. Tip toes, first. Running water. Then: Voices. Mattress springs. A soft thud, a peel of laughter. Little feet running across the laminate as larger, heavier footfalls follow.

A flash of colour. Two people barrelling into the room, one right after the other.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Beatrice cries. “Save me!”

She’s a blur of white, pink, pastel blue, purple. Unicorns are the latest craze; her onesie has a glittery, golden horn hanging from its hood, and it bounces as she dashes past Olivia to weave through the furniture, her father a half-step behind.

“Don’t run in the house,” Olivia tries, but it’s half-hearted at best. She knows full well that it falls on deaf ears.

Bea pulls the rookie move and stops to glance behind her, a mess of dark brown bed hair covering her eyes. Elliot seizes the opening and swoops down, scoops her up, his triumphant little hurrah almost drowned out as Bea’s laugh morphs into a squeal, her little legs kicking as she tries to wiggle free from her father’s hands.

“Mommy!” she cries again, the word broken up by giggles. “Make him sto–OP.”

Elliot’s got her bridal style, his head bent to blow raspberries against her chubby, round cheeks. “Nuh-uh,” he says, sing-song. “Mommy can’t save you now!”

There’s more giggling; another squeal for help as Olivia gets to her feet. “Alright,” she says, no-nonsense. It’s easy to slip into an imitation of Detective Benson, assertive and formidable if not for the fact that she’s standing in a pair of old sweats, her arms outstretched, hands clasped to form a finger gun. She aims it at Elliot’s chest. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sunlight falls across the living room, striped and golden and flickering gently, the bright light forcing Elliot to squint. “You’ll never take me alive,” he says, an emulation of the movies. His cheeks are red, blotchy, the creases of their sheets embedded in his skin. He looks sleep-warm, inviting; Olivia sees Bea curl toward him even as she thumps a little fist against his chest.

“Daddy,” she scolds, the way only a two-year-old can. “You have to do what she says!”

Olivia laughs, then sticks her tongue out when Elliot rolls his eyes. She can tell that he’s biting back a grin, too, a laugh of his own stuck at the back of his throat.

“Don’t I know it,” he says, a kiss placed to the top of Bea’s head. He deposits her on the couch, careful, and holds his hands up for them to see. “Alright, alright,” he tells Liv. “Don’t shoot.”

Olivia steps forward, hand catching Elliot’s wrist so she can make her mock arrest. She moves closer than she needs to, her chin propped atop his shoulder, her body stealing what’s left of his warmth. “Anything you say can and will be held against you,” she says, her voice low, the innuendo clear.

Elliot tilts his head to get a glance of her. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” Her free arm winds around his middle, her hand flat against his chest. “Naptime ‘round here gets very eventful.”

His laugh is tangible. She feels it ripple along his sternum, up his spine, and hides her smile against his shoulder blade, her grip on his wrist shifting so they’re just holding hands.

“Looking forward to it, Detective.”

not 100% happy w this yet but from the draft fic notes to explain my choice of name for an eo kid: bea, as in beatrice, as in inspired by both the shakespeare character from much ado about nothing and the beatrice of dante alighieri’s the divine comedy, because a sharp-witted little terror that is also a heavenly guide representative of grace and faith sounds a lot like an eo kid, dunnit? i also just like the idea that olivia’s name is inspired by the olivia of twelfth night, and so (TO ME!) it is a small way to carry on serena’s tradition. also also: on the list of names i looked at, it sounded the best with benson-stabler. lmao.

thinking about her (girlmom liv)

[the-moonlightwitch-official]

reveal pt.1

SUMMARY: You have been kidnapped and will remain captive until you fall in love with your kidnapper. You wake up with zero memories of who you are and how you got there. Overtime you gain memories that will unlock the emotions and experiences that you’ve had with your very eventful life, and the role that your captor has played in each of those past memories. 

NOTE: This story is loosely based off of a movie called HIPPOPOTAMUS. take note that the story is somewhat like the movie, except the captor is Aizawa. and the story will have some of its own twists, and the memories will be a little different than the ones in the movie. You can watch the movie  HIPPOPOTAMUS for free on TUBI

 SERIES WARNING: KIDNAPPING, MENTIONS OF DROWNING, MEDICATIONS, MENTIONS OF CUTTING A LIMB, BLOOD, EVENTUAL SMUT, TRAMUA, MENTIONS OF RAPE, PHYSICAL FIGHTING, MENTIONS OF DEATH AND LOSS, MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY. 

You can't breathe. You feel heavy, like chains are pulling you down. The more you move, the heavier they feel, the faster you're dragged down. It gets harder and harder to reach the surface.  Flailing your arms and kicking your legs do you no good when you're drowning. The cold water causes goose bumps against your skin. 

Air bubbles escaping your mouth as you scream as hard and loud as you can. Nothing, Nothing, is coming to the rescue. The mucky, dark gray water consuming you and your memories. You gather all the strength you could possibly have left and push yourself to reach the surface. It’s working. You're so close. You kick your legs and feel the heavy weight on your ankles release. Furthermore, you feel lighter. You finally feel an escape. Your fight or flight kicks in hard. You're closer to the surface, you can just feel it. You can just smell the cool, fresh air already. Likewise, you reach your left arm up to touch the surface. Right before your fingers could touch the surface, everything fades to black. 

Blinking open your eyes, you see the color white surrounding you. Eyes fully opening and looking around. You notice that you're in a room, an old looking white room. Ice-cold, white floor tiles, white brick walls, old white door with deep cracks and chipping paint. To your right was a tiny window all the way up the wall. Way out of your reach and barred. To your left was a white toilet and sink. Above the toilet was a large drawing of a pink brain and next to it, above the sink, was the drawing of a side view of a blue chair tipping backwards. In front of you was the old white door, and on the left of the door was an old brown chair. On top of it sat a purse, a tan one. 

You were sitting up with both of your legs straight out in front of you. You were wearing a white tank top and gray shorts. Your hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail. Your head felt a bit tight. You reached up and noticed a white bandage wrapped around the middle of your head. A Blood stain on it. You gasped and moved to get up, but was quickly stopped by the sharp pain that ran through your calves and hamstrings. You let out an audible groan of absolute pain, and that's when you noticed white bandages wrapped around your knees, and a blood stain on the bandages where your leg ligament is located.  

Suddenly you can hear footsteps creaking on the floorboards above, and then they could be heard going down some stairs. The thumps of footsteps are heard coming closer, and it snapped you back to reality. You looked up from your legs when the old white door opened with a loud creak, and in shuffled a tired looking man with long black, unkempt hair. He was wearing a dark navy blue long sleeve shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Black sweatpants, and gray slippers. He was nursing a cup of coffee. Not only that, but he was obviously toned and muscular. The long sleeve navy blue shirt hugging his biceps tightly. His forearms were muscular as well. He looked you over and shuffled over to the toilet and closed the lid and sat on top of it. One leg rested on the other as he sat back and sighed loudly. And looked back at you while taking a long sip of coffee. 

“Who are you, where am I?” He took another sip of coffee before answering your questions. “My name is Shota, and I have kidnapped you, and you're going to be held captive until you fall in love with me.” You looked at him confused, and he just looked amused as he took another sip. “Why?” was all you could ask. “Because I said so.” he answered. “Why can't I remember anything, why can't I remember who I am?” you asked. “Because you’ve been in an accident and lost all your memories.” you looked towards the ground in confusion and defeat. “Your name is Y/n, you're 28 years old, you are an only child,  you're still afraid of the dark, Your favorite color is f/c (f/c stands for your FAVORITE COLOR.) You will be served 3 meals a day with water to stay hydrated. I will give you a wash every other day. You are being given pain meds, and meds to stop your menstrual cycle. You're taking pain meds because your legs are in great pain, because I cut your leg ligaments.” you looked at him in absolute horror before he continued talking. 

He stalked over to you and crouched to your level. “Running away would be useless, as would standing or trying to walk. Trying to do any of that would result in agonizing pain, and it would take longer for your legs to heal. You might even possibly fuck up your legs permanently. If you need to go to the toilet, I will assist you. Do not try to do this yourself.” You looked at him, trying to process things. Because honestly, what the fuck. You watched as he stood back up and spoke again. “Lights on at 7:00 a.m. and lights out at 11:00 p.m. and do not try to escape. We’re 10 miles from the nearest household, and your legs won't work.” 

“Over there on that chair is your purse. I have not gone through it, for it is none of my business and your personal belongings.” You stared at the purse, before he started speaking again. 

“ If I were you y/n, I would listen to me and follow directions.” He said before turning around to walk out. Once he reached the door and opened it, you stopped him. “Wait!” he turned towards you. You played with the hem of your shorts nervously. “D-did you rape me?” he looked at you and honestly answered. “No.” before walking out. The door closed with a loud groan. 

You leaned your head against the wall and stared up at the ceiling in defeat. The occasional sound of footsteps going up a staircase and a loud door creaking open and closed a floor above the ceiling.  You looked down at the silver bracelet on your right wrist, thinking deeply. It read your name on it. 

~TIME SKIP~

 A red tray sat next to you. On it was a white plate with brown crumbs on it. A fork and knife laying on the plate. Next to the plate was a clear glass face down, and beside the glass was a tiny paper cup filled with a couple of meds. You ate the food and drank the water, but didn’t take the meds. 

You looked up nervously as the door crept open and in came shota. He stalked over to the tray next to you, taking a peek at it and looked up at the ceiling letting out a large sigh. He turned towards you and bent down to your level again, reaching to the tray and grabbing the small cup of meds and sliding it close to you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, before he spoke.  “The pain will only get worse, y/n, if you don't take your medication.”  Your kidnapper was met with silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “Please y/n.” You looked away from his direction and served him with more silence. He sighed again and turned towards the tray, grabbed it and stood up straight before heading towards the door. “Why are you doing this?” you asked. He ignored you and walked out, closing the door behind him. You let out a scream, and then a louder one. “HEY” “HEY” you screamed.

~TIME SKIP~ 

The lights in the room turned red, which filled the room with a ruby red color. You were asleep, your body sitting upright with your legs out in front of you.  Another tray sat beside you. On it is a white plate with a fork and knife on it, besides it was an empty clear glass. Next to the other side of the plate was a tipped over, empty medicine cup. Indicating that you took your meds this time. In front of you was your kidnapper, shota. Still wearing the same outfit he was wearing earlier that day. He stood closely in front of your unconscious body, his feet planted on either side of your legs as he stared down at you. He slowly picked up his right foot and moved it closer to you, and then his left. The slippers he was wearing on his feet, only made soft sounds as he was trying to be quiet.  

He bent down the upper part of his body and gently grabbed both of your arms, and laid you down sideways on the ground, he took a small step back before moving your legs as well. Trying to put you in a more comfortable position. 

~TIME SKIP~

The sun came through on the upper window on the wall and bathed your body in soft light. You're still fast asleep and laying in the same position Shota had moved your body into. The door creaked open and in came Shota carrying a tray with your breakfast on it. His gray slippers made soft sounds against the floor as he quietly shuffled in and sat the tray down next to you. Shota turned towards you and crouched to your level. He looked at you in admiration. Before, he pulled a tissue out of his pocket to blow his nose. Afterwards, he stuffed it back into his pocket and grabbed your arms to pull you back up into a seated position, and extending your legs outward. He Then knocked on the wall a couple of times above your head. You startled awake. He took a step back and watched as you looked around.

 “Breakfast is served y/n.” The door shut, indicating that he left after saying that. You looked up immediately, as if you had a plan. 

Calming down your heaving breathing was easy. Everything you just did made you feel like a kid that got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. The door opened and in came shota with another tray of food. He crouched down and sat it in front of the tray he gave you earlier. Right as he was about to grab the tray from earlier and leave, he looked at you and grabbed your chin, moving your head left to right and inspecting you. Your face was a flush red and your breathing was heavy. He sighed, standing up and facing away from you. “You're in pain, y/n, you should have told me.” He reached into the right pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out a dark brown pill bottle. He twisted open the bottle cap, tilting the bottle, and began to gently shake the pills out into the palm of his hand. “Now I have to up the dosage.” 

You struggled to scoot across the room and tried to keep the groans of pain quiet. Likewise, you finally made it somewhat close to the chair near the door, before giving up scooting because of the pain and just reaching as far as you can for the purse. You successfully grabbed it after a few attempts and flipped the top of it open and immediately began rummaging through it, trying to find something that could get you out of here. You dropped items from the bag onto the floor as you looked, such as a tampon bag, a pen, chapstick, gum, and a yellow tennis ball. You lost hope. Your hand hit something in the bag before you grabbed it and took it out. It was a small makeup mirror.

Something else collapsed out of the purse as you took the mirror out. You looked down. It was your ID. You held up the mirror and ID. You looked at your picture on the card and then at yourself in the mirror. Looking at the information on the card, you could tell that he was telling you the truth about your name and age. You closed the mirror and put it back in the purse along with your card. You grabbed the tennis ball and held it close to you as you pondered things, but your train of thought was quickly broken by a loud footstep upstairs. The footsteps making the light flicker.

From your short time here, you quickly learned that a loud footstep that makes the light flicker is an early sign that he’s on his way to your room. You shuffled everything back into the bag and threw it back onto the chair, before scooting as fast as you could back to your original space. Never noticing that the tennis ball rolled out of the purse. Once your back hit the wall, you looked to your right and noticed the ball before reaching over to grab it and putting it in the back pocket of your shorts. 

He put the cap back onto the bottle and put it back into his pocket. Crouching down to your level, he grabbed the unfinished water from your breakfast tray, and held his hand up that was full of the pills. His hand was in a soft fist to protect the pills in case you lashed out. “Open your mouth now.” You hesitated before opening your mouth. He smiled, very pleased that you didn't fight him. He gently put all the pills into your mouth. Once the pills were in your mouth, He raised the water to your lips. “Swallow.” He tilted your chin up as you gulped down the water. “Good.” 

You looked up at him. His long, raven colored hair covered most of his face. He wiped some hair out of his face, and you noticed the scar under his right eye. He looked back down at you. “Show me.” He gently grabbed your chin as you opened your mouth again to show that you swallowed all the pills. Furthermore, he patted your head and took the breakfast tray and left the room. 

You watched as he shuffled away, He opened the door and turned towards you with a soft smile before closing the door. You rested your head against the wall. 

“Holy shit, that was close.”

[espritmuse]

—𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄—

⌕ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Lara Tybur from aot (x reader)

⌕ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut warning, mention of mommy kink, cum, hair pulling, semi public sex…

⌕ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: hi guys <3 since you may know, Lara tybur is my new obsession… she’s just so pretty and mysterious, I’m in love. I always wanted to do a nsfw alphabet and I don’t think anyone made one about her already so here I am!! Reblogs are very much welcomed since she isn’t very popular in the fandom :(

—𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 - 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐀—

⊹₊ ⋆A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The sweetest creature. She always takes her time with you, no matter who was in charge during intercourse. Most of the time, she runs a bath for both of you; she then sits behind you, her hands all over your chest protectively. She takes her time and helps you wash your delicate skin. After that she just goes to sleep on her bed, her body all over yours or, sometimes, she holds you in her sleep, just to feel even closer to your warmth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Lara’s favourite part of her body is probably her breasts. They’re very soft, plump, and delicate, painted by the angels themselves. She loves when she finds the tip of your tongue all over them, your lips wrapped around her pink nipple, adoration in your eyes.

She probably prefers your face. Out of everything. She just loves it, the way your lips curve into a small smile at anytime of the day, the way your eyes shines when you notice something adorable, or even the way your gaze gets lost in hers whenever she’s talking about anything.

But also the way your features feels under her touch when her core is all over your face, when her mouth is agape, eyes watering thanks to the stimulation you’re giving her, legs fragile and almost trembling.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

She’s such a dirty girl but she hides it very well. So, at first, she’ll pretend to hate it when you come undone all over her stomach but, too bad for her you had already noticed a glimpse of excitation in her eyes. Oh she loves it. So much. That’s why she adores when you ride her face, she can then have your wet pussy all over her mouth without any complaints.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Public sex. Or at least, semi-public sex. She loves the thrill of it, the excitation of feeling like you both could get caught in a minute if anyone opened the door, if anyone decided to turn in this poorly lit street… maybe that all she wants, someone seeing you and her like that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I don’t think she’s very experimented. Her family is one of a kind. They're very strict and severe about her education and forbade her any misbehaving, including romantic relationships. But it’s for the better, now you can experiment everything with her.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Face riding like I previously explained, she loves feeling your entirety beneath her, feeling your warmth and all your wetness, being the cause of your pleasure. The view is pretty nice too.

Missionary, this goes without saying, very basic but she just loves feeling you close to her at such a vulnerable moment, whenever it’s you or her on top. She may have a preference for when she’s under you, just so she can tease you more, caress your cheeks with her fingers or even digs her nails into your back when her pleasure is too much for her.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Serious, as always. But she likes when you tease her a bit and try to make her smile and laugh. Okay maybe she isn’t that serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well trimmed. I think that she doesn’t really like when there is nothing down there but she doesn’t like a bush either. So yeah, she keeps it well trimmed and obliviously her hairs are dark brown/ blackish.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

She loves whispering sweet nothings in your ears. Little “I love you”s hidden between two loud whimpers… Her lips are always all over yours, and her hand is always finding its way to yours too. She just feels better like that, her baby close to her.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh, she used to do that a lot in her little bedroom. Since daddy and mommy never allowed her to do anything, she has to do it herself. But that was before you started sneaking in her room at night without her family knowing. Now she doesn’t need her fingers anymore, why would she? Yours are so much better.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hair pulling, she’s always wearing this stupid bun, so you just love ripping off the hairband and grabbing all of her long dark brown locks in your fist when you hit from the back.

Mommy kink. The word probably slipped out of your mouth and you thought that it was the most embarrassing shit ever. No. She just smiled and continued what she was doing, calling you her little baby in your ears.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed. Yeah it’s basic but it’s her favourite. Comfy and convenient, any positions or almost are possible and she just feels better there. Or just her bedroom in general because she likes when you fuck her on her desk when she’s overworking <3

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Her motivation is the little praises that escape your mouth when she fucks you to good as well as your melodious moans when she goes down on you. Nothing better for her than hearing all of that, feeling that she’s pleasuring you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anal. I really don’t think she’s into that at all. Or she’ll try maybe, if you really want to, but just once. An anal plug is her limit.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh God she loves giving. She’s very good with her mouth too, she relies on your pretty noises to know if she’s doing good or not. But don’t get her wrong, she also loves when you do it on her too, especially when you use both of your tongue and fingers.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time, she is slow and sensual. She likes taking her time on you, touching all of your soft skin, admiring your face when she’s on top…

But if you’re a bit rougher on her, she doesn’t really mind either, in fact, she secretly loves it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

She isn’t a big fan of them to be honest, like I said she prefers when things are unhurried, sensual etc.

It doesn’t mean that she’s totally against it tho, she loves when you grab her thighs to put them on the kitchen counter before playing a bit with her body <3

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Except for public/semi-public sex, I don’t think that she’ll do too many risky things. Maybe she likes when you place your hand around her neck too.

Oh God yes and also she secretly likes when you threaten her to say everything to her parents (the fact that you sneak in her bedroom at night just to fuck her stupid) if she isn’t obedient. She’s a very well behaved puppy after that !

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

She can last very long, we may forget it but she’s very well trained, she’s a Titan after all… So yeah no stamina problem for her, she can go for a lot of rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You’re the one who introduced toys to her, showing her proudly your pretty collection. She loves them, really. Her favourite is the strap on, of course, especially when you use it on her little pussy, she’s so sweet, all delighted to open her legs for you <3 She also likes using it on you, she likes penetrating you with a dildo when she eats you out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She likes to tease but not that much. Most of the time she’s doing it very very discreetly in public, sitting on your lap and moving her thighs together slowly just for your to notice, when she bends down to pick up something she has “accidentally” dropped just in front of you just so you can see the curve of her ass and a bit of her white lace lingerie.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aw, she was so timid at first, too embarrassed to make any noises in front of you. But after some nights, you told her and taught her that it was okay, that you really wanted to hear her pretty moans. She was very happy and now, you have to be the one to remind her to keep quiet when she’s too loud.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

She loves when you fuck her with her clothes on. When you just lift her skirt and slid her pantie to the side because you’re too excited to penetrate her. Bonus point if you do that on the wall, floor or anything that isn’t her bed.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I imagine her with very plump and round breasts, roseate nipples, and a toned stomach thanks to all of the training she had to go through. She doesn’t have a tiny pussy tho, it’s very cute, her inner lips are a bit long, only half covered by her outer lips.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not too high nor too low honestly. She’s kinda needy when you don’t touch her for more than two days tho. She just loves doing it with you, she can’t get enough.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Very very fast, once both of your bodies clean, she goes back to her bed and falls asleep. If you’re staying for the night (she always begs you to and honestly, how could you resist her.) she’ll try to stay awake a bit longer just so she can talk to you before you leave her the next morning.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

--

He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

--

masterpost

[crystalflygeo]

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Morax + gn!reader

cw/tags: angst, no joke I cried writing this, bittersweet ending, rough sex, feral/eroded zhongli, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe) fingering, dubcon at first maybe??

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the bittersweet ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Dark/Bad ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies,a nd defending their safe harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

Willing to do anything for his sake.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Please… I just want some time to myself.”

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

"W-wait. Stop-!" You try to push him back, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he's unmovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the very ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands explore your body, rough and callous but still gentle despite his displays of power.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His thumb softly brushes at a spot on your navel lovingly, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You let out a moan.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?”

You gulp, knot in your throat, mind dizzy, heart and body aching.

And then you smile. Softly. Pained.

“Morax, my love… n-not so rough, please…” You whisper.

The eroded God leans down to kiss you, swallowing your moans when his fingers tease, rub and pull at your hole, spreading you a little, preparing you. His long serpentine tongue invades your mouth as his free hand teases a nipple before sliding to settle at your hip. Your body relaxes and melts down onto the grass, pliant for him.

When you break apart, you see pure love and adoration in his golden eyes, but they no longer carry that wisdom, that solemn and dignified depth. Only a primal desire to keep you, claim you, breed you.

It’s alright…

This was your choice.

Blinking back tears, you moan and struggle a little against the restraints on your wrists, two of Morax’s fingers already pressing deep and curling inside you. You see stars when he quickly finds that spot that shoots pleasure up your spine, having already memorized it. Your sex leaking fluids and spurring him on.

Then, Morax pulls out and you feel the tip of his cock press against you, you gasp, back arching as he slowly presses forward inside your warm heat with a pleased groan.

“S-so big… ah!” You whimper, bucking your hips on reflex.

“My mate. So pretty. I will fill you up.” He mumbles, eyes half-lidded as he rolls his hips, inch after inch sinking into you languidly until he sheathes to the hilt, your legs spread around him. Morax slides his large hands around your hips, lifting them to pull closer and deeper, the new angle making his cockhead press deep against your sweet spot. He wastes no time thrusting in and out, gradually picking up the pace.

It's almost tender.

Soft keening sounds escape your lips as you lock your legs around his lower back, your feet resting atop the base of his tail which whips around wildly as he starts fucking faster. You feel the world blur around you, all that exists is you two and the mounting pleasure, the wet sounds and the slapping of skin against skin.

“Morax… Morax… ah! I’m… I’m c-close…”

He grunts and redoubles his efforts, hands pressing bruising spots at your hips, your insides clenching around him. “Mine.” He growls possessively, and you nod and chant his name over and over. Everything feels hot, dizzy, so much- too much-

You come with a filthy cry tumbling out of your lips, slick juices rolling down your skin. He continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

The two of you ride out your orgasms in tandem, then he drapes over you, kissing your skin softly and making you sigh.

“My love, please, release me?” You try, struggling against the cuffs once again. “I want to touch you.”

“No.” He snarls. “You’ll only try to escape again.”

“I-I won’t… hng… I promise. I’m yours.” You reply breathless, full of emotion.

Morax eyes you with a stern expression, contemplating for a moment before letting out a soft huff. You feel the geo cuffs dissipate into golden dust, your aching limbs free, though sore, but you ignore it as your hand weakly cups his cheek, thumb rubbing at the golden scars there. Morax leans into the soft touch, nuzzling your palm.

“Love you.” The eroded dragon mutters, and you imagine it’s your lover telling you, despite his decaying fractured mind.

“I… I love you too.” You reply softly, bittersweet tears rolling down your face.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover made the ultimate sacrifice.

Willingly locked with the eroded god in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Best friends brother!Johnny

Warnings: voyeurism, jerking off, blonde johnny bc yes this is a fair and just warning, spitting, inexperienced (of age) reader, finger fucking, teary eyed orgasm

You know it's wrong, on so many levels. You should retreat back to the room, should leave him to do whatever it is he's doing. But it's as if he did it on purpose, cracking his door open after hearing your footsteps and rummaging downstairs as you fixed yourself a glass of water.

It had been closed when you passed previously, warm light illuminated underneath the door, from somewhere inside his room.

There's always been a...tension, for lack of better term, between the two of you for about two years now. It's incredibly hard to not seem so obvious around him, with his plush pink lips and tall, lithe frame. He'd purposely make eye contact with you during dinners or movies, just to watch you squirm and look away, cheeks hot.

Its not fair, he carries a tangible aura around him, the type that makes your belly warm and heat spread throughout your inner thighs. Maybe it's a crush, or simply just you, being irrationally attracted to a man who's pretty and definitely has big dick energy.

But still, you can't ignore the voice of reason that echoes in the back of your head as you fight the urge to sneak a peek, having heard soft, but purposeful expletives in a low voice that could only be his.

It's not even necessarily panick that you feel, inching closer and closer on the tips of your toes, your brain filled with vivid, fever inducing images of what he could possible be doing, even if it's already blatantly obvious.

A part of you wants to rationalize, but the other half has not even a hint of doubt that he's doing it on purpose, a cruel punishment of some sort.

Tonight he'd caught you staring a bit too hard, a bit too shamelessly. Your bestfriend and their parents were engrossed in a coversation after dinner, you and Johnny on opposite ends of the long grey couch.

He was wearing a black tee that fit snug around his biceps in an unmissable way, slim grey sweats on his bottom half that allowed his thick thighs, among other things, to be seen clear as day when he sat down.

As always, your gaze gravitated towards him like a magnet, pupils wide as you divulged in raking over his entire figure. From his tousled, and recently dyed golden hair, to his elegant yet sharp profile, and then lower. And lower. You were confident enough that everyone else was too distracted to notice, that he too was engrossed in the conversation being had.

But then you felt it, his eyes, burning holes into you. This time, when you met eachothers stare from where you were sat, something deranged and idiotic inside of you decided that you wouldn't look away this time, that if he wanted to play this game with you as he seemingly had been for the past couple years, that you'd play along too.

Something about it felt oddly safe, like, what? Your bestfriends older brother is going to rat you out and tell everyone that you're staring at him? Not likely.

So, you glanced from his lips and then back to his hooded eyes, something inside of him whirring at the small but obvious notion.

To your surprise, he was the first one to break. You had almost gasped, as if the whole time you'd been in a trance and forgotten where you were, who he really is. He cleared his throat, running his slim fingers through the front of his hair before standing, quickly.

"Feeling tired, gonna go to bed early."

He'd stated, politely yet in a manner that felt all too unusual in comparison to his usually steady, confident tone. No one else seemed to notice, but you definitely did. You felt stupid, staring at his broad back as he trotted to his room.

Once he was at the top of the staircase, you could have sworn he threw you a glance over his shoulder.

He didn't leave the room after that, and now here you are, being severely unhinged and deciding that it's a good idea to listen closely, and eagerly, to the pants coming from behind his door.

Maybe you're letting your fantasies get the best of you. What if he's not even doing that? As unpleasant as it is to think, what if all this time you've just been this hormonal mess around a person who is just existing as the sexy and somewhat flirty man that he is?

Afterall, he is effortless in nearly everything he does, it's not like it's hard for him to capture the attention of others. Maybe he's weirded out, what if it's all just in your hea-

"Fuuuck, Y/N."

Your eyes go wide, heart pounding so loudly you're almost scared he might hear it. You feel like every nerve in your body has been struck with a live wire.

There's no fucking way.

But then he moans again, louder this time, and you find your inhibitions almost completely disappearing as you saunter in the dark to a position where you can peek inside to get a clear look.

Nothing prepares you for the sight, not the thoughts your subconcious conjures up on nights where the need to relieve yourself becomes overwhelming.

He's so pretty, his head thrown back against his headboard, heart shaped lips parted and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You don't even pay attention to what he's doing yet, too focused on the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows, the shape of his jaw.

But it's impossible to ignore the way his bicep is flexing under his minisrations, leading your eyes south to where his large hand is gripping the base of his thick shaft.

Fuckfuckfuck.

He's big, the tip slightly darker than the rest, almost plum in hue. You can't take your eyes off of his long fingers, the way they're wrapped around his dick. You wonder how it would feel if it were you, jerking him off like this, being the source of his guttural groans.

It's just all so filthy, the sounds, the way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

You feel slick between your thighs, overwhelmed at the sight of his manhood that surpasses any and every expectation that your daydreams have created, deciding to watch his face again and tuck the memory of his lewd expressions into the back of your mind for later use.

But it's as if your heart stops, when you lift your gaze to see that he's already staring right at you, eyes lowly lidded and indescribably dark as he continues to jerk himself off.

It feels surreal, like maybe this is all a dream and you'll wake up soon and greet him in the kitchen during breakfast or something and all of this will just be another reason to be overwhelmingly nervous around him.

But it is real, in fact you're sure of it because that's his voice, clear and resonant calling your name, beckoning you with a lascivious, yet welcoming cadence.

"Come here."

Your feet move on their own accord, brain not yet in sync with your body, still trying to comprehend the fact that this is all really happening.

You know you look nervous, bewildered as you step into his room, a room you've seen and snuck into many times before with your bestfriend to steal vinyls from his collection. Except now, said bestfriends older brother is stroking his dick while you suddenly rethink being so overly confident earlier tonight.

You instinctively close the door, too worried about someone seeing despite the fact that your bestfriends room is on the other side of the house, his parents on the first floor.

You realize as soon as it clicks shut, that you've solidified it; whatever is about to happen. Though you're not as scared as you thought you'd be, more so fascinated and unbearably aroused as you approach him where he's sat on the bed.

He pats the space between his legs, just below his knees as to not make you apprehensive or nervous. You do so, eyes wide with curiosity and exhilaration. You fold your legs underneath yourself, heart hammering from behind your ribcage as you sit.

"You know," He begins lowly, hand still wrapped around his hard cock, stroking slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. As if this whole thing is as casual as eating dinner together. "It's rude to work me up so much and then not even say hello while you're spying on me."

Your cheeks burn, gut twisting with a mixture of arousal and embarassment. You look everywhere but his eyes, knowing they're on you, examining your every expression.

"I-I'm sorry I wasn't trying to spy, I just heard you and-"

He interrupts with an amused chortle, loving every minute of your shy fidgeting.

"And what? Just had to look, huh? I knew you would, always had eyes for me," He states in a manner that has your sex throbbing between your legs. "You were really bold tonight, I mean look how hard you made me baby, could barely stand it."

You can't resist peering up at him through your lashes now, his countenance hungry and full of desire; it almost has you whining, the source of your sexual frustration sitring right in front of you professing that you're the reason his dick is being fisted in his palm.

"I didn't even know that you thought of me like that, to be honest."

He chuckles, head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

"I do, I have for a while now, after I knew for sure that you felt the same way. You think you're so slick, staring at me like that."

His hand quickens in pace and you finally find some courage within yourself, his admittance leaving you slightly breathless but the comfort of his room and the quiet of the house allowing for an appropriate atmosphere.

As appropriate as this could be.

"Johnny, I want to touch you."

It almost comes out as a whisper, you can see him swallow.

"Go ahead baby, you can touch me."

Your fingertips trace the inside of his thighs before you hesitantly grasp his dick in your hands, disbelief clouding your senses at the realization of what's happening, and that it can't be taken back now. Not that you want it to.

You take mental notes of the moment, the softness of his golden skin, the slight stickiness of his precum and the curve of his length. It's so pretty upclose.

His own hand is suddenly wrapping around yours, dwarfing it completely as he shows you the pace he enjoys, the contact causing you to squeeze your thighs together.

"Just like that," He bites down on his plump bottom lip, a flutter of heat suddenly rushing between your legs. "Have you ever done this before?"

He removes his hand but keeps it close to yours, allowing you to work as you shake your head in a silent confession.

"Are you okay with this? Really?"

You both regard eachother with a shared gaze, the softness of his voice giving you more butterflies than you'd like to admit.

"Yes, yes I'm really okay with it."

At this you pick up the pace, twisting your hand in the same manner you saw him demonstrate earlier, taking pride in the groan that leaves his throat. You feel like you're on fire, but in a good way.

"Y-You moaned my name earlier." You state, free hand wandering over the thighs you've dreamt of riding, and over his agile hips. His skin is silky.

He hums in admittance, cock twitching.

"I was thinking about you, about this. I've been cumming to the thought of you more often recently."

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Your surprise must be written all over your face, his arm reaching out towards you, smooth knuckles caressing your sweltering cheek.

More often, as in, he's done it before. As in, you haven't been the only one fantisizing. It feels like your head is spinning.

"You're really so clueless, don't even realize how fuckin' horny you make me."

He bucks into your fist, your senses becoming overwhelmed. It's the arousal fogging your brain that finally leads you to speaking more than just a few words per sentence.

"I just wasn't sure, I spend more time than I'd like to admit thinking of all the things I want you to do to me, all the things I want to do to you," Your palm twists over his tip, his mouth slightly agape as he listens with rapt attention.

"Your dick is much prettier in person, you should feel how wet I am right now."

It feels as if you've just run a mile, out of breath. A bead of pearlescent precum cascades down his frenulum.

"Can I?" He asks, the strain in his rough voice evident. You nod eagerly, gasping as he suddenly reaches out and clasps his large hands just under your arms, to pull you onto his lap, sitting you on his thighs.

"Open your hand for me sweetheart."

You do as he asks, worked up beyond belief and even more so as he purses his lips and spits into your palm.

You're gripping him again as he cups your pussy through your leggings, middle finger tracing your slit through the thin material. It's a foreign feeling, having someone else touch you so intimately; you're not prepared for the surge of desire that washes over you.

He senses this in the way your wrist slows, rythym faltering just slightly. You pick it back up as he slips his hand past your waistband, the warmth of his digits against your slick folds all too much to bear.

You let out a soft mewl, and he slips his middle finger inside of your warm, welcoming walls, sucking in air through his teeth as your slick coats the digit.

He begins to thrust into you in time with the pace you stroke his cock, the sticky sounds of your wetness driving him more wild than it does when he's picturing it inside of his head.

The moment is so vivid, for both if you. His fingers are so much longer than your own, skilled and curling inside of you as his middle digit nudges your cervix. The pressure of him rubbing your sweet spot has you barely holding your eyes open.

"Feels good, sweetheart? You like when I finger fuck you?"

You're fully in it now, senses overtaken with a yearning, a need. You're already so gone yet irrevocably present, the depravity in his voice causing a knot of desire to swirl in the pit of your abdomen.

"Y-Yes I love your fingers J-John- oh!"

You hiccup your words as he adds another finger, his eyes glossed over with astonishment at how wet you are, coating his silver rings and soaking his palm.

"You love em' huh?" He uses his free hand to wrap around your throat, gently but firmly, forcing you to look down at him. The knot of his eyebrows and the parting of his lips is enough to have you twitching around him.

You're using your fist to fuck just his tip now, as you've noticed even despite the haze of your arousal how he's more sensitive there. You wonder if he's as close as you are, as he suddenly pulls you down to his parted lips, pressing your mouth to his.

This feeling is different, it's blissful in an agonizing way. Your body is tingling all over, the pleasure reaching a sweltering peak. He pulls back but doesn't move his lips from yours, delivering slow and sloppy pecks as he speaks.

"I want you to fucking cum, show me what you do when you touch your little pussy to the thought of me."

It feels like you might cry, the sob you let out never reaching past your lips as he places his palm over your mouth; fingers fiercely fucking you through your orgasm. You notice he's cumming too when spurts of warmth drip down your fingers.

Still, he's so focused on you, the way you're writhing. Nothing will ever compare to this.

"Shh shh, that's it baby let it go, fucuuuck-" he grits through his teeth, unbearbly handsome face blurry through the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes.

Your thighs tremble atop his lap, his cock half hard and still in your hands. He slips his fingers from you and brings them to his mouth, tongue lapping at your release.

It has you twitching, underwear almost soaked through.

He finally removes his palm from your mouth just to kiss you again, sweetly and with a softness that gives you whiplash.

"I think I'm gonna steal you, from now on." He mumbles, after the two of you finally catch your breath. You can feel the corners of his mouth lift as you hum in agreement.

"Guess I'll have to stay the night more often." You reply, nibbling on his plump bottom lip. You can hardly believe any of this really just happened.

He grasps your jaw.

"Only if I can have you again for breakfast."

[puppypeter]

✨ All fics are complete! ✨

He Loves Me Cause I’m Cute, He Thinks I’m Pretty Funny | 2588 words 📱

He watches it back one more time after it posts, checking for typos in his subtitles and captions, and has to laugh again.

Steve fucking Rogers? His brain thought he could pull Captain America, literal superhero and America’s favorite sweetheart?

“Hello I’m a 35 year old amputee living in New York and I think that I could get Steve Rogers.”

OR

the one where bucky posts a tiktok and steve is utterly smitten.

Summer Slipped Us Underneath Her Tongue | 10712 words 🧳

Bucky is a tour guide who enjoys sharing the rich history and culture of each city they pass through with a bunch of early-20's college students who just want to know the cheapest place to get drunk.

Except for Steve, who asks Bucky for a personal tour around his hometown.

The rest is, as they say, history.

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet | 3853 words 🧑🏼‍🍳

“I made soda bread.” Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.” The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

Ollie Meets Bagel | 5517 words 🥯

He was a skater boy, Steve said let's get bagels, boy.

Steve wants to start doing this twenty-first century thing properly. He gets help in the form of skateboarding, skateboarders, bagels, and Sam Wilson.

Taxi | 5113 words 🚕

Bucky Barnes was, he hoped, a good taxi driver.

He's so good, he actually tries to return lost property that ends up left in his car and... well. It has some unexpected consequences involving a National Icon.

Enough said.

Leg Day | 12157 words 🏋️‍♂️

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Love In Aisle Four | 2127 words 🛍️

When Bucky needs to swing by the supermarket after a long, hard day of work, the last thing he expects is to meet a cute grocery clerk named Steve…

Coming Up Easy | 45515 words ✍🏻

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

Anywhere The Wind Blows | 8845 words 👨‍🚒🎖️

After a catastrophic fire that shakes him to his core, Steve Rogers quits his job as a Brooklyn firefighter and relocates to a cabin in the remote Canadian wilderness, wanting quiet and solitude and to maybe never have to speak to another human being ever again. He gets his wish, more or less, until a recently injured Bucky Barnes is discharged from the Army and rents the cabin next door.

The Safer Course | 7918 words | Part 1 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

When Steve moves to the suburbs in 2033, he intends to retire from superhero life.

He does not intend to fall in love with his pain-in-the-ass neighbor.

Every Year I Have You | 7064 words | Part 2 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

Steve set the bar pretty high, as birthday presents go.

Bucky is determined to outdo him when July 4th comes around.

Beneath The Mistletoe | 21203 words 🎄

Bucky had a bet with his sister that if he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas by the time he was 25, he had to give her $200 and go blonde for a year. But now he's 25, it’s nearing December, and not only is Bucky as single as ever, but he’s also running low on cash. He doesn’t exactly want to bleach his hair, either.

At least Steve is willing to upgrade their relationship from best friends to fake boyfriends.

The Settler | 52203 words 🍞

“What do you want to do?”

Steve pauses and looks at them.

What he wants is to stay with them. He doesn't have any family left, they all died before he even joined the war and became... this. Captain America turned whatever he is now. But Natasha and Sam have become his family over the years. Not just because they're on the run together, fugitives and vigilantes, but way before that too.

He doesn't want to leave that.

But he knows that, realistically, he can't stay with them and they can't stay with him.

So he looks at them with a smile and lies. “I don't know.”

OR; In which Steve retires and finally finds a place to call home.

You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory | 1148 words 🐈

"Alright, Bucky," Steve slows his steps, watches his neighbour stop at the bottom of the next flight of stairs. There's a canvas bag in his hand that Steve didn't notice earlier, cream coloured with the figure of a sleeping, black cat painted on it. "Have a good day."

He thinks Bucky's cheeks pink up a bit right then and there, but Steve can't tell. He's too distracted by his pounding, foolish heart, by the way Bucky smiles bashfully, and ducks his head. The way he seems like he wants to stay.

To Believe In Tomorrow | 3959 words 👨🏻‍🌾

Bucky's mornings at the community garden get a little more interesting when the new guy shows up.

Maybe This Christmas | 24873 words | Part 1 of Maybe ❄️

Bucky’s not going home for Christmas. But it’s fine. He’s spending Christmas alone in his apartment, but it’s cool. He’s not feeling up to seeing his family after his accident anyway, plus he has to work. He’s totally fine with it. But then he runs into Steve, literally, and suddenly his Christmas isn’t looking so empty after all.

-----

Hurrying was a bad idea. Bucky’s foot hits a patch of ice and slides out from under him in what would have been a comical cartoon banana-peel-like trip, if it wasn’t happening to him, and he braces himself to hit the ground. This is going to hurt.

“Fuck,” Bucky screeches, but as he lands on his back, it’s not the cold hard concrete he expected, but a solid mass beneath him. Oh god, Bucky thinks as he realises he smacked into the person behind him and took them down with him.

Maybe This Year (Will Be Better Than Last) | 133868 words | Part 2 of Maybe ❄️

Last year, Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers. Well actually, he slipped and fell on him. What followed was the best Christmas either of them had ever had. But what happens when Christmas is over and life returns to normal? What happens after the Christmas miracle?

-----

Bucky should have known. He did know. When things seem too good to be true, they usually are. And Steve is the best thing that has happened to him in a long time, possibly ever, so of course it couldn’t last.

Maybe This Time (I Hope I Get The Chance To Say Goodbye) | 34561 words | Part 3 of Maybe ❄️

Steve and Bucky Barnes are happily married. They've made it through some hard times and come out stronger and happier, together. Then Steve gets called on to come out of retirement for the most important mission of his life and everything changes. Everything.

-----

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas…” Steve starts singing along softly, and Bucky chuckles, before leaning his head onto Steve’s shoulder, always happy when he’s in Steve’s arms.

“From now on, our troubles will be miles away…” Bucky joins in.

Dancing round their living room, just as in love as ever, their troubles seem light-years away, if not non-existent.

Sadly, they’re closer than they think.

The Unexpected Gift | 9504 words | Part 1 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Steve Rogers is fine.

After ending a long-term relationship with Sam Wilson, Steve moves back to New York. He's tired and lonely but depressed? No. At least, that's what he thinks.

From the window of his apartment, he watches a dark-haired man and his service dog sitting in the park, wondering what his story is.

The Winter Storm | 2218 words | Part 2 of When Winter Comes 🐕

"If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability you see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realize how special you are to me."

After Bucky and Steve confessed their feelings for each other, life has its own twisted way to challenge the most profound love.

One January Night | 4213 words | Part 3 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Before going back to work, Steve Rogers still has things to learn: 1- Depression is a bitch and the battle against it isn't an easy one. 2- Dating a person with disabilities comes with its share of challenges.

Bucky Barnes Has His Shit Together (And Other Lies He Tells Himself) | 14159 words 🔒

You’d think a guy who owns one of the most successful bakeries in Brooklyn, has a million-dollar smile and that antiquated good ol’ boy charm, blond hair and blue eyes and biceps for days, would know what’s what.

But don’t let that fool you: Steve Rogers is a mess.

Obvious | 917 words ☕

"Oh, I have a prompt! So, it makes me laugh how painfully obvious Steve and Bucky's feelings are to everyone when they're in that pining, slowburn, does-he-doesn't-he phase. But imagine Steve and Bucky working in a coffee shop together and constantly bickering, nudging and playfully flirting with each other. And all the employees and patrons are so invested in their relationship and just want them to kiss already but no one realizes that Steve and Bucky have been married since they got out of HS."

[avintagekiss24]

day with destiny | b. barnes

→ pairing: aristocrat!bucky barnes x aristocrat!black!reader

→ word count: 3000

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, biting kink

→ challenge: @cockslut-padalecki​ not my ninth

trope: aristocratic society

song prompt: crush by jennifer paige

→ square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021

g5: clothed sex

→ author note: i was finally able to reign myself in with these word counts, lol. i saw this gif of baby faced sebastian and couldn’t help myself. he looks like a little shit, but look at those pink lips… anyway, these are modern!aristocrats. lyrics to crush aren’t obvious (except for one line at the very end), but worked into the dialogue. i have no idea who made the gif, i got it from google. i also have no idea who made this divider, as i also got it from the google.

Blue eyes peer over at you from across the table, the gaze searing into the side of your face. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, but you don’t dare cut your eyes— this game is entirely too fun to give in now. Instead, you take a deep breath, pushing your chest out— your tits— shifting roughly in your seat just to make your flesh jiggle, before you release the air slowly.

Cabinet meetings are never fun. Rich, old white men going on and on about their views for the country— your family of course bringing the only sense of color into the society. Some old man yammers on at the front of the room behind the podium. Heads nod, claps ring out at random intervals, loud here here’s filling your ears as you roll your eyes. You don’t have the least bit of interest in any of it as it stands today, but your blue blood, and rank in the family— poised to take over for your dear old daddy in the coming years— requires your presence.

Bucky Barnes is quite the same. Young, bored, and too damn pretty for his own fucking good. You squeeze your legs together abruptly, the images of the last cabinet meeting playing back in your mind. Hot, sticky breath. Reddened, swollen lips— against your ear, sucking on your skin. The salt that exploded on your tongue as he shoved his thumb into your mouth.

You stand quick, clearing your throat— sending a silent message to the youngest Barnes at the long table. A hand grabs your wrist, stopping you as you start to move towards the back of the room, “Mother?”

“This is important, daughter,” she whispers harsh— a warning.

“And so is my bladder, mother.”

She sighs heavily, but releases the grip around your wrist, “Yours and the Barnes boy, apparently.”

Flicking your eyes quickly, you smirk as he pushes his chair underneath the table and starts towards the large doors at the back of the room, rubbing at his chin with his hand, the sunlight glinting off of the rings adorning his long fingers. You watch him as he moves— so easy, so confident— as he runs his hand through his dark, perfectly clipped hair, the Loubotins on his feet clicking softly.

You only drop your eyes when he slips through the door and out of view, “Ten minutes, mother.”

She knows. She knows that you know she knows, but she just sighs again and lets you saunter off without a second glance. Dress dragging behind you, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, heart and blood starting to race as each step draws you closer to your silver tongued foe, lying in wait for you in a random, deserted hallway.

He’s leaned against the wall, gazing out over the city beneath, hands drawn into his pockets. He’s a sight, but he always is, each little brown hair in place, chin and cheeks so clean shaven that a hair wouldn’t even dare sprout. Body lean in that black military jacket, gold medals and hand stitched ribbons hanging from the pockets.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you smile soft, crossing your arms over your chest, leaning against the very same wall.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, that shit grin he’s such a proud owner of spreading on his face, “Then stop propositioning me.”

You laugh— it’s gentle and soft, the dissonance of your long relationship easily melting away. He finally turns and takes a few steps towards you, extending his hand, tenderly taking your fingers. Those deep, emotional eyes stay on yours as he lifts your hand, lips brushing— glancing ever so lightly over the backs of your delicate, manicured digits. Then he smiles, slow, sweet, teeth sinking into his blushed bottom lip as he blinks just as slow.

He’s a sight, this Bucky Barnes.

Keenly aware of his family’s teetering reputation, hanging on by a mere thread as of late due to his fathers extra curricular proclivities, you can’t help but take a swipe, “I’m surprised you’re family’s allowed back in the building. It got a little tense last time you all were here.”

“It did, didn’t it?” he answers quickly, placing your hand on his shoulder before he pulls you in close— a long arm wrapping your waist, pinning you to him, “I don’t remember much though, as my face was buried in your cunt for most of the meeting.”

Shivers race the length of your spine. He feels it— revels in it— savors it.

Lively brown eyes bounce back and forth between heavy, brewing blues, “You aren’t afraid that the rest of them will move to vote your family out, Lord Barnes?”

“Not in the slightest,” you’re met with a defiant shrug, “I hate this shit.”

“Oh, how original! An aristocrat that hates the god given privilege bestowed upon him.” You sigh, tilting your head towards the ceiling as he nuzzles into your neck, your hands sliding up and over his shoulders, “You’re predictable, Barnes.”

“You’re one to talk about privilege, My Lady.”

“Am I?” You retort quick, quirking an eyebrow.

A brilliant smile is cast upon you, blue irises like gems, sparkling under the light, “Your blood is the richest in the room— the bluest of blue— and you speak with such animosity of mine as if you haven’t prevailed your entire life because of it.”

“Bested by the color of our skin, which has precluded my lineage of its rightful place for years,” you scoff, leaning into him, “It was not privilege that got us here, Lord Barnes,” you whisper, “It was persistence.”

He chuckles against your skin, the vibrations rattling through your body, right to your bones. Hot velvet slips along the curve of the junction between your shoulder and neck before teeth scrape and then sink— tenderly— right into the meat, making you gasp. Hands grip, fingers dig into his opposite shoulder as he nips and nibbles.

“You’ll lose everything,” you breathe, heavy, languid as his mouth, his tongue, his lips move to your jaw, your chin, “Your family will be ruined.”

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky hums low, a smile on his face, dark eyelashes splashed over his pink tinged cheeks. His long fingers play with your lips, prodding gently as he rests his forehead to yours, “With a face like mine baby,” he whispers, that devilish smile painting his red tinted lips, “I was born to marry rich.”

He pushes his leg between yours, spreading them, pushing the meat of his thigh right against your sex— the thin silk of your panties sticking to the balmy, wet flesh. The tips of his fingers flirting with the inside of your calf before pushing up over your knee, skirting up your own ticklish thigh.

Bucky takes pleasure in the honeyed giggle that bubbles in your chest and slips out of your mouth, knowing not just anyone can coax such a genuine reaction from you. Metal fingers push higher— sweeping softly, back and forth, over the powder pink silk panties, discovering the warm wet spot, a white hot fire filling his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

You grunt some, leaning in, putting full lips right against his ear, “Absolutely not,” the words whispered.

“You sure?” he squints, drawing your face back in front of his, thumbing at your bottom lip, pulling it open, “There’s something in those eyes.”

“Let’s not over analyze, Lord Barnes,” you tisk, slipping a hand between your bodies, cupping his cock— squeezing his heat— with care of course, “Don’t go too deep with it. It’s just—”

“What?” brisk, curt— the words cut off by a feverish, deep kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, sweeping against the roof— heavy, hot, rushed, desperate for you as he groans, “What is it?”

You pull at his belt, at the button and zipper, hand and fingers sinking into his open pants, pushing through a rough, dark, tuft of wiry hair. He whirrs, strained and broken, body clenching up as your warm palm wraps around him. Long, slow strokes pull more tiny sounds from him— a skilled muscle memory, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he needs— taking over.

A sweet kiss, soft and quick, is pressed against his cheek, your lips against his ear once more, “It’s just a little crush, Bucky. Just some little thing that raises my adrenaline when I need a shot.” His cock jumps in your hand, a quick hiss and stunted grunt filling your ears as you lick your lips, “Don’t make too much of it.”

Bucky grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks hard, puckering your lips before he kisses you feverishly again. The cool metal digits grab your neck, a soft pressure constricting the muscles as he pushes you back, back against the window— using his body to crush you to it.

The smack of his lips disconnecting from yours ricochets off the walls, filling the small hallway. He licks your lips, dragging his tongue from your chin right to the tip of your nose as he anchors your leg on his hip. Hot flesh fingers slip up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side, the cool air sending a shock to the wet, delicate flesh of you. He sucks that bottom lip back between his perfect teeth, tilting his head back slightly to peer at you through those long, dark eyelashes.

You mimic him. Tilt your head back on the glass, sink your teeth into your swollen lip, hand still stroking him slow, wetting the pads of your fingers with his silk. His hips rock soft into your palm as you sweep your fingers over his tip before dragging back down his length, gripping him firm. With a quick blink, you’re staring at him— angry, thick, throbbing in your hand. A bead bubbles out, spills right over, a long string hanging from his reddened tip before his cock twitches again— leaving you breathless. Knees almost buckling. Mouth going dry as your lungs struggle to fill.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky purrs, goading you as you push his cock through your folds, rolling your hips, teasing your waiting slit with his tip.

Surprise sweeps through you when frankly, it shouldn’t as you sink down on him. The muscle memory of your hands don’t translate to the muscles of your cunt— his size, how much you have to spread to accommodate him, like a revelation each and every time. Bucky almost never rushes it, and neither do you, like it’s something new every time.

But it isn’t, no no, it’s ancient for the two of you. Connecting like this in long, skinny hallways, cramped closets, old hotel rooms under the mask of darkness. The muffled sounds of your sex as you try and ultimately fail to keep quiet, filling the abandoned spaces— bringing life to them again.

Loneliness often fills your chest if you go too long without it.

Bucky is buried to the hilt in you now— rooted deep in the tightest, hottest space of your body. He takes a minute, pushing his hips, wiggling— adjusting— before he pulls out slow. All the way, cock bouncing as soon as it breaks the threshold. He doesn’t wait long though. Nope. He’s back inside of you within seconds with a slam of his hips, pushing you up the window. Pulling a squeak and a rush of air from you.

Those red lips of his part, his heavy tongue pushing out to slip along his bottom lip as his eyelids drop, covering the blue you’ve come to enjoy. You can’t help but reach out, place your warm palms and fingers on his blushed cheeks, tracing his nose before they prod at his bottom lip, the tips just sinking into that wet mouth. He draws long breaths, exhales them all over your face as he starts to move.

You let the rhythm carry you away. Up into the clouds as your head rolls to the side, hands fall to his chest and around his neck. Tits bounce with each shove, starting to spill over and fall out of the square shaped neckline of your intricate dress. Hair starts to fall out of place, heat rises in your cheeks, desperate little wet noises beseeching him.

Bucky’s a good fuck. Ever the playboy, never thinking twice of an encounter until— well, you, as he so softly put it one night in one of those dark, old hotel rooms while you both dressed. There’s a filth to it. The way he toys with you. Speeding up suddenly— skin slapping, echoing down the hall— and then, without warning or hesitation, slows down. Down to nothing almost. Soft pulses of his hips, just enough to drive you mad. To make you beg him for more.

To make you weak. To keep you coming back.

That’s how he is now. Barely moving, wanting you to squirm. Two big eyes, pupils blown stare up at you. Mouth agape, the smallest little curve on them. He wants you to beg. To tell him just how much— “Bucky,”

“Yes?” he shoves hard, pushing deep, “My Lady?”

“Please,” there it is, the beg— the want, “Please, Bucky.”

So, the filth is back. Yeah, it’s a little dirty how he grips your thigh, hard, nails digging and scratching into the meat of it. How he licks into your mouth and bites your lips before shoving that metal hand into your neckline, palming the delicate mound of flesh beneath. A brown nipple is soon exposed, tight and hard, after a quick tug of his hand yanks your dress down. It disappears again within a flash, right into his mouth, tongue circling.

An arch curves your spine when he sucks, a deep, low, stressed grunt sounding from somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips pucker, forming an o as you breathe heavy, then gasp quick before digging your teeth into your bottom lip and inhaling sharp. An already tight grip on his bicep and left shoulder constricts even more as he really picks up the pace, desperate and feverish his hips, tongue slipping into your cleavage.

There’s nothing but sounds and sensations— the squelch and squeak of his cock stuffing you, your stiletto slipping off the foot that’s hooked around his waist and thudding against the floor. The gold medals pinned to his military jacket bouncing soft against the thick material. His metal fingers tapping against the windows as he holds his weight.

Flashes of heat ripple through your body— muscles tensing and straining, cunt clenching, clamping. Fists balling. Stomach and head twirling as he gives you his best. And God, do you appreciate his effort.

The fuse proves to be short on this crisp winter day. A coil that had no chance of staying intact snaps earlier than you expect, body tightening hard, nearly freezing you in place the second before you start to come. Crying out— no shame, no sense of care if anyone hears— you just let it take over. Let him drive it home, hips snapping against yours, jutting, thrusting, pushing and pulling, sending you higher and higher.

Goosebumps on your skin. Heartbeat in your ears. A white hot flash, nearly blinding— it’s just that good. Metal fingers sink between your legs, playing with your clit, enticing it further as it spasms— wanting to feel every last bit of what your body has to offer.

Bucky hammers away, until he can’t. You’re just too sweet— too warm and wet and inviting. He’s painting your insides white within minutes, hot, quick shots of silk, filling you up, and then spilling back out. His head falls heavy to your chest as the last digs of his hips work themselves out, lips sticking to your damp, exposed skin.

You wrap him up, hands and fingers splaying out on his back, holding him tight and close as he empties and stills. Then, the two of you just breathe. Let the day, the room full of people, your families, your duties, just fade away. It’s just you and Bucky and that cool window against your overly warm skin.

It breaks— the moment. Just as it always does. Your body becomes empty as he tucks back into his pants. No longer pinned to the window, you bend to replace your shoe, pull at your dress. Bucky runs his thick fingers through his dark hair, you picking and smoothing at your own.

Stepping off after a few sobering moments without so much as a look or a smile, you're caught, a tight hand around your wrist, pulling you back. You crash into his chest, crash against his lips in one last, deep, sweeping kiss. One that once he pulls away, your eyes stay closed, lips stay puckered.

“You sure you won’t marry me?”

You know that if he asks one more time, your resolve will fizzle— and you will, “Very sure.”

A lopsided grin covers his mouth as he tilts his head, “Just a pesky little crush, huh?”

“There’s no vision of you and me quite yet, Lord Barnes,” you sigh, turning away and stepping  down the hall, “You just pray that I don’t decide to join the rest of the party and vote you out.”

“Make sure you keep a copy of your vote for me. I’ll want to frame it.”

You throw him a quick glance, “And why would you do something like that?”

“So I can show our children just how mean mommy was to daddy before we got married,” he starts, buttoning up his jacket. He kisses the pads of his fingers and blows on them lightly, sending you a kiss, “I have white picket fences in my eyes.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction. A hum vibrates in your throat. The sounds of your heels and his shoes slap against the walls as the two of you walk away from each other.

It doesn’t take a scientist to understand what’s going on, baby.