#F-stoppers

[solrabi]

Wearing a backless dress in front of Nanami for the first time.

Note: early relationship feels. F!reader, AFAB reader. Not proofread, I’m sorry for torturing you guys. A smidge of SUGGESTIVENESS.

Masterlist

Nanami was a punctual man. He hated tardiness especially when it came to himself. Which is why he was getting agitated when you were taking too long to get ready.

“Honey, are you done?” Nanami impatiently called out from your living room.

You were going to meet his high school friend group for the first time today and you all planned to meet at a luxurious bar- which meant you wanted to make a good first impression.

“Yeah, let me just get my coat and we’re good to go.” You said as you left your room to get to the coat stand in the living room. He thanked his lucky stars at that moment. He knew it took you a long time to get ready but he was starting to think that he should give you an earlier time so you could get ready faster from here on out.

But time stood still for him when his eyes landed on you.

Nanami immediately got up from his seat when he saw you. He involuntarily put his hand on his chest. Almost like he was trying to calm himself down.

His tawny eyes raked down your figure. It was a simple dress- full sleeved with a square neckline and a hem that reached right above your knee. The show stopper was your bare back.

Sure, Nanami had seen you naked a few times since the beginning of your relationship, but he hadn’t seen you dress up so beautifully unless it was for a date at an expensive restaurant (which seldom happened for you both enjoyed exploring hole in the wall places).

Friends be damned. His girlfriend looked like dessert served on a gold platter.

“You…” he rasped out. He couldn’t even find the words to describe the sight in front of him.

He slowly walked towards you (with heart eyes) and removed your jacket from your grasp. “Everything alright?” Your eyes searched his but he was too busy staring at your neckline.

“Yeah, just… spin for me, darling. I want to take this all in before we leave.” You giggled at his request and did as he asked.

“Like what you see?”

“Very much.”

“You can have me whenever, babe. We’re gonna come back to my place after meeting everyone anyway.” Nanami pulled you to him with a small tug to your wrist, ignoring your suggestion.

“Yes, but knowing that we’ll be late because of how beautiful you look makes me feel excited.” His said as he stroked his fingers up and down your back. He leaned in to get a kiss but you pulled away with a whine. “I just did my makeup.”

“Just one little kiss. I promise I won’t ruin it.” You groaned at him but leaned in, planning to leave a small peck on his eager lips.

But your plan was foiled because you were met with an intoxicating kiss. His mouth was ready to devour you as his hands situated themselves behind your head.

“Kento-“ you tried to remind him of his promise while you tried to pull away but he just used his grip on your head to push you back into his arms.

“Little more,” he mumbled into your mouth. You let out of a mewl of annoyance and he squeezed your ass to comfort you.

His tongue lapped up whatever was left of your lipstick as he continued to attack your lips. His hands pulled you impossibly close that you could feel his need for you through his pants.

After what felt like ages, you both pulled away. “Great, we’re going to be late now,” you said as you stomped away to your room to apply more lipstick.

“Come back!” he yelled, hot on your heels. “We can afford to be a few minutes late,” he said as he entered your room and closed the door.

You had managed to shake the principles of the ever punctual Nanami Kento.

-

I was thinking about that one scene from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days while writing this.

[thevillainswhore]

Dancing With The Devil II

Pairing: Alternative!Bucky Barnes x Cheerleader!F!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: It’s the night of the fundraiser, and after a few heated encounters with the one boy you should be staying away from, the tension between you finally comes to its peak when Bucky visits the kissing booth.

Warnings: College AU, bad boy v. good girl trope, inexperienced!reader, jealousy, kissing, dirty talk, smut, fingering, daddy kink, p in v penetration, tit/ass slapping, tit sucking/biting, degradation, mentions of fisting, mild drug use.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Divider by @saradika-graphics. Part 2 and the final installation to this fic — Dancing With The Devil ❤️ song inspo: Chase Atlantic - Slow Down. Thank you for all the lovely comments for the first part, I will get round to responding, I promise 🤍 enjoy x

The night of the fundraiser had arrived; your college campus was set up with an array of stalls that were all decorated beautifully. But you were proud to say, thanks to your hard work, that the cheerleader’s stall, embellished in shades of pink and red, was a show stopper.

The kissing booth had been a huge success so far. Hundreds of students had joined in on the fun and you witnessed many shy pecks to the cheek, some very awkward kisses and a few audacious make outs that had the gathered crowd whistling and hollering. 

Even your own cheeks heated as you discreetly watched the more outgoing boys slide their tongues into your teammate’s mouths, wondering how such an insatiable kiss felt. 

Luckily, Sharonl had been by your side all night, inadvertently keeping you self-aware and in check of your own thirstiness. 

Somehow, you had managed to convince Daisy to let you be a part of the kissing booth. You weren’t all too fussed that she had put you on the sidelines, unable to participate as you were stationed on ticket collection. In fact, you were more relieved. 

A few students had tried to choose you for a kiss and without fail Daisy came rushing over each time to instantly shut them down, harshly explaining that you were only the help. 

While it stung, you were kind of grateful. You had no desire to kiss anyone. Almost anyone, anyway.  

Sharon had redirected your wandering gaze every time you looked through the crowd. You knew it was silly to look for Bucky, even when he asked for you to be there. But a small slither of hope within you couldn’t shut the possibility down, even if it was just to see him in passing. 

Your thoughts had been stuck on him all week. From your waking moments to the silent ones at night on your own while you were trying to fall asleep. His scent seemed to follow you, no matter where you went and his salacious grin, rotting your brain, had gotten you in trouble a few times while you zoned out in class. 

Bucky was a drug you craved — one you couldn’t shake, even if you didn’t really want to. 

In your peripheral vision, you caught a familiar face trying to discreetly peek around the side of a stall opposite you and get a glimpse over in your direction. 

“You know, Shar. You never actually told me if you had any plans tonight.” It was true. She had been too busy dealing with your own crisis for you to consider how she could be spending her time. 

Your friend shrugged while sipping on her fruity slushie. “Nope. I’m a free woman, spending time with my girl.” 

Guilt began to settle in your stomach, then. Sharon had been by your side all night, refusing to help set up the kissing booth when Daisy set you on the sidelines. And by the sight of her man, hiding out just to get to see her, you knew she must have blown plans with him to be with you. Instead, she had decided to be a good friend and keep you company. 

You slammed your own drink onto the makeshift table with a sigh. “Sharon, you can’t stay here.”

She abruptly stopped sucking up the last of her drink through the straw to look at you like you had grown two heads. “And why the hell can’t I?” 

Pointing your finger over to a freshly caught, red faced Steve, you gave her a deadpan glare. “Because right there is your man, literally stumbling over his own feet just to see you. That’s why.” 

You watched closely as your friend took a quick glance at her boyfriend, tightening her lips with amusement before shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you scolded, ignoring her attempt to butt in. “Just because I’m on ticket duty, it doesn’t mean you have to waste your night with me. You should be over there with him! He looks like a lost puppy.” 

Sharon scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t be silly, I like being over here with you.” But you couldn’t quite believe her when you caught her once again sneaking a look over to him with a longing in her eyes. 

“Shar.” You leveled with her, grabbing her hand with an honest smile. “I promise I’ll be okay, go have fun with your man.” 

She looked as though she was about to retort back, though before she could, you stood up and brought her with you. “I mean it.” 

Your best friend looked skeptical for a second before she gave in with a sigh. “You’re sure you’ll be fine?” 

“Positive.” You reassured her instantly with a bright smile. “Now go! Shoo—go smooch Stevie and tell me all about it later.” 

Sharon pulled you into a crushing hug, rocking you dramatically from side to side while she squealed in excitement. “I promise, I promise! Thank you, sweets! You’re a fucking angel.” Squeezing you tightly one last time, she eventually let go, kissing your cheek with a wet smooch and taking off to her boyfriend. 

Slumping back into your seat, you wiped your cheek and watched as Steve caught your friend into his arms, spinning her around with a huge grin and bright eyes. You sighed in bittersweet happiness, truly glad to see your friend so loved up — you didn’t regret sending her off at all. 

Even if you were now pathetically alone, working the ticket collection of the kissing booth you put together. 

The line of students queuing up to hand in their one free kiss tickets seemed never ending as the night went on. You collected so many that the thought of seeing another physically made you feel sick — you didn’t even bother to look at whoever was in line anymore, fixated on your only entertainment of the evening; watching everyone but you enjoy the kissing festivities. 

So when the next forsaken pink ticket with a lipstick print came into your line of vision, you sighed with bitterness. 

“You can go through,” you mumbled while you reached up to take the token. But as you tried to pull it into your hold, you were met with resistance. 

You frowned, beginning to look up. “I said you can—“ 

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear, Bunny.” Devilish, bright blue eyes stared you down. “But believe me when I say I’d rather stay here.” 

It took everything in your power to stay composed. Bucky actually came, your mind internally screamed at you. 

Your nerves went haywire while the two of you still held onto the ticket. As the night had progressed, your hope to see him dwindled by the second until you eventually gave up. But as he currently stood in front of you, eyeing your body in your cheer uniform, you had a hard time not throwing yourself over the table at him. 

“H-Hi, Bucky,” you whispered, still a little awestruck. 

He smirked. “Hey, you.” The finger that held tight to the ticket caressed over yours, sending a shudder down your spine. “Good turn out, then?” 

You cleared your throat. “Mhm, we’ve raised a lot of money so far.” That’s when you noticed two of his friends behind him. “I see you brought company.” 

“I’m a man of my word, sweetheart.” Bucky grinned until he raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d actually be at the kissing booth, though. Not collecting the tickets for it.” 

“Oh,” you muttered. How could you put it without sounding so lame? “Yeah about that—“ 

Before you could try to explain, Daisy came trotting towards you and the entirety of your body filled with dread. Instantly dropping your hold on the ticket, she was soon by your side wearing her practiced fake smile. 

“Newbie,” she called, gratingly. “What is with the hold up? I gave in and let you do this because I thought you weren’t so incompetent after all.” 

Daisy’s harsh words cut into you like a knife and you slumped into yourself, embarrassed to be scolded in front of Bucky. 

You missed how she glanced to the queue, subtly changing her tune once she realised who was watching. “Come on, honey,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. “You’re not just letting me down, you’re letting the team down. I know you can do better than this.” 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled, “Sorry, Daisy.” You were so angry at yourself. The thought that Bucky had seen the whole exchange had you suppressing the urge to bolt it out of there.

But you were even more mortified as you looked up and witnessed Daisy twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes in front of him. “You’re Bucky, right? The one who beat up Tony Stark?” 

You watched silently while he looked her up and down. Though it was the exact opposite of the way he looked at you, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach that he may be interested in her. 

“It’s actually James,” he said, face devoid of his  happy expression from earlier.

“Huh?” Daisy replied. 

You thought you heard Bucky scoff, but you told yourself you were hearing things. “My name is James.” 

Daisy laughed. “But I’ve heard people call you Bucky.” Leaning over the table, she not so discreetly pushed her chest together with her arms, a pout on her lips. “Don’t you want me to call you that too?” 

A thick haze of green burned your skin. You weren't sure how long you could take watching their back and forth, especially when the one person who disliked you was so obviously flirting with your crush.  

To your surprise though, Bucky didn’t once let his gaze falter down, inherently keeping his eyes on hers. “No. I already told you my name is James.” 

Daisy reeled back a little, shocked that her usual tactics of spinning boys’ into her web was going down the drain. “Anyway,” clearing her throat, she recovered quickly. “I see you bought a ticket. So I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that any of our cheerleaders in the lineup are available for a kiss.” She flicked her hair over her shoulders and added, “Me included.” 

You ducked your head, trying to force down the sick feeling rising up your throat. Bucky choosing Daisy would break your heart. You already knew you had become quite besotted over him, but with the new tortuous idea of them in your head that could soon become reality, your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest. 

Unable to see his expression, you missed how his  eyes flicked to you, a handsome smile he only reserved for you on his face. “Easy.” He licked his lips. “I pick my Bunny.” 

“What?” Both Daisy and you looked at him in shock; you instantly snapped your gaze up to him with wide eyes while she scowled in frustration. 

Bucky kept his eyes on you with his next words. “How about it, pretty girl? Wanna kiss me?” 

Your mouth dropped open, jaw unhinged. No words were able to formulate together to answer him quick enough before you were interrupted once again. 

“Unfortunately,” Daisy snapped. “You can’t kiss her, you can only choose from the line up.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky begrudgingly looked back at her. “Says who?” 

“Me,” she retorted smugly as she crossed her arms. 

He scoffed. “No one—least of all you—is gonna tell me who I can kiss.” 

You gulped, head still swimming with the fact Bucky was putting up a fight to kiss you. 

“It’s the rules!” Daisy shouted, garnering the attention of more people. 

Exasperated, Bucky sighed. “Listen, Dorothy—“

“It’s Daisy.” 

“—If I were interested in you,” he spoke over her. “I would have asked for you. That is the whole concept behind this kissing booth, right? You know the idea you didn’t come up with.” 

Daisy’s cheeks turned bright red while the people who listened in from the queue snickered at her expense. 

Bucky glanced back at you, his lips curling up while he still directed his words to her. “I should be grateful, though. You just made my job of making sure no one else got to Bunny before me so much easier. Thanks Denise, you can go now.” 

The hushed laughter of the students was agonizing, even for you. Therefore there was only so much painful embarrassment the ice queen herself could take. Defeated, Daisy spun around with a huff and stormed off. 

You followed her retreating back, half panicked about the fallout it could cause in the future. But you were brought back to the present as Bucky held his hand palm up between you. “What do you say, then? Wanna get outta here, Bunny?”

Looking up at him, his eyes gleamed with mischief and satisfaction. A small bout of confidence gave you the courage to stand up, take his hand and be led into what was bound to be danger. “Yes please.” 

His hand engulfed yours while he trailed you away from the swarm of people on campus, whoops and hollers fading into the distance, and to a secluded alleyway. Gently, Bucky backed you up against the wall and stood in front of you, leaving hardly any room between you. The light breeze along with the cold bricks chilled your bare arms from your cheer outfit as goosebumps cascaded over your skin. 

“You cold, angel?” Bucky asked, a tenderness to his voice. 

“N-No, not r-really.” You tried to lie, not wanting to be a pain. But the stutter to your response as you shivered didn’t help your case.

He smiled while he shook his head. “Stubborn girl.” Pulling his arms out of the sleeves, Bucky shucked off his hoodie and wrapped it over your shoulders. “Perfect.”

His intoxicating scent hit you all at once — it was an effort to not bury your head into the material and deeply inhale. 

Instead, you shyly gazed into his eyes. “I actually wanted to thank you for the other day. With—with Tony,” you clarified. “I didn’t get to say it before.” 

Bucky drew closer to you. “That was nothing, pretty girl.”

The thick tension in the air and the proximity between you, so similar to the events in the storage closet, caused you to overshare. “You’re not actually so scary Bucky—like everyone says you are. You’re actually kind of like a big teddy—“ You cut yourself off, too embarrassed to continue what you were saying. 

He lifted your chin with his finger to look at him. “Ah ah, don’t stop there, Bunny.” His nickname for you sent tingles shooting up your thighs. “Carry on.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I was going to say you remind me of a teddy bear, because you’re soft on the inside even if you do look a little scary on the outside.” Biting your bottom lip, you slowly opened your eyes. 

Bucky smirked. “Yeah? You scared a’me, sweetheart?” 

“Nu-uh,” you whispered as you shook your head with hooded eyes, placing your hands over his chest. “I really like how you look.” 

Bucky grinned even wider. His large hands firmly gripped your face, eyes boring into yours. “I like how you look too, baby.” He pressed you further against the wall, licking his lips with animalistic hunger. His thumb smoothed over the pulse in your neck, watching with rapt attention as he felt the steady pump of blood.

Bucky was intense, full on and the epitome of your parent’s worst nightmare. But you just couldn’t find it in you to care. Sharon’s warnings, the common sense in your head — they were fighting a losing battle. You were doomed from the moment you met him. 

“Y’know what else I like, Angel?” Bucky closed the distance between you, the weight of his body delicious while he skimmed his lips over the sensitive skin of your neck. “I like that a sweet innocent little thing like you can’t stay away from me either.” 

“You don’t make it very easy,” you gasped as his tongue swept over the skin behind your ear. 

He chuckled breathily. “Does your friend know you’re with me?”

You timidly shook your head. “N-No. She's with her b-boyfriend.”

“Oh.” The sensation of his teeth scraping the lobe of your ear forced a whine out of you. “So my Bunny’s bein’ a bad girl, right now?”

Your fingers tangled in the material of his shirt, pulling him closer. “Mhm.” 

“Good,” he growled. “You’re not escapin’ me this time. No running away from Bear. I paid for my kiss after all.” 

With a crazed look in his eyes, he ripped himself out of your neck and tightened his fingers into your hair, pulling you into him to crush his lips against yours. 

“Mmph!” There was no time to process what was happening. Bucky’s fervid desire was blazing, like he couldn’t possibly stand the thought of not touching you for another second. 

His tongue snaked into your mouth and you moaned at the delectable feel of his piercing flicking against your own tongue. The wet slaps of your lips while you made out echoed down the dingy alleyway; it was far from a comfy bed, but the rough brick scraping against your back strangely heightened your excitement. 

Bucky suddenly grabbed your leg and hiked it over his hips. Saliva strung from his lips as he quickly pulled away to breathe into your open mouth. “Holy shit.” His chest rose and fell erratically, but a salacious grin decorated his face as though the struggle to catch his breath was exhilarating to him. “You’re sexy as fuck, Bunny.”

Your head spun from desire, a burning fever coursing through your veins like never before. “I’m so dizzy,” you slurred, completely relying on Bucky for balance.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he cooed before grinding his hips against your heat. “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet.” 

The material of his denim jeans rubbed tantalisingly over your thin underwear — you felt the full force of his bulge against your covered cunt as your tiny skirt raised up. 

You clawed desperately at his neck while your eyes rolled back. “Bear—please—”

“That’s right. Sing for me, baby,” he murmured, eyeing your neck with want. Your cries bounced off the brick walls when he began sucking your skin, just above your collarbone. 

“Never—oh god—I've never done anything like this before,” you panted.

Bucky pulled away with a wet pop. You watched as his eyes dilated at the sight of a dark hickey staining your neck. “Don’t you fuckin’ worry about that. I’ll take care of you.” 

Sharon’s warning still danced around in your head, a small voice clinging on to your last shred of restraint. “But—”

“Shh, Bunny baby.” He looked at you then, with his bright blue eyes and swollen lips. You hung onto his every word, even when the tips of his fingers teased the inside of your thigh. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re with me now.” 

And just as Bucky pulled the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, you knew you were a devout sinner, ready to let him take over the entirety of your mind when he said, “Daddy’s never gonna let his Angel go.” 

The pads of his two fingers slowly slid through the middle of your folds, the substantial amount of slick making the glide easy for him. “Oh fuck me,” he gasped. “Baby, you’re fuckin’ drippin’.” 

Words were lost on you. Your nails dug deeply into his arms while you struggled to stand on one leg without shaking. “I—oh my god—I can’t.” 

You missed the awestruck expression on Bucky’s face as he watched his own fingers move over your sex, the glisten of his rings coated with your arousal. With a sudden growl, he slapped your pussy, splatters of your wetness flicking over his forearm while you yelped in surprise. “Mm—that’s the good shit right there.” 

He seemed to be entranced, lost in his own world as you clung to him. “Bear,” you whined needily. “Bear, I need you.” 

But your cries went ignored. At least, only until he slowly sunk two fingers into your tight hole and made you scream out his name. “Bucky!” 

The groan that rumbled through his chest vibrated through your whole body. His free arm slithered around your waist and pulled you into him. Blowing the strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes, he stared you down while he continued to fuck you with his fingers, each time grinding them into you as deep as possible and basking in the fluttering of your eyes. “You fuckin’ love that, don’t you, huh? Love Daddy shoving his fingers so far into your wet cunt?” 

All you could do was nod dumbly, your head heavy and clouded over with lust. 

“Of course you fuckin’ do.” Bucky laughed before suddenly pulling his fingers out of you and leaving you emptier than you felt before him. 

You whined loudly with the sudden loss of fullness and slumped against him. “W-What—what’s goin’—Bucky—”

The sound of slurping beside your ear caused you to lift your heavy head with immense effort to the sight of Bucky sucking each of his fingers that had just been inside of you, like a starved bear. It winded you. He made sure to lick down to the knuckles, not a drop of your essence left untouched, even as he rolled his tongue over his rings. 

You watched, dazed and dizzy until he hummed in satisfaction and finally opened his eyes to look at you. “You taste fuckin’ incredible.” 

The fuzziness of your head switched off the part of your brain that made you tremble in his presence. You were holding on by a thread as you mumbled a “T-Thank you.” 

A couple of seconds passed by with your heaving breaths and an unbearable knot pulsing away in your lower stomach. Though, Bucky soon interrupted the silence. “Wanna come take a look at my car?”

You frowned, an unfulfilled orgasm made you feel delirious. Had you heard him right? He had just stuffed you with his fingers, literally leaving you a disheveled mess on his shoulder and he asked if you wanted to go see his car?

“It’s a Mustang Mach 1. She’s a real beauty.” Bucky offered, as though the model type would sway you to say yes when you knew absolutely nothing about cars. He seemed so casual and so the only way you thought to act was the complete same. 

Nodding your head, you took a deep breath and replied. “S-Sure.” 

Grabbing your hand, he grinned and began walking you to the parking lot of the campus. 

Little did you know, your very own devil was about to drag you into the pits of hell, tarnishing your white wings and making you his queen of the underworld. 

“Oh my god—Bear, please!” 

“Right fuckin’ there baby, ride my fuckin’ dick like the good girl you are.” Bucky’s fingers dug into the skin of your hips while you bounced on his cock, the skirt of your uniform bunched around your waist. “That's it, Bunny. Keep on hoppin’ for daddy, sweet girl.”

When Bucky had asked if you wanted to see his car, you truly thought that was what his intentions were. Even if he had just fucked you with his fingers, your naivety still let you believe he had no ulterior motives. Oh, how wrong you were. 

You followed him blindly when he wanted to show you the interior, thinking nothing of the fact that he made you climb over the console and into the backseat for comfortability. 

But now, as the windows fogged up and your bare tits bounced up and down since Bucky had torn his hoodie and the shirt of your cheer uniform over your shoulders, the only nonsensical thought your mind could supply was how much of a sucker you were for temptation — an innocent lamb ready to sin. 

The meat of your asscheeks clapped against his thick thighs while your hand slammed against the window; the built up perspiration inside the car coming away as your palm slid down with a screech. “So—so big—you’re so big, Bear.” 

Bucky’s sweat-stricken hair stuck to each side of his temple and he grunted deeply while the sound of your slick sloshed over his cock. “God, you’re leakin’ all over my dick.” He looked down and grinned at the sight of him stretching your hole wide open. “So fuckin’ wet for me, bun bun.” 

Your needy whines were music to his ears as you threw your head back. “Mm—can’t help it—you— you do this to m-me.” 

That seemed to please him greatly. “Yeah, Bunny?”

Bucky grabbed you by the chin, the chunky rings on his fingers indenting marks onto your protruding cheeks. “Who’s cock is stuffin’ your cunt full, huh? Who’s fuckin’ makin’ you soaked? Tell me, baby.” 

“Y-You, Bear,” you moaned.

But Bucky wasn’t satisfied. “Say it like you fuckin’ mean it.” 

“You’re keeping me full, baby! Daddy’s making me all wet!”

Bucky groaned with a sinister smile. “That’s more fuckin’ like it.” The thrust of his hips began to piston up into you and his balls slapped against the meat of your ass with the force. “Look at ya—all dumbed out ‘cause Daddy’s so deep in your hole.”  

Drool started to dribble down your chin. The tip of his cock hit the sensitive nerves in your cunt just right and words were the last thing on your mind. “Can’t even think for me, can you, baby?” 

The car bobbed up and down with the fast rhythm between the two of you, the suspension taking most of the beating. If you were of more sane mind, you would have been mortified with the thought of the scene should anyone walk by the parking lot. But as the muscles in your thighs burned from exertion, you couldn’t find it in you to care; not for the life of you would you stop, not when you had never felt such sinful pleasure in all your life. “I'm aching, Bear—please—I need more.” 

Bucky’s eyes rolled back with the sweetest plea he had ever heard. With a growl, he ripped his hands from your waist and spanked your tits before wrapping them both around your neck to bring you nose to nose with him. “Don’t gotta do anything else but this baby, keep makin’ me feel good, yeah? Gonna fuckin’ blow soon.” 

“Oh,” you whimpered. Your clit tingled with the prospect of Bucky cumming inside of your cunt and with a newfound energy, you worked harder to ride his cock. 

Gazing at you with hooded eyes, he chuckled deliriously. “Sound good, bunny? Want me to blow my load inside a’ya?” 

“Yes!” you pleaded, nodding your head desperately. “Want you to cum in my tight pussy, Bear.” 

He laughed hysterically. “Look at how far you’ve come, Angel. Taking what you want like you own it.” 

Your nails dug into the skin of Bucky’s chest. The quick glide of his cock in and out of your cunt was too much for you, so much that your mouth hung open shamelessly.

“Such a good slut for me, bunny—you wanna be my slutty little bunny, huh?” Gripping your throat tightly, he manhandled you away from his forehead to hold you up like a ragdoll. When you didn’t answer he lightly slapped your cheek until your eyes widened and looked at him. “Answer me you fuckin’ slut.” 

“Yes Daddy!” you cried. “Please—I just wanna cum. Let me cum!” 

Bucky bit his bottom lip as he looked down at your pussy sucking him in. “I don’t know, pretty baby. I don’t think you wan’ it bad enough.” 

He was toying with you. You were a wreck in his hold with tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“I do—I do!” you swallowed against the dryness of your mouth as you fought for breath. “Do anything—I’ll do anything for you, Bear. It's too much—please!” 

“You cryin’ for me?” He laughed breathlessly. Sitting up with an excited vigor, Bucky licked the tear tracks on your cheek, still managing to thrust up into you while he whispered into your ear with a moan. “So goddamn beautiful when you cry for me.” 

Running the tip of his finger down your stomach and down to your pussy, he forewent touching your throbbing clit and instead teased it against your already stuffed hole. 

You gasped harshly at the feel of him pushing against your stretched cunt. “B-Bucky! N-No you can’t, you’re already—I’m already so full.” 

But you were hopeless to the devil on your shoulder, the same one who began inching his finger beside his cock and pushing it into you. “Shhh, you can take it, baby. Make Daddy Bear proud.” 

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed your eyes closed tightly as your slick helped to suck in both his cock and his finger. The sensation was unusual, but somehow you wanted more. Your mouth hung open on a silent scream. 

“There’s a good Bunny—knew you could do it, sweetheart.” Bucky rubbed his thumb over the skin of your throat soothingly, giving you a couple of seconds to get used to the new feeling. But as soon as he felt the flutter of your pussy, he grinned wickedly and hooked his finger over the soft spongy spot inside of you. “Now hold on tight while I ruin your cunt.” 

A loud squeak was finally forced out of you once he began fucking back up into you. You thought you felt full before, now you were holding onto the last of your sanity; lost in the pits of a torturous yet addicting feeling.  

“What’s a’matter, hm? Thought you were already too full, baby? But just look at your slutty little pussy taking more.” Bucky hummed with a nefarious gleam in his eye. “Wonder if I could get my full fist in you.” 

The juices from your cunt squelched loudly, dripping down the length of Bucky’s finger and gathering in the palm of his hand. The image of him steadily working you up to take the size of his fist, imagining the wide gape your hole would make as you clenched around his wrist was too much for your already overstimulated self to handle. 

“Wan’ it,” you garbled around the spit in your mouth. You could barely keep your eyes open as you withstood the battering your pussy was so greedily taking. “Wan’ you to fuck me with your whole hand, Bear.” 

Bucky sucked bruises on the skin of your tits as they bounced in his face, the wicked intent smothering his face deepening the more you lost your will to him. “Fuck, angel. You really are perfect.” 

With his free hand, he palmed your ass, forcing you to bounce on him even harder. “We’re gonna have so much fun together, yknow that, baby?” His voice rang like a melody in your head, one you were becoming lost to. “Yeah. Daddy’s gonna teach you all kind of new things, pretty girl.” 

The blossoming ache in your lower stomach magnified into a tight ball of pleasure, your clit painfully throbbing with the need to let go. 

“I can’t—,” you sobbed. “I need to—gotta cum, Bucky—please.”

“Are you askin’ me permission, sweetheart?” 

“Yes!” You cried to the roof of the car. “Please—please Daddy—please let me cum. I can’t hold it any l-longer.” 

“You gonna cream all over Daddy’s hand, baby?” Bcuky’s voice grew hoarser as he pistoned his hips into your waiting cunt, meeting you each time you threw yourself down. “Gonna give me your sweet little cunt juices so I can taste you again?” 

“Ugh!” You whined, high pitched. “Anything you want—anything you want!” 

You were balancing on the fence between heaven and hell; the lines of pain and pleasure blurring so much that you were sure you were going to pass out as your legs shook and your stomach cramped with refrained edging. 

But by some almighty higher force, your prayers were answered when Bucky’s fingers harshly pinched your enlarged clit and twisted, timing his motion perfecting with a scrape of his fingertip against your inner walls. “Make a mess on me then, Bunny.” 

White noise blasted over the deafening screams released from your inner core, the rattle of the bouncing car and Bucky’s deep moans as your pussy clenched unforgivingly around his cock. Your soul seemed to ascend, overtaken by some unnatural force as your limbs seized and became weightless all at once. 

It was like your body wasn’t yours anymore, like you weren’t actually present as your conscience waned in and out. One second you felt the explosive ricochets of electricity dance along your veins, and another you were sure you blacked out. 

Your clouded mind came back into focus as a pair of hands squeezed your hips, your sex clamping down tightly on the length of a cock grinding inside of you. 

“You were so fuckin’ good, Bun.” Bucky’s gruff timber woke you up fully. The sight of him licking your combined juices as he stared heatedly between your legs brought you back to the current. 

Looking down, you blinked several times to find a thick load of milky white cum leaking from your hole. 

“You—,” you swallowed the dryness of your throat as you tried to gather your thoughts. “You c-came in me.” 

Leaning his head back against the seat, Bucky laughed with a fucked out smile. “I absolutely fuckin’ did, Angel.” He thrusted up into you one last time, smirking at the yelp you let out. “And don’t you look a pretty picture.” 

Your bashfulness came back in full force as you buried your neck into Bucky’s chest, slumping onto his body with a whine, his cock still hard in your cunt. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, baby.” He sighed, satisfied as he grabbed a smoke from his front pocket half way down his thighs. “You did real good for me, sweetheart.” 

You turned your head into his cheek. “I did?” You asked, craving his validation. 

Lighting his joint and taking a hit, Bucky blew out the smoke from his mouth, grabbed your chin and fused his lips to yours once more, taking no preamble or measures before tangling his tongue with yours. 

You whimpered as the taste of weed teased your tastebuds, squirming unashamedly, even when more of Bucky’s load rolled down your legs. 

Regretfully soon, his lips left yours and he gave you one last peck to your forehead before bringing you to rest on his chest again. 

“I’m fuckin’ keepin’ you, bunny baby.” Bucky slapped your ass and you jolted, clenching around him as you whined out loud. His tongue darted out to lick his raw-bitten lips, a hungry smirk on his face while he squeezed the bruised, sore flesh. “All mine.”

[bambi-lamb]

throatfuck

Summary: Wanda likes you on your knees. You're also a fan.

Tags: wanda maximoff x f!reader, 18+, smut, deepthroating, magic cock, come swallowing, choking/gagging, mommy kink

WC: 1,356

A/N: fic is below the cut as per usual — have fun! (i fear y'all may be left high and dry for a bit since it's midterm season)

Spit runs down the side of your mouth, and you flick your eyes up, distantly aware of the red glow in Wanda's eyes. All you can really feel, all that anchors you, is the feeling of Wanda's fingers, pressed against your hair. Her palms are clamped over your ears as she scratches lightly against your scalp. She's exerting just enough force to pull your head down, keeping you anchored.

Well, you can feel that, and the pulsing strap-on stretching open your throat.

Wanda's magic has always been a wonder to behold, and this faux, enchanted cock is certainly no exception.

You moan lowly as Wanda pulls you down harder, her hips bucking up, her throbbing length sliding in deeper and stoppering any of your attempts to breathe. It's a delicious sort of torture, bending to her every whim, fully puppeteered by just her hands and fingers.

"You feel so good," Wanda moans from somewhere above, the words faded and distant, warped, as if they're coming through water.

The haze clouding your thoughts thickens as the glowing strap presses deeper. You groan again, the sound muffled around the intrusion, desperate for a breath of air. Well, moreso for Wanda to come already. It's all you've been waiting for all day, ever since Wanda left in the morning.

Wanda pulls back again, fingers gentling where they hold the sides of your head. Her fingers brush underneath your eyes, wiping away the tears that have collected there as she coos down at you.

"My good girl, taking it so well."

You moan, hoarse and needy, and run your tongue up the length of Wanda's cock, pausing to suckle softly on the tip. The motion elicits a soft gasp, and Wanda's hips twitch up, inadvertently pushing the cock back down your throat.

"Detka," she murmurs, hands stroking your face as you try your best to open your throat for her. The thick intrusion pulses against your tongue, and you hum softly, face warm and mouth content as drool slips out past your lips.

In your eagerness to take all of her at once, she bumps against your gag reflex. You react viscerally, more tears streaming down your face, but Wanda's suddenly firm hands don't allow any wiggle room. She holds your head in place, crooning softly as the feeling subsides, for you to swallow it back down. Only then does she pull back, a sickly sweet smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"You're doing so well for me, pretty girl" she coos.

The only response you can provide is an unintelligible burble of noise. She doesn't wait to hear your messy sounds, fucking right back into your mouth, slow, agonizing, and filling. It's all you need for your mind to go completely blank.

Wanda moans again, and then begins to set a steady rhythm. The slick noises of her thrusting echo around the empty room as she pulls the faux cock back past your lips. She watches with keen eyes when you lean forward, tongue swirling around the head of her strap as you chase the rest of the length.

The shlick pull is closely followed by a familiar muffled, choked noise as she thrusts back in, bumping the back of your throat and sliding down as far as she can. Her fingers are sticky where they rest against the sides of your face, your spit coating her fingertips.

It takes a few tries, and your eyes are red by the time Wanda manages to succeed, but soon enough, she's able to bottom out completely. Your nose brushes against red curls as she presses in to the hilt, filling you to the brim.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you completely bliss out. The heat of arousal pulses between your legs where a pool of slick is slowly forming. Your cunt throbs in time with Wanda's harsh thrusts, and you moan as she takes and takes and takes.

"My pretty girl, aren't you?" she croons. "So good for me. Such a nice little throat, all for me to use, hm?"

Her voice is devastatingly saccharine, sweet and poisonous even as she lavishes compliments on you.

You nod weakly, moaning as Wanda pulls you in again, fingers grasping at your hair as she fucks down the length of your throat. She keeps you pressed there, unmoving, unable to breathe, watching as your face cycles through shades of red, magenta, and purple before she pulls back again.

"Such a sweet girl," she hums.

You lave the head of her cock with your tongue eagerly, always seeking to please, and make a mess of yourself between your thighs.

"Do you want mommy to come?" she asks, light and airy. Casual. As if she's asking what you want for dinner.

You nod eagerly, cheeks hollowing out as you suck on the tip of her cock, eyes rolling back when she arches and you're fed several more inches of warm silicone.

"Mm, hold on for me, detka," she murmurs.

And then Wanda pushes back in, slamming into your throat before she's back out again, tip hovering just behind your teeth. Your jaw feels sore as she pulls back out and shoves back in, fucking your throat for all you have.

She fucks violently, passionately, desperately. All the things you love so much about her. She huffs sharply, panting as you take her cock over and over and over again. Before long, you can feel her pulsing harder, throbbing and leaking pre-come so heavy you can barely swallow it.

You moan around her, hoping to spur her on and encourage her orgasm, and Wanda's hips shiver where she's pressed against you. She whimpers high in her throat, the first real reaction you've been able to elicit. When you whimper in response, she keens into the air, head thrown back. Hilted fully in your throat, Wanda rotates her hips just slightly, moaning when you make a choked, garbled noise. Her cock throbs harder, and you're just trying your best not to pass out.

This isn't anything new. Every time you offer a blowjob, she takes full advantage, holding her enchanted strap in as long as she can, as long as you can take it. You wait it out, feeling your lungs run empty, vision blurring. She pulls out, and a rush of cold air fills your lungs. Relief before she pushes back in again.

You bring your hands up, shaky and trembling, and press softly at the base of her cock. She shivers again, and you moan in response, causing her to tremble over and over again, a feedback loop of stimulation until finally, finally the dam breaks. Wanda stiffens entirely, and you can feel the blush high on your cheeks as your breath runs thin, and then her faux cock throbs one last time before you feel thick come pulsing down your throat, deposited directly into your stomach.

She pulls out a little after the first few pulses and pulls your mouth open by the teeth to watch with lidded eyes as her cock pulses the remainder of her come out onto your tongue.

You moan and close your mouth when her fingers retreat, sucking on her softening cock to milk her dry. Wanda taps on your cheek again, and you open your mouth, watching as her eyes glaze over at the sight of your full mouth.

"My pretty girl," she murmurs, hushed and exhausted, cock flagging once.

"You can swallow now," she hums.

You acquiesce, feeling the way warmth travels down your neck, settling somewhere lower. A new heat, joining the one that's resting between your loins.

"Mommy," you murmur, reveling in the sticky tanginess of her come clinging to the back of your throat. "Will you fuck me now?"

Wanda grins with all her teeth, sharp and gleaming in the dim lamplight of the bedroom, and yanks you to your feet. She pulls you down into her lap and presses a soft kiss to your mouth, her lips plush and heavy over yours.

Her green eyes seem to glow when she pulls back.

"Thought you'd never ask, detka."

[number1jeonginstan]

A/N: Ngl, this was supposed to be a drabble… Anyway, I was listening to 2nd gen K-pop while listening to this, which is so counterintuitive because I was vibing to Gee while writing some of the craziest smut I’ve written in a while. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy <333 Answers 🥟 anon's request!

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: Roomate Perv!Hyunjin x Perv!afab Reader

WC: 3k (oh!)

Warnings: Pervy reader and Jinnie, unprotected sex, m!masturbation, f!masturbation, use of vibrator, call reader names (whore, slut, good girl, ect…)

Your window cracked ever so slightly, allowing you to feel the spring breeze, but not enough to allow bugs and pollen to infiltrate your room. Your clock in the corner of your room was clicking away as the seconds passed. The only thing on your mind was what you were going to order for dinner. Before you could even shout out to your roommate, asking him what he wanted to eat, he barged into your room. The door ricocheted off the stopper causing you to look up. 

“What do you want to eat Hwang?” you asked, turning around so your back was touching your bed. He knew it was your week to order food, but that wasn’t what he was here for. “Just get whatever, I’m not picky”

Before he could even continue, you cut him off, stopping him mid-sentence, his mouth hung open.

“Dude, last time you said that you threw a 45-minute tantrum of how ‘it wasn’t what you wanted’ and made me order a whole separate dish, only for you to eat mine because you were hungry and didn’t want to wait that long.”

“Hey, if you got it right the first time, we wouldn’t have been in that situation” he huffed, jumping on your bed, causing you to lift a bit. 

He was wearing a black hoodie and some gray sweatpants, per usual. His new eyebrow piercing was right in your face as you turned to him. He chuckled, stealing your phone, and looking through the options to eat from. 

Turning around so your breasts were pushed against your bed. They were slightly spilling out from your tanktop, but it was too warm to care. You didn’t understand how your friend wasn’t burning up in his outfit, but you didn’t care enough to ask. 

“So, what are we getting to eat” you asked, trying to take your phone back from his grasp, but he stopped you. 

Damn him and his weirdly long fingers that no man should have. “I was thinking, beer and chicken? It’s simple enough and we still have some cans left over so I won’t drain your bank account” he grinned. 

You simply nodded, telling him to order it while you went to the bathroom. What you didn’t know was that wasn’t all Hyunjin did. A couple of weeks ago, when he asked to borrow your phone to send pictures of himself from a party the two of you attended with the rest of your friends, he saw pictures you took of yourself, in the cutest set he’s ever seen. 

He knows that he constantly sees you in your short clothes all the time, but something about you wearing a pink lacy set had him weak in his knees. He came twice just thinking about it, the image burned into the back of his retinas. 

He needed to see it again, so while you were doing your nighttime skincare routine, he went through your phone trying to find the photo. What he didn’t expect was there to be multiple angles and even multiple sets. He felt his cock harden in his pants, trying not to groan at the sight of you in barely anything. 

He quickly took out his phone from his hoodie pocket, making sure that you weren’t out yet, and airdropped himself the photos, so there wasn’t any evidence of what he was doing. 

He put his phone back in his pocket and exited out of your photos app just in time. You came out of the bathroom, your hair pushed back with a bunny hair band, whilst tossing one to him. “Come on, you know the drill” you giggled as he took off his hoodie, revealing his toned stomach and navel piercing.

He had gotten it with his eyebrow piercing after Jisung had dared him to. You were there for the entire thing, not expecting him to actually go through with it, but for some reason he did. It looked good though, so you weren’t going to complain. 

He eventually put on the headband, after a minute of his dramatic sighs and protests. You knew he could never say no to you. You giggled at him, realizing how silly you both looked, but not complaining. 

You pulled at him, trying to drag him off your bed so the two of you could watch a movie in the comfort of your living room. 

The layout of your apartment was a bit off. Your rooms were right next to each other, and you both had your own bathrooms and walk-in closet. Which was nice, especially due to how much money the two of you spent on clothes. 

Your living room was much smaller than others, connecting to your kitchen, but the two of you didn’t complain. It was homey and perfect for the two of you, and for the rest of your friends whenever they came over for your week’s movie night. 

You both finally made it to the living room after Jinnie complained that “your bed is too comfortable” and “How am I supposed to leave if Sergent Bingo doesn’t want me to?” 

You giggled at that, knowing how much he loved the stuffed animal that lived on your bed that he had won for you at the fair the first year of living together. 

“I think he will live, plus we can bring him with us if it means so much to you!” 

He just sighed as he got up, wrapping his arms around the stuffed bear and muttering about how Bingo didn’t appreciate being moved from his habitat. 

“You are such a big baby” you giggled, sitting on the couch next to him, wrapping a blanket around your body as you attempted to find something for the two of you to watch. 

“Am not” 

“Are too”  

Before he could rebuttal, the doorbell rang, causing you both to turn your heads. “Foods here” You got up, throwing the blanket at his face, laughing at his shocked expression. 

You got the food from the delivery man, thanking him for walking up all the steps to your apartment. “What did you order again?” you yelled from the kitchen, getting paper plates and beer cans from the fridge. 

“I got those cheese balls that you always fawn over, then just original and galbi because we both like that” 

You got back to your seat, cracking open one of the cans of beer as the two of you began to watch a K-drama that Seungmin had recommended, Move To Heaven.

Two episodes in, and the two of you were sobbing, the food was gone, and the beers that were previously in your hands were splayed across the table. 

“I can’t believe that happened to him, what did he do to deserve this?” you sobbed, hugged Hyunjin who was also on the verge of tears. 

“I mean, who kills them off the first episode, like he did not need that happening to him” he said, hugging you back. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, wiping the tears off your face as you turned off the TV. Hyunjin threw away all the boxes and plates as you collected the blankets, folding them and putting them away in the storage closet next to the living room. 

“Good night, sleep tight!” you said to Hyunjin as he began walking to his room. He bid you a good night as well, laughing at the way you were holding Sergent Bingo above your head as you entered your room. 

Little did either of you know that you were in fact not sleeping tight.

You had taken out the vibrator your friend had gifted to you for your birthday, making sure it was fully charged before pressing it against your clit. It was small, but it did the job perfectly, always leaving you satisfied. 

You usually never got off when Hyunjin was home, but you had been so pent up for the last month, that you just had to do something about it. You couldn’t wait any longer, you removed your shorts and underwear in one go and began to tease your slit. 

You could feel the cool air hitting your legs and cunt, the small hairs on your legs sticking up at the sensation, but you ignored it, the only thing on your mind being Hyunjin. 

The way he looked today, the way he smelt. You would think a grown man wearing a bunny headband couldn’t be hot, but you were wrong. The way he licked his fingers, trying to get the sauce off them, all you could imagine if that was how he would eat you out.

Would he suck on your clit like he did his fingers, how would they feel inside you? You thought back to his grey sweatpants, the way you could see the imprint of his dick against them, causing you to rub your thighs in front of him. You prayed that he didn’t see you, but if he did would he help you?

You could feel yourself getting wetter at every passing moment, your finger rubbing against your clit. It wasn’t enough though, you needed more stimulation or else you wouldn’t be able to get anywhere. 

You turned on your vibrator, allowing the low hum of it to overtake your room. You began to slowly press it against your clit, low moans escaping your lips as you press it harder onto yourself. You tried to keep quiet, but it felt so fucking good, that you didn’t notice the moans escaping your lips. 

But Hyunjin noticed, he could hear each moan escaping your lips. He was devouring each one like it was a hymn. He could feel his cock getting harder, straining against his boxers and sweats, it isn’t weird that he’s hearing you right?

If he just happens to jerk off right now, it wouldn’t be weird, right? He just happened to feel the need to get off at the same time as you. It wasn’t your moans that were making him this hard. 

That’s what he kept telling himself as he pulled his cock out of his boxers and sweats. He began to languidly stroke his cock to the sounds of your moans, using the pre-cum leaking from his tip as lube. 

He slowly pulled out his phone, looking at the pictures that he had airdropped himself earlier. Were you wearing the set you had in the picture, were you lying down like this, all pretty with your legs spread out just for him? 

Would you be able to take his cock, or would you whine that it’s too much, how your tight little cunt couldn’t take it? 

His body shivered as he could feel himself getting closer, but it all stopped when he heard another broken moan escape your lips.

“Jinnie-ah” 

He couldn’t believe it, you weren’t moaning his name. It was just his imagination until he heard it again. The whimper that escaped your lips as you moaned out his name. 

“Hyunjin, fuckkk” 

His body went rigid, he quickly got up, dressed himself, and pressed his ear against your shared wall. He needed to hear you say his name again. He had to make sure it was his name you were moaning. 

You couldn’t cum, it wasn’t enough, no matter how much you tried. You were so pent up, you needed to cum, but you just couldn’t, so you began crying. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to fuck yourself with your fingers as your vibrator was still attacking your clit, but it wasn’t enough. 

That was til you heard your door creak open, there you saw Hyunjin. You tried to cover your body as fast as you could, but he didn’t let you, ripping your blanket off your body, leaving you in just your tank top. 

“Such a fucking whore, moaning my name. You were just begging for me to hear you, right baby? Poor little thing can’t cum by herself, she needs my fingers, doesn’t she?”  

You just nodded, no longer feeling ashamed, feeling the need to cum. “It’s okay baby, I’m here to help. Sometimes whores can’t get off by themselves, that’s why you need me”

He got on top of you, his knees pressed into your bed, trapping your thighs between them. He kissed your lips, nibbling at your bottom lip before moving his lips down to your neck, sucking at your skin. 

“Who do you need baby?” he asked, removing his lips from your neck, running his finger against your slit, feeling how wet you were.

“Need you” you whined underneath him as his finger pressed against your clit. “Then why were you using this instead of coming to me?” he asked, holding up your vibrator. 

“Is this better than me?” he asked, pressing his finger against your clit, causing you to moan. “Come on baby, you can’t be this dumb?” He asked you again, slapping your face slightly, sticking his thumb in your mouth, causing you to suck. 

“It’s okay, I can make you cum like the whore you are” he chuckled before taking his finger out of your mouth and began to finger your hole. “Fuck you are so tight” 

“Mhm, only for you Jinnie” you moaned as he began to thrust his fingers faster into you, adding another one. Your walls were clenching around him. “Look at you, so close to cumming. Can’t believe you were using this flimsy little thing. Should we see if it really works?” 

Before you could even comprehend what was going on, he turned on your vibrator, pressing it against your clit. 

“FUCK!” you moaned, you felt like you were so close to cumming, it only took Hyunjin another curl of his fingers in your cunt to make you cum around his fingers. Your body was convulsing around him, your thighs enclasping his hands. 

“Ah ah, you are going to take my cock baby. Why do I think I prepped you? Moaning my name like the fucking slut you are. You are the one who caused this” he whispered into your ear while dragging your hand to his pants, allowing you to feel how hard his cock was for you.

He flipped you around while pulling down his own boxers and sweats, throwing them somewhere in your room. You took a look behind you to see his cock, and your jaw dropped. He was huge in length, not as much in girth, but his cock was so pretty. 

His tip was pink and leaking precum while he had multiple veins running alongside his cock. “How is that going to fit?” you whimpered, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit baby.” 

He slapped his cock on your ass before sliding the tip along your slit, causing you to moan. He lifted you by your hair, wrapping it around his hand, causing you to cry at the sharp sting. “Look at my cock baby, fuck, have never felt this fucking hard in my life. You are gonna make me feel good aren’t you baby? Going to take my cock like the good girl you are” 

“Yes, gonna take your cock, gonna take it so well” you whimpered as he pushed the tip inside of you. 

“Feels so good” you moaned as he let go of your hair, your head loling on the side of your pillow. 

“Fuck baby, barely have the tip in and you are so fucking tight. Can’t wait til I make you mine” 

He slowly began to thrust his cock into you, adding an inch at a time. But as your walls clenched around him, he lost all of his patience, thrusting his cock deep inside of you.  

He slowly took his cock out of you, leaving only the tip in, only to thrust back into you with full force. 

“You planned this didn’t you?” he asked, as he continued to pound into you. Your face was deep in your pillows, your voice muffled, so he yanked at your hair, causing you to moan.

“Speak when you are spoken you slut” he slapped your ass, causing you to moan. “You planned this didn’t you, the photos of you in your camera roll. You moaning my name so loud the entire floor could you” 

“What if I did?” you said giggling. This only enraged him more, causing him to thrust into you faster. Your hair was still in his hand, your back arched against his chest.  “Such a fucking whore, making me think I was a pervert when you orchestrated everything.” 

“Just wanted you, are you that mad at me” you whimpered as he took one of his hands to rub your clit. 

“I could never be mad at you baby, you know that” he kissed your neck before letting your hair go, your face falling back into the pillows. He lifted your hips a bit higher, causing you to scream out his name, which was fortunately muffled by the pillows underneath you. 

“I can feel you baby,” he said, feeling the way your walls were clamping his cock “cum for me baby, cum on my cock and take my cum like you’ve always wanted to” he said, kissing your back. 

That was all you needed to cum on his cock, he used one of his hands to muffle your screams, not wanting to wake everyone up. It didn’t end there though, he continued to rut into you, chasing his own high. 

“Please Jinnie, too much can’t take it anymore” you whimpered underneath him, but that didn’t stop him. He needed to cum, he needed to mark you as his. “Fuck baby, you can take it, just a little more there we go” 

He came with a moan, filling you up with cum and making you squirm underneath him. He kissed your lips before falling next to you, pushing the hair out of your face.

“I hope that was okay,” he said, looking at you a bit ashamed. 

“Okay? That was amazing, I think that’s the hardest I’ve ever cum in my life” you said, kissing his lips. “The only thing I think is not okay is Sergent Bingo, his poor innocent eyes” which caused you both you laugh. You both wrapped your arms around one another, falling asleep in each other’s embrace.

[ddejavvu]

jake with a shy!reader i feel like that man would be so down bad he’d be unrecognizable to his friends

Tailgating by the beach means sand in your hair (and everywhere else), a trash can full of beer bottles, and a whole lot of wipeouts. For most.

For you, it means Jake’s sweatshirt bunched up under your head like a pillow as your back rests against the metal grooves of his pickup’s bed. Your pinky is intertwined with the man’s own as you stargaze, avoiding the cloud of smoke billowing up from the bonfire.

“That one looks like an F-35.” He informs you, pointing at a constellation that is definitely not a fighter plane.

“I think that’s Draco.” You hum, “Not sure, though.”

Jake turns to you with a furrow in his brow, “That little shit from Harry Potter?”

“No!” You shriek, louder than you’re used to speaking. Jake has a way of making you forget your reservations, giving you the courage to speak up around him.

“It’s a constellation.” You quiet yourself, feeling Jake’s pinky tighten around yours. “I read that it was supposed to be in the sky tonight.”

“You read up on the stars?” Jake turns to you, propped on his side in the truck bed. It must be awful on his hips, but he does it anyways to gaze at your side profile.

You give him a front view, turning your head to stare back at him, “I didn’t do it on purpose, I just saw it on Instagram, I think. On someone’s story.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but neglects to return to stargazing. He’s yougazing now, his eyes tracing the curve from your chin to your cheek, then sloping down the bridge of your nose.

“Do you think-”

You’ll never know if you and Jake share thoughts on whatever matter is in his head, because a sudden thud against the mouth of the truck bed makes you startle, and Jake nearly breaks his neck sitting up to see who made the noise. You draw yourself upright but slower, more cautiously.

It’s one of his squadron members, you’ve seen the guy before in passing, but you don’t think he’s ever noticed you. He’s on the shorter side, and he’s quickly flanked by both Coyote and a taller, unknown counterpart.

“Hangman,” The short one snickers, “I was betting you were passed out somewhere with a bottle in your mouth, not schmoozing some poor woman in your truck.”

You’ve met Javy before, albeit briefly when you’d passed in the hallway of his and Jake’s shared apartment, and in the few terrifying seconds of confrontation your eyes stray over the man’s shoulder and meet Javy’s. He sends you a kind, sympathetic smile at the antics of his friend. You feel safe around him.

“What’s your name, honey?” The taller man leans over the side of the truck bed, a smirk on his face, “Last one was Brenda- no, Brianna.”

“Payback, that was months ago.” Javy snaps, and even though you know it’s true, Jake still looks guilty. He’d confessed in you that he wasn’t exactly a saint when it came to past relations, but all that mattered was the present for you; that you were the only one in it, and he’s stuck to that without a problem.

“I’m not schmoozing her, Fanboy.” Jake drawls, a vicious look in his eyes, “We were trying to have a private moment.”

Fanboy elbows Payback incredulously, shit-eating grins already on their faces, “Sex in a pickup! On the beach, in public. Jesus, man, there’s nothin’ you won’t do.”

“I won’t hesitate to break your nose if you don’t shut your mouth,” Jake seethes, and his free hand tenses into a fist even if he’s more bark than bite. Fanboy doesn't flinch, but Payback's smirk dims.

"Lay off, man." Coyote elbows Fanboy, "It's not like that."

"The only reason you've never met'er before is 'cause I knew you'd act like this," Jake scoffs, "Doesn't mean she's some cheap fling."

You desperately want to intervene, but you don't have the words to do it even if you tried. There's a thousand swirling in your brain, but there's a stopper in its drain to your mouth, a thick clog of panic.

"Well what is your name?" Payback repeats his question, more considerate this time. You're glad he seems to have dropped his bravado, even if you're not sure Fanboy has.

"Y/N," You manage to speak, glad that you know your own name well enough to utter it even when your brain doesn't cooperate. You don't say much else, though, and Javy fills in for your silence.

"She's Jake's girl," Javy smiles at you, happy to see his friend settling down, "She's not big on talking. Not to assholes like you, anyways."

"Well that's great," Fanboy's demeanor is much nicer when he's not goading his teammate, "'Cause Jake never shuts up. Sounds like a match made in heaven."

"I'm gonna send you to hell if you don't leave us alone," Jake glares pointedly at Fanboy in particular, but the expression is extended to Payback as well, "I wasn't kidding, we were having a conversation."

"That's our cue," Coyote informs the other two, who knew but weren't willing to give up their teasing leverage. He rings an arm each around their necks, bidding you a kind goodbye as he leads them away.

"Darlin'," Jake turns to you as soon as they're gone, like a guard dog that eases out of attack mode, "I'm so sorry. They don’t mean any harm, just- they seriously don't know when to quit, 'probably comes from bein' so aggressive in the air. I'm sorry they were so pushy."

"It's alright," You nod, "It's not your fault, Jake. I'm not angry, I just- I was a little embarrassed."

"I know," He hums sympathetically, leaning in to peck your lips, "I know baby. Listen, now they've met you, they'll probably back off. And if they don't, if you see 'em around somewhere and they try messin' with you, you let me know and I might accidentally fire on 'em in an exercise."

"I don't think you should murder your friends," You tamp down a smile at Jake's suggestion, because the last thing he needs is encouragement, "But I hope I don't see them when you're not around."

A hundred feet away, down on the smooth, wet sand of the shore, Coyote finally lets Payback and Fanboy go, shoving their heads down with the force of his grip around their necks.

"Ow, dude!" Fanboy gripes, but he deserves it the most, "If I'm gonna break my neck it's gonna be in the air, in some sick-ass stunt maneuver."

"Your sick ass needs to learn to shut up," Coyote scoffs, "He's serious about that girl, man! And I wouldn't be surprised if she was running for the hills now."

"C'mon, Coyote, we were just teasing," Payback pleads his case, but Coyote narrows his eyes.

"You can't tease her, not like that. Hell, the first time she ever came over I made a joke about wearing noise-cancelling headphones for them and she couldn't look me in the eye for weeks."

"The first time she came over," Payback's brow furrows, "He's been bringing her around your guys' place?"

"I told you he was serious," Coyote throws a glance back over to Jake's truck, where his hand is pointed in the air once more, "Know any other reason he'd be stargazing right now?"

Fanboy's face wrinkles in a confused grimace, "Stargazing? He's way too douchey for that."

"He's way too in love not to," Payback marvels, "Holy shit. That's- I can't process that, man, that's weird."

"Get used to it," Coyote takes a swig of his beer, "Y'know he's been lighting candles in our apartment for her? I mean, it's nice, 'cause it gets rid of his nasty laundry smell, but candles. Hangman, candles!"

Fanboy rears his head back, "What scent?"

"Lavender."

"Lavender?"

"I know!"

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Gobblick

Debut: Mario & Luigi: Brothership

The embargo on Brothership enemies that-I'm-not-sure-if-we-actually-had-or-not is OVER! Which MOD TWEETER is happy about, because she finally gets to talk about her favorite creature from the whole game: GOBBLICK!

From the success of fictional pitcher plants like Victreebel and...er...Victreebel, it's no secret that they've captured the hearts of millions worldwide! And yet, finding a decent video game pitcher plant in this day and age is hard. And that's sad! Especially since Wet-Dry World has arbitrarily decided my rent should be paid for in articles about video game pitcher plants!

Gobblick is SUCH a good pitcher plant design though, definitely worth the wait!! Look at that gut! Those spots! That big, long licker! The ridges on its leaf and lower jaw, seamlessly combining pitcher plant and bear trap aesthetics!

But, of course, the BIG show-stopper: EYES IN A VOID, BABY!!!! I love it!! It works PERFECT with the pitcher plant design! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they added them to REAL pitcher plants in a future update! They even remind me of that one talking pot in Winnie-the-Pooh that stuck onto my mind since I watched it as a child!

Since they're on the INSIDE of what is definitively its mouth, though, that raises the question...are these Gobblick's eyes at all? What if they're the eyes of something else? But...what would that something else be? A spider? A Lickitung? Perhaps it's the eyes of a treeshrew, and it's attacking out of embarrassment of us catching it using the bathroom? I'm sorry, hypothetical treeshrew! But you probably shouldn't stay in there, if that's the case, even if you're shy!

Or, most likely, these ARE the eyes of the noble Gobblick, and it uses them to watch its food go down! When you're a pitcher plant, is there honestly anything better to do?

Yes! And that thing is: attacking plumbers! Gobblick is such a fan of battling Mario & Luigi that he has not one, but TWO battles against them! That may not seem like a lot, but that's more than most Mario bosses in most single mainline games!

"Well, that's fine and all, but I bet none of its attacks include the coveted Root Attack," you might scoff. And you'd be wrong! Although real pitcher plant roots are, frankly, not really something to write home about, the root arms of Gobblick are able to dig through ground as they approach the brothers, in a way similar to Whispy Woods! Kirby's Dream Land 2 fans rejoice!

But, this isn't even Gobblick's only form! In fact, the first time I saw and fell in love with Gobblick was in its SECONDARY form! Warning, however, that this form is built off of integral spoilers for the game, so if you click below, do so wisely...!

Name: Glohm Gobblick

Debut: Mario & Luigi: Brothership

WOW! If you loved Gobblick already, then I hope Glohm Gobblick was worth the wait–it certainly was, for me!

Wine-red is just a perfect yet underrated color, especially for pitcher plants! I couldn't believe I had never thought about making a reddish pitcher plant prior, myself, but that just goes to show how ingrained plant color stereotypes are! I saw a picture of a pitcher eating a rat once, and it never escaped my mind, and THAT was red!

But Glohm Gobblick isn't just this beautiful shade of red for no reason! It's under the effect of being Glohmed, which makes anyone other than Mario & Luigi more powerful while amplifying their desire to be isolated and lonely! And unlike some other characters, there's nobody around that's worried for our poor friend Gobblick...it exists only as an optional boss you can come across on your own. Don't worry, Gobblick, we love you...!

Gobblick is never truly alone, however. Thankfully, the game specifies that this is not the Gobblick, but a Gobblick! It's one of MANY! Please expect Gobblick to make its way alongside Toads and Piantas as one of the main recurring Mario People, being charming background fodder for decades to come.

Or not, since it's canonically from another world. Too bad.

This should cover my Wet-Dry Rent for the next few weeks! Join me next time when I finally cover the last in the top three most popular video game pitcher plants: Weepinbell. Bye.

[captain-hawks]

BRIGHT AS THE MORNING/SOFT AS THE RAIN.

jean kirstein x f!reader

Jean Kirstein may have sharp teeth—but he seems to forget that you do, too. 

wc: 3.9k tags: 18+ only, wolf shifter!jean, witch!reader, little witch as a pet name, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, sex against a wall -> requested

No turning back now.

The glass vial is cool against your fingertips when you pull it from your back pocket, uncorking the stopper before bringing it to your lips and tipping its pale green contents onto your tongue. You fight back the full body shiver that threatens to wrack through you as the bitter liquid burns its way down your throat.

It tastes awful. 

Flicking the empty container into a nearby garbage bin, you hastily wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, making a mental note to include a neutral additive next time you find yourself thumbing your way through your grandmother’s crumbling grimoire. The old coven never did pay any mind to the foul taste of their ancient elixirs. 

Eyes darting to the neon sign hanging above the building across the street, its colors reflecting in the puddles strewn about the sidewalk out front, you sigh. Now for the annoying part. 

You dog-eared the page on this vitality spell years ago, intrigued by the rejuvenating properties of the concoction that your grandmother’s gnarled old hands had once made use of in days long past. Most of the ingredients were easy enough to procure, and the elixir need only be saved for the full moon for maximum potency. A moon that hangs bright and heavy over a blissfully clear, star-speckled sky tonight. 

But the reason why you’ve put off this tempting spell for so long is the final ingredient that you’ve now begrudgingly come to collect—shifter saliva.

Wolf shifter saliva, to be exact. 

When you step through the front doors of the bar, you wrinkle your nose at the decidedly canine scent that invades your nostrils. Not that it can be helped, given that you’ve purposely chosen an establishment frequented by them to make this as quick and transactional as possible. 

It’s not particularly ideal—traipsing around in a building full of wolf shifters on the full moon. While the waxing and waning crescent does not dain to dictate their transformations, their power finds an apex, just as yours does, on nights like this. You can feel the buzz of it in the air, licking against your skin, the tendrils of magic bearing an earthen touch. 

It takes you all of ten minutes spent perched on a stool at the end of the bar to find yourself confidently approached by what appears to be an easy contender. A shifter who introduced himself as Eren now sits beside you, his dark brown hair half pulled back into a messy bun, knee lightly brushing against your own in a way that treads the line between a polite mistake and a subtle invitation. 

He’s cute, and he’s caught your interest enough that you might even be willing to let him get a hand or two up your shirt when you inevitably stumble your way into a bathroom or alleyway to make out and swap spit. Nobody said you couldn’t at least try to get some enjoyment out of this, after all. 

That is, until the last voice that you’re expecting to hear on this fine evening unceremoniously interrupts your conversation from somewhere behind you.

“And what do we have here?”

Stiffening, you turn to face none other than the head of the Trost pack in all of his annoyingly handsome and insufferable glory—Jean Kirstein.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

Jean ignores your comment, though there’s not a single doubt in your mind that his wolfy hearing picks up every word loud and clear.

“I think Armin’s looking for you,” he tells Eren.

Eren raises a brow, taking a slow sip from the glass in his hand. “Nah, I doubt that.”

He returns his gaze to you, but Jean steps closer, putting an arm around his shoulder as he leans in. “She’ll eat you alive, Jaeger. You know what she is, don’t you?”

Eren smiles, canine teeth on full display; it’s less friendly and more of a challenge. “I’m a big boy, Kirstein.”

Jean’s eyes flash, and he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “Take a fucking hint.” 

There’s nothing remotely cordial in his tone now. 

The two men are quiet as they stare at one another, the air thick with tension, and you can almost feel the shift when Eren’s hackles finally drop as he seems to think better of challenging Jean’s dominance. Looking at them side by side, you can’t say you blame him, though you’re loath to admit it. 

“Whatever man.”

Eren offers you an apologetic nod, shooting Jean one last annoyed look before he disappears into the din of the bustling crowd. Meanwhile, the pack leader slides into the now-empty seat without preamble, all long limbs and unnervingly bright eyes, the sight of his messy brown hair and the hint of stubble on his jaw bothering you for reasons you have no desire to examine. 

“Really?” you bite out. 

Jean doesn’t answer you right away. Instead, he picks up Eren’s cup and takes a sip, lips immediately curling downward in disgust as he puts it back down and makes a brief gesture in the direction of the bartender. It’s only once a glass full of something else is placed in front of him that he finally looks at you.

“Hm?”

You wonder just how much trouble you’d land yourself in for punching a pack leader right here in the middle of a shifter bar. He takes a long pull from the glass, clicking his tongue against his teeth in satisfaction after.

Yeah, you’re definitely going to punch him.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Jean shrugs, smoothly dragging a coaster toward his drink with his middle finger and wiping away the ring of condensation left behind on the dark wood countertop with the side of his hand. When his eyes meet yours, the light brown of his irises nearly gold in this light, something hot unfurls in your chest. 

“Believe me when I say you don’t want to fuck Eren Jaeger,” he replies evenly.

You scoff. “I wasn’t going to fuck him.”

He raises a brow and says nothing.

“I was just going to…why the fuck does this even concern you anyway, Kirstein?” you snap. 

Elbow now placed on the counter, he leans his cheek into the palm of his hand, like he has nowhere better to be than mercilessly cockblocking you on a Friday night. 

It’s ironic, really, given the origin of your perpetual disdain for him. 

Maybe it’s a bit immature to hate a guy for turning down your tipsy advances on a night out with your friends. 

They were all convinced he’d been staring at you from across the room for the better part of the evening. But the rough scrape of his words against the shell of your ear when you finally found the courage to approach him still echoes in the recesses of your mind all these years later—”Go home and sober up, little witch.”

It’s always bothered you more than it should, the sting of that casual rejection. Like he couldn’t even be bothered to entertain a moment of your company, if not a drunken kiss that would have very well been a dime a dozen at a place like that anyway. 

What made it worse was all of the subsequent times you’ve had the misfortune of running into him after. He makes a game of it, flirting with you. Calling you little witch. Like he wants to subtly remind you of how you embarrassed yourself that night, to toy with you just for the sake of driving you to the brink of the relentless, burning ire you feel in waves every time you see him now. 

“I know you have some problem with shifters, and you’re here on a goddamn full moon of all nights. So I’m just trying to make sense of this,” he says. 

You narrow your eyes. “I have a problem with you.”

He puts his shoe on the metal rung of your stool beside your right foot, voice dripping with sarcasm as he replies, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you can feel the tug of the unfinished spell swirling restlessly inside of you. Waiting. “I need wolf saliva.”

Jean’s brows shoot up, and it would almost be comical, if you weren’t so goddamn annoyed. He recovers just as quickly. “So you thought you’d waltz in here, suck face with some poor, unsuspecting pup for a bit and then break his little heart when you skip off back to your coven with your special ingredient?”

Well, he’s not wrong, per se. 

“Oh, is that why you barged in on my conversation? You were worried about me hurting Eren’s feelings after I let him cop a feel in one of those dingy bathrooms over there?”

You swear Jean’s eye fucking twitches.

“Jaeger’s a bastard, and he’s not worth your time.”

A flash of hot anger prickles over your skin. “Why is who I kiss suddenly any of your concern now, Kirstein?” 

You place emphasis on the ’now’ without quite meaning to.

Jean’s nostrils flare as he inhales. Without another word, he gets up and walks away.

And for whatever godforsaken reason, you stalk after him, fists tightly clenched at your sides.

After weaving through the crowd, you find yourself standing in the deserted back alley behind the building. You quickly regret your decision not to grab your jacket from the hook beside the door on your way out of your apartment, the air much more brisk now than it was when you left. 

Jean whirls to face you, the look on his face softening a fraction when he sees the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. He tugs off his leather jacket without fanfare, draping it around your shoulders before you have a chance to protest.

You hate how good it smells—the rich, woodsy scent that you’ve long-since come to associate with him, its musky notes almost dizzying at this dangerous proximity.  

And as you unconsciously finding yourself soaking in the residual warmth that lingers in the material, you’re reminded of just how very hot shifters run. 

“Walking away in the middle of a conversation is generally considered rude amongst most species,” you mutter, leaning on the brick wall and bending a knee to press a foot flat against it.  

Jean drags a hand through his hair. “There are some conversations I prefer to have beyond the vicinity of a bunch of nosey wolves with good hearing.”

“What, you didn’t want your friends overhearing a witch tell you what a gigantic asshole you are?” you drawl. 

Sighing heavily, he runs a hand over his face. “I find it mildly infuriating that you have zero fucking sense of self-preservation and thought that fooling around with a shifter you don’t even know during a goddamn full moon is somehow a good idea.”

He makes finger quotes at the last two words, and for whatever reason, that’s your last straw this evening. 

Jean Kirstein may have sharp teeth—but he seems to forget that you do, too. 

“Go fuck yourself, Kirstein,” you grit out. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand whatever kind of twisted amusement you get out of mocking me at every given chance. But do me a favor and go stick your mangy nose in someone else’s business, and maybe I will go back inside and fuck a shifter after all. There sure are plenty in there to choose from.”

Between one breath and the next, the space between you and Jean rapidly dissipates as he crowds you against the building, one hand resting beside your head.

“I don’t give a shit about whatever witchy little spell you’ve got cooking. I’m not letting any of those moon drunk idiots touch you,” he rasps.

His words do something to you, something that has rogue electricity expelling its way down your spine. Something that has you biting the inside of your cheek. 

Something that makes it difficult to breathe.

“I already drank the elixir. I’ll probably get sick if I don’t finish the spell,” you retort. 

The now-golden shade of Jean’s eyes up close is mesmerizing in a way that has your heart trembling against the shackles of your ribcage.

It makes sense right now—why your grandmother used to warn you about the wiles of shifters. 

He huffs a small laugh, a warm puff of air filling the space between your faces. “You sure are confident.”

You glare at him, at the jab that you know the comment is meant to be. “Can you just let me go take care of this? It’s a harmless spell that’s the equivalent of a witchy energy drink. I’m sure you can point out at least one half decent shifter in there for me to chat up.”

Jean tucks part of his plush bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

You can’t help it—you bark out a laugh right in his face. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

Something that can’t possibly be hurt flashes in his eyes. “No?”

“Why would I embarrass myself like that again?”

Jean blinks, tilting his head sideways in confusion. And the gesture would almost be cute—

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Exhaling in annoyance, you cross your arms. “You’ve already shot me down once, Kirstein.”

He straightens. “Are you…what? Seriously? You were drunk.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment prickles over you. “You shot me down and told me to go home like some child.”

“Because I didn’t want any of the shithead shifters that were lurking around that night to take advantage of you.”

Now that you’ve broken the dam, the words just keep on spilling out. “And you take advantage of every opportunity to make me feel stupid for coming on to you in the first place, even now years later.”

Jean looks taken aback. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing this whole time?”

You frown. “...yes?”

He pushes his hair back, and the way the brown strands relent and fall against his brows when his fingers move away has no right to look as attractive as it does. And yet—

Jean takes your wrist in his own and tugs you forward, until your positions are reversed, and he’s the one backed against the opposite wall of the alleyway while you stand before him. He doesn’t let go of your hand, and you find your fingers pressed to the soft fabric of his shirt. 

The soft fabric and the feeling of his hot skin beneath—

“I turned you down because I don’t entertain drunk witches who think a night with a shifter is a novelty,” he says slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “And I flirt with you now because I like you. Even if you’re hellbent on hating me.”

You can feel his steady heartbeat beneath your palm. 

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper, not quite certain if you’re more shocked that you said the words, or that you actually meant them.  

You’re not sure what compels you to do it, to reach up and brush back a rogue strand of Jean’s hair. But it’s worth it for the way his eyes momentarily fall shut, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“No?” he breathes out, voice a little rough. 

You’ll marvel at the memory of this later, this sight of Jean Kirstein bathed in moonlight and bending to your touch. 

“No,” you tell him. 

Jean laughs quietly. “Then finish your spell already, little witch.”

There’s an odd sensation that ripples over you, a tug. Like the fire and brimstone of your magic feels the wind and earth in Jean’s, like it’s begging to touch—

Jean meets you halfway when you cup his face and begin to lean in. 

And when his lips find yours, your magic sings. 

It’s instant—the way you can feel the spell’s completion ripple through you as Jean’s mouth slots against your own, a sunny sensation fizzing in your veins. 

It’s instant—and it’s how you know everything that follows has nothing to do with the elixir and everything to do with Jean. 

Jean, Jean, Jean. 

Your blood pulses everywhere Jean’s touching you—one hand cupping the back of your head, the other curled at your waist. 

Your magic surges and shivers, cresting higher as he parts the seam of your lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. A moan slips out of you of its own accord, and Jean growls softly. 

As a shifter, Jean can’t wield the power that lives inside of him with his bare hands, not like you can. But you can feel every tendril of it as it curls around your own, as your magic grasps for his almost desperately. 

Jean flips your positions, pressing your back to the wall once more, and his fingers press into the small of your back. 

And his magic is hot and wild as it seeps into you, as he drags hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, as he groans rough and deep at the little keening sounds that tips out past your lips when his hips press into yours. 

“Jean,” you whimper. 

A plea. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, mouth hovering near the damp patch of skin he was just sucking at below your earlobe. 

He’s so hard against you, his erection straining against the front of his pants. 

You shake your head, pressing forward into him, and he groans, cupping your chin. His eyes bore into yours as he drags his thumb along your lower lip. 

And then he’s dropping to his knees right there in the alley, thumb pressed to the swollen bud of your clit through your stockings as he pushes your skirt up out of the way. 

“Were these expensive?” he asks casually. 

You blink down at him in confusion. “No? They were like—“

Jean doesn’t wait for you to finish your answer before he nudges your thighs slightly further apart at the ankle and tears a hole in the stretchy black material right between your legs. 

“It’s too cold for you to take them off,” he murmurs by way of explanation, as if your brain is capable of focusing on anything other than the feeling of him tugging aside your panties and dragging two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Oh,” you gasp, knees already threatening to buckle. 

Jean grasps your hip to steady you, eyes glinting in amusement as he stares up at you while he slides one thick finger into your tight channel. 

“What kind of spell was that?” he teases, as if you’re not dripping fucking wet from him and him alone. 

“N-not that kind,” you gasp as he sinks in knuckle-deep. 

Jean seems pleased with this answer, slowly pumping the digit in and out of your aching cunt. You bury your face in his jacket to stifle your moans as you tremble in pleasure. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, the lewd squelching sounds only intensifying when he stretches you even further on a second finger. 

Part of you wishes you were somewhere soft and horizontal, so you could feel the slide of his tongue on yours in a messy, spit-soaked kiss while he fingers you deep and slow until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess. 

You wish you were naked and pliant beneath him, feeling the touch of his burning hot skin against your own from head to toe. 

But the fantasy is short-lived, tucked away for another time when Jean brings his mouth between your legs and laps a firm, broad stroke through your slit. When he groans at the taste of you, large hands tugging your legs even further apart as he buries his tongue in your cunt and begins to devour you whole. 

Because when he pauses to look up at you, to marvel the way you can hardly hold back your keening sounds as he fucks you with his tongue—he looks just as wrecked as you. Just as desperate and unwound with his mussed hair and golden eyes and your slick, sticky arousal painted all over his face. 

It’s what has your hands winding in his hair before you can even reach your impending climax, dragging him upward for a filthy kiss as your fingers scramble for purchase against the button of his pants. 

Jean hisses when you get your hands on his cock, and your now-empty cunt spasms around nothing while you stroke his girth. 

“Jean, please,” you pant against his lips. 

You can feel your stockings rip even further when Jean hoists you up, the bricks pressing into your back as you wrap your legs around him. The material is soaked with spit and arousal as he pushes your panties aside once more and lines his cock up with your dripping entrance. 

And it’s all encompassing—the way your magic explodes in a burst of heat and energy as his cock plunges into you, every cell in your body vibrating with searing hot pleasure like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

“What the fuck—“ Jean chokes out, groaning as he kisses you hard, his grip on your hips tightening beyond measure. 

You know he feels it, too. 

“I know,” you gasp, and he takes your lower lip between his teeth. 

The pleasure surging inside of you begs for release, your muscles tensing harder with each deep, thick stroke of his cock against your slick walls. 

He’s all you can see. All you can smell and feel and taste. You want to feel him everywhere, want to let his magic sink so deeply into yours that you lose where you end and he begins. 

You’re so fucking drunk on Jean Kirstein, you might laugh—if you could do anything but moan and whimper and sob his name right now, that is. 

“Jean I’m close—“ you whisper, voice breaking. 

“Then come on my cock,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you come all over my cock, pretty witch.”

Your pleasure erupts in a gushing flood of euphoria, and your walls expanding and contracting rapidly on the stretch of Jean’s length as he fucks you through your orgasm until his own thrusts grow sloppy, too. 

“Come inside of me,” you breathe out, feeling the way Jean tenses and growls at your plea. 

“Fuck,” he groans, cock still pumping into your fucked out hole in deep, rough strokes. “You feel so good, fuckfuck—“

Jean comes hard, burying himself to the hilt when his cock begins to pulse inside of you, filling your cunt with rope after rope of sticky, hot cum until it begins to leak out and drip down your thighs. 

—and without warning, your pussy spasms as you climax once more in an unexpected surge of pleasure that has you whimpering and shaking in its wake. 

There’s a exhilarating, magical edge to it. 

Jean stares at you, lips slightly parted as he marvels at the sight. 

“Was that—“

“Well the spell called for spit, not cum,” you exhale shakily, cunt fluttering as he pulls out, and you whine. 

He watches you closely as he brings a hand between your legs, slowly rubbing your swollen, over-sensitive clit. 

”Oh,” you breathe out, fingers digging into the front of his shirt. 

You rock your rips into his touch, and all it takes is the tease of the pad of his fingers circling around your tight hole to have you coming again on his fingers. 

“Wow,” he murmurs against your lips, lazily slipping a digit back inside of you to feel the sloppy mess of cum that’s dripping out of you. 

And it still feels so good. 

“I think I fucked up the spell,” you gasp, already on the edge of another orgasm. 

“I think I can help you take care of that,” Jean rasps, kissing his way down your jaw to sink his teeth into the soft, plush curve between your shoulder and neck.

[reztaezm]

ℭ𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔥𝔢, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝑨 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂.

・・・・・・・・・・

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊 𝚡 𝙾𝙲 (𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜: smut; masturbation (m) + detailed fantasies, oral (f - receiving), impulsive initiation, unprotected sex (pls use protection), mutual loss of virginity, desire and obsession, internal conflicts, scholastic themes, pining, denial, character development (?)

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Park Seonghwa, as an academic freak, and Y/n as an anomaly.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 5k+, plot bearing

۶ৎ

“Swallow your pride, or get swallowed by it.”

But such words are simply too lowly for him to acknowledge. He is grace, by definition. He dwells on the faint chatters —not even whispered— of his jealous peers. Only gold was allowed to touch his fair skin. The tokens which told everyone that surrounded him. He is an example of best.

Detached, he is indeed. But many believe that he is just way too caught up and stuck in that huge head of his. No one's ever taken a peek, but they all shared one opinion. It must be his ego driving his sanity.

Unfortunately for the tellers of the tattletales, Seonghwa lacks something everyone else has too much of.

“Do you not care?” It wasn't his fault.

It's not his fault that for some reason, some random girl still found him an ounce likable. Everybody despised him, and why shouldn't she. Why wouldn't she?

He stared at her meticulously crafted letter that he was subjected to holding approximately seven minutes. ‘Her handwriting is pretty, at least…’ — this was the only thought he had. He couldn't feel anything besides pity, especially for the thought, and the sickening shimmery designs on the letter — he thought it was unnecessary. He thought everything was unnecessary, even her feelings.

He didn't reply to her, and instead handed the letter back to her. There wasn't a single muscle on his face that moved despite the sight of the girl’s eyes watering.

People were watching, and that day, he was painted a monster. Not only cold, but unremorseful, without a doubt.

Still, he had no care to spare for their opinions. He does not attend university for such senseless things.

Amidst the rise of gossip, all he hears is rolling ball of his pen as it glides against the fine and pricey paper of his leather journal. His scrupulous writing only deserves quality materials after all.

He was hated by the population of the studious, but they do not reach his level anyways. But he was treasured by his professors, and the university itself. And why not? He is the standard for the image the institution wishes to uphold. And they believe he had it all in him to maintain this perfection — holding the highest GPA, no set-backs, no distractions, no immodest hobbies or sidelines.

It was, at that point, hard for him to mess things up. It would take a tragedy, a catastrophe to break down what has been built of him. Though, said catastrophes come in many forms he knew. And everyone has their own criteria of what falls under what’s considered a catastrophe.

He had noted this to be the greatest anomaly of his life. Never did he think it would be possible for a girl to check every box in that criteria.

Number one: sudden and unexpected.

No one was ever late to Mrs. Chang’s Epistemology. Students could barely stomach her glare whenever her lectures would be interrupted by the click of the door as it opened and closed.

A daring soul went thirty-five minutes into the lecture. But to everyone’s surprise, the late-comer was a sight for sore eyes.

Seonghwa's first instinct was to quietly scoff at such irresponsibility, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. For the first time in his life, he is amongst the crowd, and this girl — whoever she may be, is the show.

What was a stopper for many was Mrs. Chang’s reaction, which was none. She could care less about the beautiful late-comer, or the whispers that came after said late-comer had gone inside the lecture hall.

The nameless girl would find herself a seat, far into the back.

Smart. Seonghwa had thought it was a smart move. Because it would be such great disrespect to the professor if they all had their necks twisted looking back to see the late-comer. And so he thought she was smart, getting rid of such nosey eyes.

And he was no nosey-eyed dirtbag, and he had the right to look. He was distracted, and it was new to him.

He dreaded the fact that he wasn't able to be mentally present at the latter half of Mrs. Chang’s lecture. And distracted? He had never been in the proceedings of his studies. It's such a shame for him. But nobody knows yet. Nobody had noticed.

Nobody knows how he had stared at her side profile, and how his eyes traced the point from the top of her head, down to her lips. Her lips are where he found it hard to avert his gaze. As if every rule of ethics had exited his brain, he was looking as if they were in an art exhibition, she was an exclusive piece.

He thought it was such a cliché. This was just another girl. Yet, she remains as the only problem he couldn't solve as of late.

After Mrs. Chang’s lecture, he thought it would've ended there. This marks another first for him — he had thought wrong, for the first time.

Because number two, catastrophes are disastrous.

Seonghwa could convince himself that peace only comes in the library, in a space at a more hidden area which he marked as his sanctuary. It was a deserted corner. No chairs, no tables or whatnot, but it was peaceful. The carpeted floor was spacious enough for him, and any noise coming from the other students occupying the library were drowned out from where he sat.

Imagine his confusion when one particular noise seeped through. A soft humming of a girl. He thought she wouldn't see him, and so he didn't call her off for the noise alone. He brought his eyes back on the book he had been reading, but his focus was on the possibilities.

The humming minimized with every second he could count. But at the twentieth, he could hear it right next to his ear…

“Hell!”

The girl was taken aback by his reaction. She didn't know him yet, and she found his hostility unreasonable.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him whilst looking into that indifferent gaze of his. “Are you mad?”

He scoffed at her, but fell to a pause once taking in her full image. Of course he would be mad… if it wasn't her. He knew it would be best to respond and not seem like an idiot that could only stare. After having cleared his throat, he manages to utter a reply to her. “No.”

“I’m Y/n.”

His brows furrowed at the suddenness of her introduction. He didn't ask for her name, neither did he look like he was curious. Or maybe he did.

“I’m Seongh-”

“Park Seonghwa.”

She was shaking his world, unknowingly, but he couldn't do a thing about it. He was curious as to how she knew of his name- “Your nameplate.”

He gulped and almost lost his breath when she knelt on the ground where he sat and leant forward. She was way too close for his comfort, but no matter how much he thought of stopping her and pushing her away, his hands remained locked to his sides.

She had only reached for his crooked nameplate, fixing how it was pinned on his blazer.

“There, that's better, huh?” as if he was paying attention to his nameplate at all.

When she had shifted her eyes from his blazer to his face, she what met with the unexpected. He’s staring at her, in a way that would be abnormal for those who knew him. But she didn't. It was her first time interacting with this man.

“Are you okay?”

And it was his first time as well. His first time not having any self-control.

He knew he could get things done timely, but he never knew he was capable of doing something within a second, like having his hand at the back of her head, and his lips pressed against hers. His other hand was right above her hip, and he was tempted to let it wander lower.

Until she pulled away.

In that situation, it was only human to be conflicted, perplexed, or terrified even.

As it turns out, she isn't any of those. To which Seonghwa ticks box number three: catastrophes cause great damage.

He was no longer in the right headspace. Never did he envision such a scene.

He was finally holding her by the hip, because she had leaned in to kiss him again, more intensely. Seonghwa had only read it in books, or seen it in movies, but his lips led their kiss as if he had done this a dozen times over. She could feel herself being pulled closer by his inexperienced hands, and so she moved closer.

How close she was would’ve drawn the line if not for how Seonghwa was devouring her mouth. She couldn't help the small whimper that escaped her as his tongue delved deeper. His hair became her handle, and her thighs clenched around his hips. He doesn't know why, but the way she tugged on the strands of his hair wrapped around her fingers shot blood straight into his cock. She felt it. She felt him hardening below her clothed core. The sensations were foreign for both parties, and it was their hormones that drove their next actions.

Seonghwa broke the kiss, wanting to catch his breath and check on his sanity for a moment. But his cock was aching, so much so that it throbbed when he saw the look on her face. She looked high, in the most beautiful way possible. Her eyelids lie low, lips parted slightly, and skin tinted with a hint of red and warmth.

He couldn't help his hands from sliding down her soft thighs, squeezing on it with a force that made her whimper again. Oh how he loved the sound. His fingers sneaked past the end of her skirt, and underneath, slowly trailing up till he felt the fabric of her panties. He let out a low hum deep in his chest at the feel of the fabric, it was ordinary, but knowing what was underneath made him want to forget who he was.

His hand shifted to her front, using the pads of two of his fingers to feel the wetness that had formed over the fabric. His other hand remained on her thigh as if to hold her in place as he conducted his experiment, rubbing a circle on her soaking clit. She could feel it all too well since her slick had thinned the fabric for how wet it had become, and it was nothing but overwhelming pleasure.

She had her head slumped over his shoulder, and he could hear her attempts of suppressing her soft whimpers. She sounded helpless, even though he knew she was liking it as much as he was, if not more. He wanted to hear more and every sound possible for him to draw from her prey-like mouth.

He had already felt it. The tips of his fingers caught a glimpse of her soft and sensitive flesh beneath her panties when they had slipped past it. But their moment was put to an abrupt stop.

He heard it first — the footsteps were soft against the carpeted floor, but he had been way too familiar with the sound, and weight of whoever’s presence that came with it.

He hadn't taken his hands off of her, but he told her to, “Stand up.”

Which she did. Because she felt it too. If she wasn't coming, someone else was.

Her legs were slightly wobbly as she stood, but she was able to find composure and hastily pulled down on her skirt that had ridden up, then reached up her head to pat down her hair, which was incomparable to the mess that was on top of Seonghwa's head. He ran his hand over his hair, brush through it with his fingers. He knew he couldn't bring it back to its old and uniform style, but he didn't sweat it.

The two froze when they saw the librarian pass by, seemingly busy with her work. And thank God she was, because if not, she would've seen the tall tent on Seonghwa's trousers.

He still hadn't calmed himself. Even now that he had his head shot down and stared on the floor, all he could think of was the supple skin of her legs, and her weight on top of him. And she was just so pliable with his touch that he wanted to see her turn into mush in his hands.

But reality echoed in his ears when he felt the vibration of his phone. She was still standing there, probably waiting for him to say something. Something soon turned into nothing, as for the next minute, he was already heading out of the library.

Because fourthly. She had caused him personal ruin.

He had missed a class, again, for the first time. This was a loss that caused him frustration, but only less than he’d hoped. It would take a tragedy before one declares themself ‘screwed’, however, this one bump in his strict and once rigid schedule was enough for him to conclude otherwise.

He sat on a bench of an open hall, open to the eyes of onlookers. He wasn't usually sitting on these dirty seats, looking flawed and out of his mind.

Such a rare sight it was — his eyes shut, head thrown back, brows drawn upward. He was quite visibly dealing with a dilemma, one that boggles his mind beyond his comprehension which was once impossible. He had no hypothesis as to what had gone wrong with him.

It's his first confrontation with fear. Is it solely her existence that had pushed him this far? And could it be any more specific… like the way she looked at him when he touched her? Or the sound of her voice when she spoke, or when she was being pleasured by his hands? Or was it… the figure he couldn't see beneath her sweater, but couldn't help but picture in his mind?

She was such an aberration, unwilling introducing him to his worst and best firsts. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to despise her. He has yet to figure it out, because he didn't believe that beauty was capable of such destruction.

But… maybe hers is the weakness he's been waiting to discover. Now he’s at number five in the checklist. The catastrophe that is she, is destructive.

He would go on a few days without any direct encounters with her, which was deep down disappointing, for him. He thought he'd eventually find a way to live with it, to see his days in campus without ever feeling her delicate skin, her fingers entangled and pulling on his well conditioned hair, or the viscous slick that he wished had coated his fingers so that he could give her a taste — such thoughts had become the inevitable for him and had led him to do things he used to never spare a thought on. An innocent mind, these days, could only be that of a child — which Seonghwa obviously wasn't. Though, he was never to be someone who's perverted, even when he's in the peace of his own room, all alone.

It was merely a whisper in his conscience but in the quiet of his alone time, it shifted into a loud ringing in his ear.

The dim and warm light of the lamp on his nightstand would only add to the height of the temperature — not of his room, but rather, his body. When left alone with his thoughts, without a book for his restless eyes, or his journal and pen for the downpour of his thoughts, all that’s left for him to shake off the feeling, was to close his eyes, and lean back against the headboard of his bed. His hand slips underneath his blanket, and down his crotch. With only a vision of her face, his cock was already straining his pajama pants. A hiss fell from his lips when he palmed himself. He only used to imagine being a rocket scientist, or the most influential politician, fantasies past current reality, but this new fantasy of his held the highest possibility and is the closest to his reality.

He has yet to feel everything, but he could imagine vividly. The heat of her cunt engulfing his hard length — he knew well that his hand wrapped firmly around his erection would never be enough to simulate the feeling, but he must bear with it. His hips rocked in an upward motion against his hand, going rather slow, but purposeful. His head was leant back over the wood of the headboard, and his eyes were shut tight as he continued to fuck into his hand, with the mental image of her figure above him, thighs trembling, nails digging deeper into his shoulders the more she took his cock as he held her in place by the handles of her hips.

He sped up the pace and intensity of his thrusts wanting to reach euphoria, with only a vision, and the reference of a memory. He wonders if with the tightness and warmth of her cunt, he’d finish quicker. He wondered how it felt for his cock to be strangled by her pretty little hole — he wanted to see the flesh, to feel it clenching and fluttering around his fingers, around his dick, and to taste every drop of her arousal he could draw out from her.

And there it was again, the ringing in his ear. He could feel his blanket sticking to his tip because of his cum. But imagination could only carry one’s desires to its limit, imagine his disappointment when his hand continued to stroke his softening cock and he’d open his eyes, only to be met with emptiness.

A muttered curse leaves his lips at the mess he has created beneath his blanket. It’s a filthy deed, and very unlikely of him. And now, the guilt of having masturbated with the thought of an unknowing girl — maybe he’d be more at ease if she had thought of him too, and suffered from her desires with the likes of him. But would he still be sane if he’d hope for such an instance? And what if she hated him now? What if her feelings in relation to him were a complete opposite of his? — every statement he had formulated in his mind had their possible positives and negatives. However, he only tends to be realistic. Based on what he could infer from the nature of humans, the answers to his questions would more likely lean towards the negative.

Who was he to her anyways? Besides that, everyone already sees him to be a quiet narcissist. For the most part, he was certain that the slander that surrounds his character floating around campus would be enough for her to deduce him into a perverted jerk. For the latter part, there’s a small spark of hope that she’d pose deaf against such assertions.

But everything is just his intelligent guess, his inferences. And in that one class he shared with you, he hoped you weren’t trying to avoid him, or implicitly push him away.

His conscience would eat him up everytime he caught a glimpse of her grace, one he once had and flaunted. Now he was unkempt. Stuck in a storm that chose to only burden him.

“Seonghwa,”

A short, yet evocative gasp escapes him. The voice that haunts his dreams, either asleep or awake, whether it be daylight or the dark of night, was now calling for him. And it’s no longer fantasy.

The halls have been emptied, seemingly for the reason that most have classes in that hour. Even him, yet, he wasn’t in a lecture. There he stood amidst the secluded hallway, and in front of him was the embodiment of his temptations.

“Are you avoiding me? After that?” He understood what ‘that’ was referring to too, but he couldn’t quite interpret how upset she seemed into any reasoning.

“No-” “I don’t understand you.”

No one does, not even himself. “Y/n… please listen.”

He had never said ‘please’, not for anyone. She doesn’t verbally reply, but the look in her eyes was enough to tell him to speak before she loses the point of waiting.

“I didn’t- I don’t want to force you into anything.” She found his explanation, and the slight hesitancy in his speech to be ridiculous to some degree, and he saw it from the wrinkles that appeared on her face in reaction to his statement.

“I was waiting for you, because I didn’t know what to do with myself either.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know what yearning was supposed to sound like, but it seems like this was another first for him. He’s been masking his own feelings to be violated by her influence, but after witnessing her disposition towards their situation, maybe they were one with what they felt.

“I missed you.” he finally admits, to her surprise.

Words were lost in the air, and she took one step forward, before he was driven to seize her with quick steps.

He held her as if she was his possession, wasting not a second to take claim of her lips afterwards. And it was at that moment that his hypotheses were proven wrong. She had, not even a thought, no signs of apathy or resistance. She clutched onto his neatly ironed shirt, pulling him closer, even if there was no longer room to be closer.

His hand on the back of her shoulder slowly slid down, tracing the curve of her back, down to her rear which he began to firmly knead with his hand. He caught the soft moan he had induced from her with his mouth, swallowing the sounds that were a product of his touch.

Everything seemed premeditated by fate. The door he had pushed against, was the door to an empty and a very much deserted room home to whatever insignificant articles the campus could no longer make use of. It wasn’t locked, much to their luck. The ease of twisting the knob bought him enough time to have the both of them inside, and the door closed not a second after.

He sits her down on a nearby desk, pushing off the papers and pins with his hands before spreading her thighs open, and taking the space in between for himself. His hands hold the underside of her thighs, bringing her closer against him, and hooking her legs over his hips. All the while his lips began to wander past hers. His tongue tastes her skin, drawing a streak over her jaw and down his neck. He didn’t know it yet at that moment, but he bites into a more receptive part of her skin that elicited a breathy whimper from her, a sweet sound that sent waves of arousal that made his cock stand.

He continued to nip and nibble on her sweet and supple skin as he pressed himself against her center, letting her feel his erection tenting his trousers. Her hands reached down, aiming to undo his pants, but he suddenly descended, impetuously unfastening the confinement that was her pants. He hooks his fingers on the hem of the fabric, slowly stripping it off of her. He couldn’t resist any longer. He had no care if he came off as too eager. He’s been waiting in silent torment to finally taste and feel her essence on his tongue.

His hands lifted her thighs and placed them on his shoulders, and as he leaned in, his hands found her hips like he’s always known them. His tongue that thirsted for her taste licks over her arousal, still with the barrier of her panties — though said barrier was almost senseless. She could feel the weight and the heat of his tongue to a blissful extent that her fingers were once again bound to his hair. Her arm supported her weight as she leaned back, body arched to a beautiful curve as Seonghwa continued to lap on her clit over her panties. He, at the next minute, was pulling down on her panties, leaving it to fall to her ankles as he sought for her pureness of her core.

He tightens his grip on her hips as he tastes her directly for the first time. His eyes closed as she filled his senses with her taste, her scent, the feeling of her delicate flesh against his tongue. He couldn't help the deep rumble in his chest as he ingested her slick, the sound sending subtle vibrations that heightened her pleasure, causing her to pull harder on his hair, and for him to groan softly against her clit which he began to encircle with his tongue. His grasp on her hips were firm as his lips latched onto her bud, shifting between licking and sucking on her flesh. He could hear her muffled moans — she had covered her mouth in an attempt to not make too much noise. But then his tongue sneaked lower, pressing against her dripping hole. He pushes in his tongue, hooking his arms around her thighs as he keeps her in place. His cock throbbed when he felt her gummy walls on his tongue. The continuous ministrations of his mouth had her gasping for hair.

His cock only aches more when he glances up, seeing her head tilted back, exposing the smooth skin of her neck, with some of the muscles now being defined by the stretch as his tongue continued to penetrate her. And he could’ve sworn he almost came when he felt her clenching around his tongue.

“Seong-S-Seonghwa…” her quiet whimpering and her hands continuous and light pats on top of his head was enough to tell him that she was cumming.

But not yet. Seonghwa rises from the ground, leaving her core empty and throbbing. But her longing was soon resolved when he began to unbuckle his belt. Unable to resist the temptation, she reaches for his fly, undoing his pants in a brisk motion then tugging it down.

There was a slight tremble in her legs once her cock sprung free, slightly curved upward, standing tall at a decent length that had evoked her impending anxiety, tip prominent and already leaking with precum. She wanted badly to taste him as well, but he was — quite literally — the bigger person between the two of them. He leans forward, holding up her thighs and opening her wider for him. He keeps her other thigh elevated while his free hand aligned his cock to her entrance. His hips pushed forward subtly, making his tip press against her clit. He buried his face in her neck when he began to let out sounds beyond his control when he began to rub his tip against her slit.

Y/n holds onto his flexed bicep, giving it a light squeeze as her dainty voice whispers his name. “Seonghwa…”

“Yes, baby?” the new name, the feeling of his tip rubbing against her, it made sense how she’d lose her words by then.

But just as she was about to tell him to take it further, to put it in even with the worry of it breaking her at the back of her mind, she finds herself gasping for air once hit with a sharp stinging as she began to get filled by his heavy cock.

He was right. This was incomparable to the work of his hand. She was ecstacy personified.

He felt her hand pulling harshly on her shirt, and he looked down, seeing the thin layer of water over her gentle eyes. A sight so fragile. His temptation holding its true form right before him.

He places a soft and tender kiss on her forehead as he begins to move. He was addicted in an instant. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Her tight cunt sheathing his hard length over and over again was now a drug to him. He’s in heaven, holding her tightly and closely against the slow rocking of his hips, slow enough for her to feel every inch of his cock as he fills her over, and over again. The soft mewls that sounded from her melodic voice only drove him to move faster, but it pushed him further to reaching the edge.

He was so close, and the sight of her taking his cock fully below him, and the feeling of her walls fluttering around his length had him completely dazed, and dangerously near.

But then she came before him, pulsating and hugging his cock tight at release. His hands held her thighs with a bruising grip, and he was sure that had been the loudest he’s ever been, and it was a moan of her name. His body convulsed like hers, and his cum shot into her cervix, causing their fluids to mix inside of her.

The room fell into quiet gasps as they caught them fighting to catch their breath. He also didn't pull away once he's found stability in his breathing, like what she’d expect him to do. But she never thought he'd act like this. The nature of it all is rather… domestic.

His arms wrapped around her, holding her closely against him. His lips brushed against her cheek, meeting her lips. But the kiss was gentle, and slow. Truly, he was savouring it. Was it just the feeling?... Or was it her? Whatever the means of his actions were, she indulged in it.

This time, he really just lost a care for the tattle-mouths, his image, the papers, the numbers — they were all lost and thrown down the drain.

At this moment, his hypothalamus acts dominantly. He doesn't know what he's feeling, because he lacks the experience to define it. But his heart was beating in a pattern he couldn't recognize. It was strong, and he could hear it in his ears. At the same time, it wasn't painful nor overwhelming. It was oddly comforting.

He’s never thought of it, but it just felt right. He reached for her hand, and surely, it was a perfect fit in his grasp. As if they were molded for each other — which was too far of a stretch, but it's all just a theory.

・・・・・・・・・・

[lulublack90]

Prompt 9 - Loose

@jegulus-microfic April 9, Word count 740

Previous part First part

One by one, they all arrived at the predesignated spot. James and Regulus got there first and waited for the others. Barty, Evan and Dorcas under disillusionment charms, but Pandora skipped across the damp grass, changing direction every now and again, dancing in and out of the shadows. 

“Hello,” she said sweetly, craning her neck all the way back to look up at James. He felt a sudden rush of protectiveness course through him, much like the one he felt for Regulus and his friends. 

“Hello, Pandora,” he returned her smile. “Right,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the tiny girl in front of him and addressing the others. “Are we ready? Has everybody brought a crystal phial?” A sudden intake of breath let him know someone hadn’t. 

“Shit!” Barty groaned. “I had it right next to me, but I was worried that my hair might be an issue and I walked off without it. I’ll have to walk back up to the castle,” Pandora fussed with the small drawstring bag she carried over her shoulder, pulling the neck loose and taking out two crystal phials from inside it. She handed one to Barty. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you, Pandora?” Barty gushed as he held the vial to his chest. She blew him a kiss and began to wander into the gloomy forest. James looked at her in shock. It was only after seeing her step over a large root that he realised she was completely barefoot. 

She led them right to the clearing where James had chosen. He had no idea how she knew that was the place. Perhaps it was just a fluke?

“We tend to just go with it,” Evan said beside him. James jumped. He hadn’t realised he was that close. He had been silent, his feet barely making a sound on the forest floor. 

“Yup,” James answered, moving so that he could see all of them. He looked up, and the full moon shone down over their little clearing, bathing them in its ethereal light. “Take out your phials and hold them so they get moonlight on them,” as one, the group did as they were told, holding the phials high into the air. “Now take out the mandrake leaves from under your tongues and put them in the phials,” again they did as he commanded.

“Eugh, finally,” Barty grimaced as he pushed the soggy leaf into the neck of the phial. 

“Now one of your own hairs,” each member of the little group reached up and plucked a single hair from their heads. Dorcas kindly helped Barty find one that had regrown with his natural colouring, or so he thought. James winced as Dorcas yanked a few out at the same time, making Barty yelp. They replaced the stopper and that was that, for now. “First thing in the morning you need to put a teaspoon of dew into the phial. You’ll need to do this for seven days,” he held out the vial he and Regulus had collected well over a month ago. “Use this,” he warned, holding out a silver teaspoon. “Do not use anything else, or you’ll ruin the ritual, and you’ll have to start over with the mandrake leaf again,” Pandora took both and put them safely in her bag. 

James held out his final offering. Five Deaths-head Hawk Moth chrysalises. He gave them to Pandora as well. “Put one of these in your potion at the end of the seven days and then put the phials in a quiet dark place and leave them alone. If you disturb them, see my previous warning.” A few chuckles echoed around the quiet clearing. “This is the last bit of information I’ll give you, I swear,” James told them. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to get them all together again and this was important. Sure, he could get Regulus to relay the instruction, but he’d feel better if he did it himself. “Once you’ve hidden your phials, you’ll need to start reciting this incantation every sunrise and sunset. Amato Animo Animato Animagus,”

“When do we stop doing that?” Dorcas asked.

“When the next electrical storm hits,” James grinned. “Then the real fun begins because that’s when you’ll change for the first time,” The excited energy that filled the group was almost palpable. Regulus’s hand slipped into his and then left the others to it. 

Next part

[inkbun]

Strange Fruit

Words: 792

Pairing: Dracula/F!Reader

AO3 link

(Not canon adherent at all. This woke me up in a dream at 3 am, so I wrote it)

When you arrive, the first thing he notices is your smell. You reek. Not of piss or shit (the usual scents humans wafted in the throne room), but the deep wet tang of arousal.

Disgust curls his lip. “You want me to fuck you.”

That sent you reeling, a bug-eyed chorus of “no no no” and some piss-poor explanation about working with his wife in Wallachia as a physician’s assistant.

The way you bow – step-tap of polished black shoes as you lower too quickly and rise again, flushed – reminds him of a dog tripping over its feet to greet its master.

But a physician is useful to keep his blood bags alive, so he agrees.

The indiscretion follows, an apple tumbled from the cart. Bruised. Rotten.

To your credit, it is months of careful performance before your need breaches the surface.

You move about the castle like deer approach an open clearing – footfalls flitting, never landing. You turned apology to rosary, words worn to smooth beads in your mouth: “Sorry”, “I’ll come back later”, “Didn’t mean to disturb”.

The bleating deference was cause enough to kill you. But you hadn’t lied when you told him that you worked alongside Lisa, or that you were an eager learner.

In the months since you moved into the castle, you’d caught on quickly.

You spent the first few weeks updating your knowledge, poring through the library’s texts at a rate he thought only his wife capable.

Soon after you entered the lab, dusting off Lisa’s instruments and continuing in her notebook.

The first time he saw you with it, black leather tome smudged with her loping cursive, he stopped. You held the gaze a moment, then went back to work.

It was the only time you didn’t apologize.

One night soon after he heard a noise on his way to the tower. Slrrp, then again – fainter, irregular, accompanied by a hitching, pleasured gasp.

When he looked through the cracked door, you were two fingers deep in your cunt, dress rucked up as you writhed.

It was mundane, really.

Sex. Money. Power. Humans were the same since time immemorial.

The sight hardly moved him; the scent bade him enter.

Beneath the iron croon of blood and animal musk of your wet was a resurrection – rose, parchment, clove, orange. It wasn’t the exact blend, but close enough to be an unmistakable copy.

A pang churned his stomach, would’ve forced the air from his lungs had they still respirated.

“You’re wearing her perfume,” he says, not bothering to announce himself.

Your eyes fly open, your hands rush to cover. The performance is not altogether convincing. Yes the motions are correct, as is your shriek of discovery.

But your eyes – heavy-lidded, almost relieved by intrusion – give you away.

“You want me to fuck you,” he says, peering at your form like a vivisection under magnifying glass.

This time, the truth. “Yes.”

The humans he kept were forgemasters, explicit in purpose and even more so in their passionate hatred of humanity.

You were meant keep the feeding populace relatively healthy – a glorified veterinarian. Beyond that…you were a tenuous link, an unwelcome echo that insisted on miming the inimitable.

Still, even a dull shadow was worth indulging if it ignited a flicker of what once was.

“Wait.”

The command freezes you in place, though he can practically hear the frisson of your nerves.

When he returns, he holds a bottle out to you.

Crystal, glittering under candlelight with a brass rose stopper. You uncork it without a word, dabbing the amber liquid on all the points his teeth could tear.

“Not a word.” You nod and lay back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The act itself is clinical.

You’re prepared enough for him to enter without preamble; he’s determined enough to make quick work of it. But your eyes still widen and your fingers still grasp at his shoulders – he grunts, live flesh fused against dead.

When your cunt clenches – choked sob ripped from your lips – it conjures Lisa. Fair where you are not, angelic where you bray.

His wife, where you…you…

A strangled, growling release cuts the thought short. When he looks down, you’re on the cusp of your own fit, pleading gaze boring into his.

For a moment, he considers splitting your neck with his nails. But he looks at the perfume on your nightstand and ruts once, twice until you’re brought over the edge.

Silently you compose yourself as he dresses to leave, crackling hearth flame the only sound.

In the doorway, he turns.

“Again, at this time tomorrow.”

[lipglossanon]

I’m Not A Bad Man (I’m Just Overwhelmed)

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Stepdad!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader part i - An Open Invitation (To A Perfect Domination)

part ii - What You Do To Me (No One Knows)

part iv (finale): Am I Your One and Only Desire?

Warnings: 18+ so minors DNI, stepcest, fingering, cockwarming, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), ball teasing, ball sucking, having sex while on the phone with an oblivious caller (hopefully that makes sense, cause idk what to label it 🤣), dirty talk, daddy kink, light breeding kink, creampie, cum swallowing, face sitting, pussy slapping/spanking

not proofread brochachos 🤙 mainly just smut so if you’re looking for plot I’d look elsewhere 🤣

Title from These Things by She Wants Revenge

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Thankfully, Leon gives you a breather after the marathon sex. He kisses you one last time and helps you out of bed. You go to stand, but your legs tremble so much you nearly fall. He catches you and guides you into the master bath connected to the bedroom.

He sits you down on the edge of the tub and starts the water.

“I’m gonna go make that food order,” he kisses the top of your head, “I’ll be back in a few minutes; yell if you need me.”

Humming in reply, you watch the muscles in his back and ass as he turns and leaves the room; a low heat flares in your stomach when you see all the scratch marks you left on his skin.

You twist, running your hand under the tap and finding the water warm enough, you stopper the tub and slip down into the bottom. Sighing, you relax as the warm water slowly fills the basin, caressing your skin and helping to loosen your muscles.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” a warm voice murmurs causing your eyes to flutter open.

“Mmm sorry,” you look up to see Leon turning the water off.

“Raise up for me, sweetheart,” he climbs in the bath with you, sitting directly behind you and pulling you to sit between his legs.

You tense for a moment, but when he doesn’t do anything more than rub your arms you slowly relax back against him.

“So sweet for me,” he presses kisses into your neck, hands wrapping around your waist.

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, “‘m tired, Leon.”

“I know,” he lets his right hand drift down your body until he’s stroking your inner thigh, “let me help you.”

You whine but don’t fight him as he slips his middle and ring finger into your soft, clenching heat.

“Please no,” you whine out in discomfort as he slips his fingers out and back in.

His questing fingers begin pressing into your body more insistently, “I need to clean out the mess I made, beautiful.”

“Fuck,” you hiss as Leon fingers out the leftover cum in your hole.

His fingers slide out of your body, leaving you gasping and aching at the empty feeling left behind.

“Shh sweetheart,” he kisses the side of your head, “it’s over with now.”

A low chuckle in your ear causes goosebumps to chase across your skin.

“So good for me aren’t you?” a hot tongue traces the shell of his ear, “god, you drive me crazy.”

You gasp, “I-I’m —“

The loose hold around your waist tightens as Leon nips at your earlobe before placing open mouth kisses across the arch of your neck, tongue darting out to taste your skin.

You shiver at the sensation, baring more of your neck to him. A small whine leaves your mouth before you can quell it.

“Daddy,” you gasp out only to have Leon slip his index and middle fingers into your mouth.

You hear a tsk before his smoky voice speaks again, “Pretty, pretty girl.”

You weakly suck on the digits invading your mouth. He presses a soft kiss at your temple.

“I know how bad you want it, baby. You sound so pretty when you fall apart,” he presses his fingers harder against your tongue, “but we gotta give your little pussy a break.”

Your back arches as you squirm in arousal at those words, a whimper slipping from your throat. You eagerly lap at his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and swallowing as drool drips down your chin.

A low hum from Leon reverberates in your chest.

“So good for me, baby,” Leon nuzzles your neck, fingertips skating across your skin.

He relaxes against the tub, hands rubbing your arms and shoulders. You slowly become less tense until you’re laying against him sleepily. Leon helps you wash off with soft kisses pressed into your skin at every step. Once finished, he helps you up and out of the tub.

After the bath, Leon slips out to get dressed leaving you to dry off on your own. You step out in a towel and Leon hands you an old sleep shirt of his and a pair of briefs.

You go to take them and he pulls them back out of reach, “What do we say, sweetheart?”

Your toes curl to stop your hands from fidgeting, “Thank you, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he smiles, kissing the top of your head and handing you the shirt and briefs.

“The food’s here so I’ll see you downstairs.”

You watch him leave the bedroom and you gaze down at the soft baggy shirt in your hands. Unfolding it you see, RPD emblazoned on the left breast pocket.  You quickly slip it on along with the briefs, which make you wrinkle your nose, and make your way downstairs.

۩۞۩۞۩۞۩

You both sit on the couch after eating the takeout Leon ordered. Sated and tired, you snuggle into the cushions to finish watching the scary movie that was playing earlier. Sitting cross legged, your shoulders brush up against Leon’s as his big hand encompasses your thigh.

“I’ve got an idea,” his voice is a low, heated timbre, “why don’t you keep me nice and warm?”

Your brows furrow in confusion as you tilt your face up to look at him, “What?”

He pulls the front of his sweats down just enough to slip his cock out. He’s half hard and slowly filling out, thickening against his thigh. He pats his legs.

“Straddle me and I’ll show you what I mean,” his hair falls over his eyes giving him a boyish air.

Leon pulls you into his lap, murmuring sweet praise in your ear. He slips his hands under the loose briefs you’re wearing and rubs your clit. His fingers dip into your slit to tease at your hole until you’re squirming and whimpering and soaking his fingers.

Pulling away, he helps you to slip the briefs he gave you off, baring your cunt— all puffy and shiny with slick. His cock slides in between your thighs, precum leaving a sticky wet trail against your skin.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he soothes you, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

He slips the tip of his fat dick into your wet spasming hole.

“Fuck, so good. Such a good girl for me huh. Shh shh, s’okay just the tip sweetheart, promise won’t go any further,” he sighs in relief, letting the head of his cock breach your spasming hole.

Leon’s biceps flex, highlighting the veins in his forearms as he holds your dripping pussy still. The fat tip stretches your sore cunt making you whine as your fingers dig into his tense shoulders.

“Daddy,” you whine, desperate at this point and not able to think past the feeling of the slight stretch of your pussy and how empty it feels inside.

Whining you work his cock further and further into your body as Leon just holds your hips, groaning until you’re sitting flushed against his pelvis.

He watches you work your sweet little pussy down on his cock. He then lifts you up just to let you slide back down.

“You put it all in by yourself, huh,” he growls, “now just let me use your sloppy hole, sweetheart.”

“Leon,” you gasp, grinding down with a moan.

He holds your hips still, not letting you shift, “Now sit here, sweet girl. You’re gonna cockwarm daddy til he’s ready to fuck your pretty pussy full of cum.”

You moan, hands tugging on his shirt. His eyes drag down your body and he pinches your nipples through the thin shirt you’re wearing.

“Look so sexy,” he gives you a messy, tongue filled kiss, “want you to wear this shirt anytime we’re home alone, okay baby?”

“O-okay, daddy,” you whimper, thighs shifting as your pussy walls clamp repeatedly on his thick cock.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he groans, pulling you close.

You whine and nuzzle into his neck, tucking your face under his chin.

“Settle down, baby,” he coos, running his wide palms down your spine to cup your ass in both hands.

You tense all over, but keep still with a low moan. Unsure of how long you’re made to keep Leon’s cock in your weeping pussy, you drift in and out of a daze. You can hear the tv playing in the background and Leon drops little kisses on your head, but you just coast on the floaty feeling slowly taking over your mind.

He’s so thick inside of you it’s all you can think about. The delicious stretch to your sore walls, clit swollen—begging to be touched, even the way Leon squeezes your ass, all of it keeping you in that syrupy headspace.

He jostles you accidentally, making you whine and grind down until he soothes you back into relaxing against him. Leon’s palms pet and stroke over your tired body, almost lulling you asleep. You feel his chest vibrate under your cheek.

“Hm?” You pull back with a confused sound, sleepy eyes looking into Leon’s dark stare.

“I asked if daddy’s sweet girl is feeling good?”

You give him a cute smile, “So good, daddy.”

He gives you a sly grin, “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod.

“Maybe you should cockwarm daddy when he has to work from home, think that’s a good idea sweetheart?”

You whine, pussy clenching down on his thick cock, “Yes, daddy.”

“Yeah, you like it don’t you, feeling all stretched out from daddy’s fat cock?”

You roll your hips down with a moan, “Daddy’s the best.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing his hips up into you further, “think it’s time to fill this needy cunt.”

“Uh huh,” you slur, hips humping down faster on his dick.

He grabs your waist and fucks his cock deep in your soaked pussy. After a handful of skin slapping thrusts, he slows down to deep rolling grinds. Dazedly, you hear a faint buzzing from your side.

“Daddy needs you to keep quiet, okay?”

“Wha—“

He puts his hand over your mouth as he answers his buzzing phone.

“Hey honey, how’re you?”

Your eyes widen, anxiety flaring in your stomach cutting into that cottony barrier of arousal flooding your brain. Your mom called?! You try to push away from Leon, raising your hips up to move off of his lap. A mean look comes into his face as his lips thin.

“Oh, everything’s fine here. Can’t complain.”

He puts the phone up to his ear, holding it there with his shoulder so he can use both hands to yank you back flush on his lap. His hand quickly comes up to cover your mouth as you squeal from the sudden fullness of his cock bottoming out in your cunt.

He starts up the deep rolling thrusts that keeps the fat tip of his dick pressed against your cervix; your eyes roll back in your head as the pain bleeds into molten pleasure, making your pussy pulse and clench down on his cock.

“Oh she’s doing well! We actually spent a little time together earlier,” he laughs, dark eyes watching you fall apart while he drills up into your squelching pussy with his thick, heavy cock.

“Ah, I’m sure she’ll love that. Yeah she loves her sweets, doesn’t she?”

You want to scream, you feel so good right now. But all that escapes you are tears, dripping down your cheeks leaving your eyes to look big and glassy. Leon smirks at you as he keeps chatting with your mom.

His thumb circles your clit so slowly, barely giving you any stimulation. You buck your hips and push yourself harder into his hand. Ignoring you, he stops teasing your sensitive bud and moves that hand to guide your hips into a rolling grind. 

“No,” he laughs, laying his head back on the couch, lazily focused on your tits bouncing, “I really don’t need anything.”

You’re panting behind the hand he still has covering your mouth. Moving your hands away from clenching onto his shoulders, you reach down between your bodies to spread your pussy. 

His gaze follows the movement and he stares hungrily at your spread open cunt, watching as his cock bullies in and out of your tight hole. 

“Wait,” he rasps, “yeah that does sound good actually.”

He moves his head closer to your chest. pulls the phone away, and spits on your pussy. You freeze; your whole body clenching from that so he does it again, watching gleefully as you shudder all over, eyes rolling back as the hot spit drips all over your pussy lips and swollen clit. 

“Huh, sorry could you repeat that, the phone cut out for a sec,” he settles back against the couch, not letting you bounce on his dick like you want, like you need. 

You go to move your hands, but he gives a quick, sharp smack to your clit directly that has you crying out behind his palm.

“Oh must be the movie, I’m watching. Yeah that one,” he grins, “you know how I love these kinds of things.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him lick a stripe from the edge of his palm to the tips of fingers. His wet hand comes down to spank your pussy and clit hard. You squeal and buck in his lap but can’t pull away. 

“Yeah it gets kinda loud in certain parts,” he spanks your spread open cunt again, “sorry if it’s too loud, honey.”

Your eyes are completely rolled back, eyelashes fluttering and mouth drooling as Leon abuses your sore pussy. It’s getting you wetter than before, the sharp sting fading into that hot, dull throb that’s making you shiver all over. 

Without realizing it, you’ve stopped trying to get away. You’ve arched your hips up just right so when Leon smacks his hand down on your sensitive cunt, he’s really giving it to you. When he does finally pull away, your eyes focus on his with a whine. 

“Yeah? I get it, and the traffic is always so terrible on top of it,” he keeps talking to your mom, like your not grinding your needy cunt on his fat cock. 

It makes you so hot to know that Leon’s fucking you while he’s talking to his wife—your own mom. You feel like such a slut but you can’t deny how it gets you so wet, makes you want to ride Leon hard, maybe even get caught. 

Your walls spasm and clench down on him at that thought making him flinch and bite his lip. 

“Nothing,” he clears his throat, eyes narrowing at you, “movie just got to me for a sec I guess.”

You stop spreading yourself open and drag your nails down his tense stomach, then leaving one hand there you reach around behind you with your free hand to squeeze his balls. 

It’s like you electrocuted him; his hips jump up, stomach trembling under your hand. He’s stifling any noise but you can see in the pinch of his brows that he likes it. You feather your fingertips across the soft skin before gently rolling his balls in your hand. 

“It does sound fun,” his eyes stare into yours, hungry and dark, “maybe we should take a trip out that way then.”

You bite your lip and gently squeeze down on his sack. He bucks up into your pussy even harder. The hand holding onto your hip moves and grabs your hand on his stomach to push it back behind you. He nods downward and you take the hint, moving it to join the other on touching his heavy balls. 

“Yeah, sounds perfect,” he sighs, fully relaxing into the couch.

You can’t really bounce on him in this position, so Leon’s thick cock just stays seated in your pulsing heat as your hands tease and tickle his balls. Using both hands, you can really tell how big and swollen they’ve gotten. You roll them in your hands and feel his cock kick inside your pussy. 

You moan softly, muffled behind his hand still, and keep massaging his soft sack. You start to wonder what it would be like to have them in your mouth, all sensitive and fat on your tongue. You feel yourself dripping down his cock at the thought. 

“I can’t believe they would ask you to do that,” his hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to bruise.

You tug his balls and bounce them in your hand before softly massaging them. Leon raises up into more of a sitting position and roughly pulls you up and off of his cock. You watch dazedly as his dick drools precum down the wet shaft, until he manhandles you down over the armrest of the couch. 

With your back to him, you can only feel as he slides his fat cock back into your pussy, stretching you out so good it makes your hole clench down over and over. 

“Yeah, exactly. Oh? Well okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Yeah, mm love you too,” he pulls you flush with his hips, stilling all movement to keep his dick fully inside your cunt. 

He hangs up and tosses the phone to the side. 

“Trying to suck me in, sweetheart? Greedy little pussy needs daddy’s cock that bad?”

He pounds into your sloppy, squelching hole, slick dripping everywhere. The swollen tip of his cock hammers against your g-spot making you scream. 

“Fuck yeah,” he groans with a laugh, “wanna cream that sweet fucking pussy. Get you all dirty so I can eat you out.”

You whine and claw at the couch, clit rubbing against the rough material and edging you closer and closer to orgasm. 

“C’mon baby, don’t you want that? Want me breed that hot cunt? Course you do,” he moves his hands from your hips to each side of your body on the armrest. 

He lowers himself down, using his body weight to hold you in place and box you in, “Should I make you squirt on my cock, sweetheart? Get the couch all dirty?”

You tense up, words slurring, “Daddy, gonna cum, gonna cum.”

He laughs and pinches your side as his hand slips down to your clit. He tugs your hips back just a little and lands a hard spank across your swollen bud. 

You squeal, body trembling, “Daddy!”

“Oh I know,” he mocks, “so rough on your little pussy.”

He smacks you again catching your clit on his wedding ring making you scream as your orgasm rushes over you. Slick drips around his cock as your cunt clamps down on his dick. 

“Fuck,” he growls, hips pistoning harder into your fluttering walls, “good girl, good g— fuck!”

Your cunt milks his cock as he fills you with hot sticky cum. 

“Take it,” he hisses, biting down hard on your shoulder causing you to moan, pussy clamping down even harder on his dick. 

Your crying from how good it feels, hole still gushing slick from his fat cock bullying into your pussy and cumming deep inside you. 

You hiccup a sob as he keeps cumming, rope after rope of hot jizz painting your fluttering walls white. 

“Gonna eat you out after this,” he groans in your ear, “wanna get my mouth on your pussy so bad.”

You whine as he pulls out, cum and slick oozing from your hole to drip all down your thighs and onto the couch. Without moving you, Leon lays on his back and shifts until he’s underneath your splayed legs. 

“Sit on my face, baby,” he guides your hips down, but you hesitate and hover over his mouth. 

“I said,” he growls, “sit on my fucking face.”

With a harsh tug, your cunt presses down on his mouth, squishing his nose against your clit. His mouth opens, tongue eagerly licking into your sensitive pussy. You feel him moan and it makes you rock against his soft lips. 

You grab onto his hair and start riding his face gently as you’re still reeling from that last orgasm. His hands slide from your hips to your thighs to just hold you in place. 

“Daddy,” you moan, “so good, feels—unh.”

You trail off with a whine as he sucks on your pussy lips and nuzzles your clit. He greedily eats the cum out of your messy cunt. Mewling, you press yourself harder on Leon’s face; he groans as you settle further onto his mouth.

He grinds his face against your puffy cunt making you whine louder, clit fat and throbbing with arousal. He rubs his nose against the sensitive bundle of nerves making you buck into the feeling. 

Everything is so sensitive, ramped up to eleven, that you’re cumming on his tongue before you even realize it. 

“D-dadd—dad—,” your spine bows in a perfect curve as Leon laps up all of your creamy slick. 

You’re suspended in that too much feeling as Leon groans and presses even further into your cunt, practically suffocating himself to taste you more. 

When he finally pushes you up and slides out, your legs are too shaky to hold you up. Leon manhandles you to lay with your back against the couch. This time, he kneels over your shoulders, knees now bracketing either side of your head. 

“Open your mouth, baby,” he takes his cock in hand and slaps it against your lips. 

You eagerly loll your tongue out, eyes lidded and hazy. Instead of feeding his cock into your waiting mouth, he pulls it towards his abs to drag his balls across your open mouth. Moaning, you eagerly lick and suck on the salty skin. Your eyes flutter as he dips his balls in and out of your mouth. 

“There we go, suck’em sweetheart,” he mockingly coos down at you, slowly stroking his dick. 

You lick and suck on his sack until it’s coated in your spit, dripping back down on your chin. Moaning, you suck one of his balls in your mouth and work it with your tongue and lips. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he laughs, “god, love having my balls sucked by a pretty girl.”

You let it go with a pop and pull the other one into your hot mouth with a low sigh. Humming in pleasure, you gently suck on the soft skin of his ball while running your tongue all around it. 

“Let me teabag that sweet little mouth,” he growls down at you, pulling off of your mouth to dip his wet sack back down onto your tongue again and again. 

He eventually drags his balls down your chin leaving a trail of spit as he presses the drippy tip of his cock past your swollen lips. 

“Gonna cum in your mouth,” he groans, watching as your lips stretch around his hard cock. 

Tears gather at your lash line as he sinks inch by inch into your hot wet throat. 

“Fuck, gonna cream this little throatpussy,” he grins at you as you moan around his dick, “like that? Mmm it’s gonna feel so good, daddy’s hot cum bathing your slutty throat.”

You whine, reaching down to your sore cunt to rub your clit. 

“You getting off to this?” He chuckles, sliding deeper into your mouth making your throat click when you swallow. 

He pulls out a few inches and sinks back down into you making you moan as he fills your throat. 

“Play with that cute pussy, cum all over your fingers while I fuck your mouth,” he holds your head down so he can fuck down into your spit slick mouth, wet balls smacking your chin. 

You continue to moan as he fucks open your throat, eyes watering when he dips down too far. 

“God, baby, I’m about to cum,” his hips stutter, “gonna swallow, right? Yeah, drink it all up for daddy. Milk my cock as I drain my balls in that tight fucking throat.”

Your fingers circle and rub your clit faster until you’re moaning uncontrollably and cumming, hole clenching down on nothing as slick drips from your pussy. 

With a low groan, Leon eases out until you can only suckle on the fat head of his dick. Hot sticky ropes of cum fill your mouth and the back of your throat; as he slowly sinks further into your mouth, cum drips down the back of your throat making you swallow and milk his throbbing cock. 

Leon pulls out of your mouth, but leaves his swollen tip pressed to your lips, “Clean it up, sweetheart.”

You softly kitten lick the head as he softens against your mouth. After a few moments, he pulls away and sits back on the couch to pull you into his lap. He kisses you, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. 

“Did so good for me,” he murmurs as he pulls away, “such a good girl.”

“Leon,” you sigh, exhaustion written all over your body, “s’good but ‘m tired.”

“We’ll go lay down, okay?” he coaxes you to stand on wobbly legs and helps you upstairs. 

He guides you, to your surprise, to your own room. 

Before you can question it, he has you both tucked under the covers of your smaller bed, his front pressed all along your back. 

“Daddy,” you whine as he kisses your neck, “why here?”

He laughs in your ear and drops another kiss on your neck, “After we rest, I’m gonna fuck you here, too. Always wanted to make you cry while I rail you in this bed.”

White hot pleasure pulses in your clit and nipples as you roll your hips back.

“Daddy, that’s so dirty!” 

“I know,” he laughs again, “we can even pretend your mom’s home when we do, so you’ll have to be so quiet. Don’t wanna get caught,” he dips his tongue into your ear before kissing the shell. 

You shudder, eyes nearly crossing at the dull throb of want washing over your spent body. 

“But,” he shifts and wraps his arms around your waist, “we need to get some sleep, baby.”

You give a shaky sigh as you nod, “Okay, daddy.”

[thatonequeerk1d]

I GOT HEARTSTOPPER BOOK MARKS!

Ok here's the link since y'all won't stop asking

@martyconansversion @charlie-f-spring @that-gay-thing @forever-bi-panic @wherethefuckiscupertino

[preciouslandmermaid]

like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.

Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.

You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.

You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.

You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.

So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.

There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.

You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.

You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.

He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.

The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...

It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.

He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.

He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.

He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”

“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”

“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.

“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”

“Do you think Falcone is involved?”

You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”

Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.

“What’s your plan?” He asks.

“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.

“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”

“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”

You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”

He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.

He says, “I’ll go alone.”

“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”

“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.

“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”

“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”

He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.

“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”

“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.

Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.

You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.

The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.

The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.

“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.

“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”

“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.

Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.

Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.

“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”

You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.

You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”

His eyes glimmer, “I did.”

“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”

“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.

Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”

“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”

You smile. “The first one is free.”

His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.

“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”

“You’re here for more than that.”

You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.

“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.

“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”

Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...

Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.

“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”

He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”

You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.

You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”

Good. His office will be clear to search.

“That’s too bad.”

Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”

Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.

“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.

An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.

He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.

“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”

“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”

You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”

The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.

You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.

“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”

Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”

“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”

You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”

He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

“Jessica Haywood?”

“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”

Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.

He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”

“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”

Bruce grunts.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.

“Mostly.”

Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.

On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”

“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”

His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”

You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.

“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”

Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”

“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.

“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”

Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.

Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.

Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?

You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.

“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.

“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”

Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?

“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.

There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?

A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.

Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”

“Chief Psychiatrist.”

You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.

He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“Holy shit!” you breathe.

The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.

“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!

You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’

“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”

“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.

“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”

Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?

“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.

“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”

You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”

“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.

You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”

Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.

Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.

And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.

The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.

However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.

Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.

You click away from the news article.

Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.

You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.

The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.

You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.

It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.

Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.

And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.

“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”

He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.

His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.

“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.

He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.

“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.

“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.

Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”

“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”

“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”

Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.

“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.

Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.

You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.

The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.

You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.

“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”

You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.

“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”

Bruce shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.

“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.

He rasps, “Don’t.”

You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.

“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.

His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.

His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.

“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.

“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”

Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.

“Right here?” You guess.

“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.

Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.

He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.

“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”

He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.

“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”

He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.

He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.

He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.

“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”

“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”

“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.

“Ohh, a surprise.”

“Mm.”

He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.

“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”

He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”

Always a goddamn gentleman!

He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.

Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.

You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.

Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.

“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”

“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.

He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.

His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.

These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.

Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.

He says, “stay with me.”

“W-what?”

“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”

You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.

“We’re having this conversation now?”

“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”

“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”

Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”

You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.

You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.

You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.

You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.

The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.

You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…

You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.

You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.

After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’

You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.

Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!

You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.

It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.

Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.

“Are you Batman?”

Bruce sits up.

“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”

He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.

His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.

“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”

“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.

He sighs.

“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”

“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.

“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.

He finally says, “yes.”

“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”

“Both.”

You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”

Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”

“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”

He stares at you and his lips part in awe.

“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.

He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”

“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”

Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”

You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.

[random-introverted-blog]

Seed of Darkness [Dark Justiciar Shadowheart x F!Reader]

Exalted Nightsinger, blessed be the chosen womb

Intended Audience: Mature / EXPLICIT [I'm starting to realize how old I am when I talk to people born in the 2000's...]

The Bit: You are Dark Justiciar Shadowheart’s prisoner, kept in the Sharran dungeons where she has been training you, trying to make you yield and become hers completely. She has also been trying to get you pregnant without success. When she comes to visit you tonight, she might finally have something that will make it a reality...

Warnings/Advisories: SA, mind manipulation, mind breaking, emotional abuse, forced drug use, breeding (its called seed of darkness, come on...), impregnation, forced pregnancy, magical pregnancy, magic penis, possessive behavior, corruption, sex slavery (forced pregnacy, breeding kink should indicate that much but just in case...), dominant Shadowheart

Words, all the word (count): 3,171 baebeee

Co-written by my bestie, the bestest of besties @shadowfalllen - If you like this MAKE SURE YOU THANK HER. It's only because of her that it exists and is being posted. Again, it was written between us as a self indulgent fic lol.

Sharing some Dark Justiciar Shadowheart content in 3...2...1

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

The sound of the heavy door scraping the floor wakes you up from your daze. And the clanking of armor tingles your senses. "Wakey, wakey, my pretty, little slut..."

You jolt up as you hear her voice and back away from her as far as you can, looking around like a scared deer for a way out. There is no way out, you know it of course. You're in your familiar cell in the Sharran dungeon.

Shadowheart tsk's at you, wagging her finger. "Tut-tut, my sweet... You know better..." As she begins to unstrap her Dark Justiciar armor...

You look up at her as she's taking off her armor, knowing full well where this will lead, but you have no other option than to just cower in the far corner where the shadows of the room are even darker, trapped, waiting for her next move.

Shadowheart watches you a moment before nodding over to the direction of the bed. Raising an eyebrow expectantly. Tossing her armor on the ground when she gets the shoulders off, working on the chain mail beneath next.

"My good girl, are you going to behave for me...? You know how good I treat you when you behave... And the sooner you swell for me, the sooner I can lavish you with all the joys and affection you, and our little one, can fathom..." As she tosses the under layer of armor aside. Now working on unbuckling her belt. Her gaze fixed to yours, a few strands of black hair in her eyes.

You listen to her talk. She has been trying to get you pregnant for a while, using a spell on herself and taking you with her polymorphed cock, but she hasn't been successful. Something about the magic hasn't allowed it. That hasn't stopped her from trying though. Over and over again. Day in and day out, you have been filled with her seed, forced to carry it inside you, feel it drip down your inner thighs... a constant reminder who you belong to.

You know what it means to resist her, to disobey her, and afterwards, she will just take you anyway. So you force yourself to move and slowly walk from the corner towards the bed and climb on it. You're now sitting on it with your back against the wall. The familiar pit of dread settles in the bottom of your stomach but turns into heat as you see she has already almost completely undressed.

Shadowheart smiles, but it's unsettling. Unnerving. She's slowly stepping toward you as she drops the belt to the floor. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small vial of purple fluid.

"This, love... will ensure that your body accepts my seed. This will promise you freedom from this room... and admittance into my bedchamber. Where I can keep a close eye on the two of you..." She purrs, now crawling onto the bed. She pulls the stopper on the vial, and slowly hands it to you.

Her smile sends shivers of fear down your spine as she crawls closer to you. You take a look at the vial she's handing to you and then take a look back into her eyes. What you see in them makes you tremble in fear. The fear mixes with arousal as it usually does for you. She has that effect on you. You know there probably is no way out of this, one way or the other she is going to force you to carry her child. You take the vial into your shaking hand.

She watches your every move. A frigid, stern stare in her eyes, devoid of any playfulness or smiles like before. Her hand slowly touches yours at your wrist. Firmly, albeit with a gentleness, pushing the vial closer to your lips.

You're so scared that you take the vial to your lips and almost drink it, but you stop at the last minute. Images of yourself, heavy with her child, flashes into your mind and you panic. That can't happen. She already has you imprisoned. What hope will you have left if she actually makes you carry her child as well?

You contemplate throwing the vial to the far wall, thinking what the consequences of such action would be. But you're clearly taking too much time for the Dark Justiciar's liking, the grip on your hand tightens and her other hand takes hold of your hair and bends your head back, earning a gasp from you at the sudden tug.

"If you think this is something you can decide for yourself, think again." Shadowheart says, her tone of voice stern, leaving no room for negotiation as she forces the liquid down your throat. Your only choice is to swallow it all or choke on it, so you swallow it like the good girl she has been training you to be.

"That's more like it..." Her voice is low, eager, as she watches the vial emptying into your stomach.

You're not allowed to wear any clothes in the dungeon, so her hand is free to roam over your breast, pinching your nipple before it travels down between your legs. Her fingers slide between your folds, gathering any moisture, the evidence of your body's betrayal, before she rubs roughly your clit, the sudden harsh stimulation making you whimper.

"Are you going to behave now, my slut?" Shadowheart asks, holding your gaze, still bending your head back a bit, fingers entwined in your hair.

Something in you bends and breaks under her searing, intense gaze. "I will." You say submissively, embarrassed by how weak your voice sounds.

Shadowheart smiles and eases up her grip on your hair, the touch of her fingers gentler between your legs before she pulls her hand away entirely.

The smile turns into a grin and she strokes your head a moment. She purrs praises under her breath to you "good choice" and "my pretty little slut..." before reaching into her pocket again and pulling out another vial.

She pulls this one open with her teeth. Then locks her eyes with yours as she spits the stopper aside and slowly tips the contents into her mouth. Once she's finished, she takes yours and tosses both over her shoulder, indifferent to the sound of them shattering on the floor. "Just to be sure, love..." she murmurs, unfastening her trousers and tugging them off, a well-practiced motion you've seen more times than you'd like to admit.

The urge to move away from her is strong, but you force yourself to stay still, not daring to antagonize her further. You sit still against the wall, frozen in place again, looking at her now naked form and the hard-on between her legs, ready for you. No matter how many times this has happened, you still haven't got used to it. Your quickened heartbeat pounds in your ears, it's almost overwhelming.

She shushes you as she pulls your body down to lie flat on the bed, making you gasp, and slots between your legs. "This is it, you know... you'll take this, enjoy this, like a good girl does. Because that's what you are, aren't you? My good girl..." Shadowheart murmurs, cradling your cheek in her palm. The look in her piercing green eyes threatens to consume you.

When she calls you her good girl, it makes you twitch involuntarily, making you curse the parts of your body that are always so eager to yield to her touch. A flush settles on your cheeks. "I'm your good girl," you murmur softly, unable to stop yourself. Her gaze makes your willpower falter even more.

"That's right and I'm going to love your body like you're my precious, obedient lover... I wonder... when I fill you... plant my seed deep inside you..." Saying this, she spreads your legs wide apart, your knees bent. Guiding herself to line up with your dripping slit. "Will you feel it tonight? When our little flower sprouts inside you...?" Then slowly, almost too slow she feeds the tip of her throbbing cock into you.

Your mind goes back to the promise she might take you out of this cold, damp, bleak dungeon and into her bedchamber. Anything had to be better than this place, right? But you know what the prize for that is and images of yourself pregnant with her child flashes in your mind and you feel panic for a moment.

What does it all matter though? You already drank the vial, she's already pushing into you, it's already too late, anyway. You know how hung she is, so you try to concentrate on remaining calm and prepare yourself instead.

She sighs softly once she's halfway inside you. You bite your lips as she fills you up, it's so overwhelming this time. The prospect of successfully getting you pregnant has heightened her intensity even more than before. Her gaze fixated on yours, savoring this moment with you. Her gaze makes you shiver. It's evident that she's savoring every moment, trying to etch it into her memory. You're sure won't forget this either.

Once she bottoms out, her eyes flutter closed, and she holds herself there. Fully sheathed inside you. Intertwined with you. You're so full of her and just like every time, it's starting to be hard to think about anything else than her and her being inside you. So deep in your core.

She runs her fingertips along your hips; the touch leaving a lingering warmth. You can almost see her fantasies playing in her eyes when they open and drift to your hips. That soon they will bear the weight of carrying her child. Then her hands smooth over your stomach... and then she begins to move. Slow at first. Gentle. You can't recall her ever being this gentle with you. There's this odd tenderness in her you haven't seen before.

"You will look... so pretty for me... for us both..." you can hear it in her words, the 'us' she's referring to isn't just you and her. Her words make you blush again. You remain completely still, your vulnerable core laid bare for her gentle exploration as you let her indulge in her desires.

Shadowheart continues this tender, sweet rhythm with you. Shushing and cooing you softly as she rocks her hips back and forth. She sighs softly as her pace increases somewhat, providing more friction to your tight channel. With the same care and gentleness as a lover.

It's as if she's caressing your senses, making love to you. Each touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire that burns deep within. This euphoria slowly spreads, like warm honey seeping through your veins, leaving you in a state of blissful surrender.

Submitting to her is always easier. The soft glow of her smile beckons you as she gently strokes your hair. She can be very nice when you are obedient, her voice like a soothing melody that lulls you into a sense of comfort. You can't help but imagine the way she would care for you if you remain obedient and carry her baby. Would it be so bad? The way she caresses your stomach, her touch as gentle as a feather grazing your skin, evokes a strange warmth within you. It's a tenderness you haven't witnessed before, leaving you longing for the security and affection she offers.

She gazes deeply into your eyes, searching for any trace of doubt, delving into your innermost thoughts. A smile of pure satisfaction slowly curls her lips, radiating a sense of pride. It's as if she always knew you would eventually embrace the idea of being completely hers. The weight of surrendering your entire being to her possession hangs in the atmosphere, a palpable energy that envelops you, making your heart race and your skin tingle with anticipation.

It's impossible to escape her gaze and the smile she gives you. You see the need in her to own all of you and you are so close to just yielding to it. Into yielding to her completely. You don't know if it is a conscious or unconscious decision, but you lift your legs up and wrap them around her waist and keep them there.

She moans deeply as you do, eyes fluttering a moment at how wonderful it feels for you to give in to her. "What do you need, my good girl?" She manages between breaths, arousal thick in her voice, pumping herself inside you more purposefully. Not quite hard. But not as feathery and delicate as she was before.

"I... harder... please.." You say breathless, surprised by your own words.

Shadowheart chuckles slightly and breathlessly but obliges as she grips your hips and fucks herself into you. Not too hard, though, to your surprise. She watches you, assessing if she's hurting you. She wants you both to enjoy this, to look back on this lovemaking fondly, the one that will bless you with her child.

You moan as she settles into the slightly harder rhythm, it's just the right amount and it feels good to be so full of her, how her shaft drags through your channel, how your walls cling to it.... to be filled by her again and again by her.

You keep the eye contact steady and put your hands behind her neck, lightly, carefully pulling her closer. You can feel her grip on your hips tightening as her thrusts become less controlled and composed. The moment is drawing near, and she clearly has no serious intent of drawing it out.

Excitement twinkles in her eyes as the implication almost tangibly races in her mind. "So close, love... Oh so close, and you will be mine... body and soul... all mine..." she grunts, her nails digging into your skin.

The haze of the lovemaking, how she fills your every sense, makes you oblivious to the darker implication behind her words, to her intent on making you carry her spawn. It's almost like the Dark Justiciar isn't the only one excited by the prospect, the dark corners of the room seem to be as well as shadowy tendrils seem to reach for you, seeking to engulf you in their embrace as it gradually gets darker. You're oblivious to this as well, having given into her.

Shadowheart's thrusts slow down but maintain their force and depth. "You're going to... be so... beautiful." She manages between groans as she fucks herself rough and deep into you. "Swollen..." she says and with one hard thrust she buries herself to the hilt inside you, stretching you to the limit around her cock.

Then you feel her. A wave of her warmth floods deep inside you, more than it ever has. Perhaps you're imagining it but you can almost feel the difference this time. Sense its intent to nestle deep inside your fertile womb. "And mine..." Shadowheart hisses through her teeth as she bucks her hips slowly, intent to secure every drop of her seed deep within you.

Every word leaving her lips, every thrust of her hips, is bringing your orgasm closer. You come helplessly after she hisses "Mine" and spears you to the hilt, your channel clenching around her cock and milking every drop into your depths, into your womb.

And as she holds her eyes on you, you have no doubt that this time she's succeeded...

Your body will bear her child...

Your womb and her seed will be growing an army of devoted servants of darkness in the name of Shar. 

Daughters of darkness. 

Sired by Shar's chosen. Born in the darkness of Shar’s holy place. The gathering shadows slither around the darkened room, sharing her excitement.

As the haze of pleasure fades and your mind is clearer again, you look at her with your eyes wide open, the reality of what just happened and what will happen to you hitting you hard.

Shadowheart leans down and presses a sweet, loving kiss to your lips. Moaning into your mouth as her tongue slides in. Only pulling away from the kiss to adjust your hips together, lifting your legs and holding herself inside you. Ensuring her seed not only stays inside you longer, but seeps deeper inside you. "That's it, my breedable little slut... let it settle inside you awhile."

When you slowly come to your senses, you realize what she's doing: making sure her seed is taking root inside you. The reality of the situation makes you panic again and you start to instinctively struggle, trying to get your legs free and dislodge her from inside of you, but it's all in vain.

Shadowheart tsk's and shakes her head. Your struggling barely seems to faze her. Holding you still effortlessly with her muscular arms. "My love, now's not the time to be silly. We can both feel your womb eagerly seeking my seed. Your body is obediently preparing itself for my child..." She moves a hand to stroke your cheek.

"So no more games, love... If you like, you can play hard to get with me after our... daughter is born. Yes. A girl. We'll have a little girl..."she murmurs softly, smiling warmly at the thought. Whether intentional or not, she lifts your hips even higher after it crosses her mind. You think you can feel her come pooling inside you.

Her strength and words make you give in again and you lay exhausted and compliant under her. You're trying to even your breathing and calm down, knowing that annoying her isn't wise, especially after you had just gotten to her good side.

The shadows dance in eerie harmony, their inky tendrils reaching out to embrace your vulnerable presence. You remain unaware of their insidious infiltration, as they slither through every crevice of your being. Their whispers echo in your mind, amplifying the twisted notions that sway your thoughts, pushing you to the brink of surrender.

A darkness settles behind your eyes, dimming your inner light.

You put your hand carefully on hers as she strokes your cheek. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," you say submissively, looking into her eyes, offering her apologetic smile, "I am yours, now and always. It will be an honor to carry your child. Our daughter." You say, lying there with her seed deep inside you, thoughts of escape leaving your mind.

You belong to her wholly.

The shadows reward you with pleasurable shivers across your skin at the thought, caressing you all over.

Shadowheart smiles and shushes you, thumbing your cheek. "Hush, my darling. Rest now. You and our little lady will need all the rest you can get..." she purrs softly as she gently sets your legs down and very slowly draws her hips back and her softened cock out of you.

Rather than lay down beside you, she finds her trousers and slides them on before wrapping you in a blanket and lifting you into her arms. Carrying you to the door and into your new life...

[xxinkys-ocsxx]

First post on Tumbler! ^^

Hiya! I'm Inky! This is my introduction post, and at the time of posting, this is my first post on tumblr! but definitely not my first time on tumbler lol (I have a alt acc on my laptop)

(just a random reminder that this blog will include oc x cannon, if you don't like that stuff please be respectful ignore my blog and proshipers, ped0s, homophobes, racist, zoophiles etc, dni with me or my blog.)

I'm probably going to be posting art and POSSIBLY writing some oc x cannon/x reader fics on here because yass👏👏Anyway here's just a summary of me but as one of my ocs profiles loll

Name: Inky

Nickname: Inks

Gender: Cis female

pronouns:she/her

Species: Little sona gal

Nationality: England☕

Fandoms I'm in:

A:

Arcane

Animal crossing

B:

Bluey!

BEASTARS

Beetlejuice

Bendy and the ink machine

Black butler

C:

Circus of wishes

Cuphead

casino cups

Charlie the union

Chicken nugget

D:

Demon slayer

Deadpoll

Dark deception

Dhmis

E:

ENA

epithet erased

EYES ARG

F:

Fanf

Ferngully

Far fetched

F.r.i.e.n.d.s

G:

Glitter force

Garten of ban ban

Generation loss

GURBY

Guardians of the Galaxy

Gacha

Gravity falls

H:

Hazbin hotel

Helluva boss

Heart of Titans

Heathers

Hamilton

Heart stopper

Hotel transylvania

Harry Potter

Hilda

I:

Indgo park

J:- none yet-

K:

Komi can't communicate

L:

Lackadaisy

Lamas in hats

Little nightmares

Little misfortune

M:

Murder drones

Metal family

Mean girls

My little powny

My friendly neighbourhood

Mario

Monkey wrench

N:- none yet-

O:

One piece

Obay me!

P:

popee the performer

Perfect husbands

Poppy playtime

Portals

Purcy Jackson

Q: - none yet-

R:

Royal high

Ramshackle

rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

Rise of the guardians

S:

SpyXfamily

Spooky month

Sam and max

Sad ghost club

Skylanders

T:

The amazing digital circus

Tokyo ghoul

Toilet bound Haiko-kun

U: - none yet-

V:

Vampire series

Villainous

W:

Welcome home

Who framed Roger rabbit?

Wimpy witch

X: - none yet-

Y: - none yet-

Z:

Zipped up

There are probably SOOOO meny more I just can't think of rn :/

But yeah! That's me! Expect to see lots of art, mostly oc x cannon

I'm excited to start posting, until then bye!!

[faegoddessog]

30: After dark.

Ok loves, We are in the home stretch!!! This has been such a fun process. A little daunting at times, but I've deepened into the creative process. When I wondered "how the hell am I gonna fit THAT into this?" I was amazed that an answer always arrived; rarely right away and sometimes just in the nick of time. Thank you for going on this journey with me! I'll be posting this in a larger format as a whole story soon!

Here is my ongoing masterlist of this project.

My other works are here if you are interested!

Check out the fun challenge here by @slowsweetlove . Feel free to jump in too!

Warnings: Snowballing (f to m), PiV, ball and taint fondling (m to m) {yup, these three are still going!} post sex sleepy cuddles

Austin is a fucking machine behind you. Both hands on your hips now and pounding into your poor blissful pussy, still making your spine jerk. His hips chasing his orgasm like you took it and hid it inside you.

Cal’s cock, thankfully, still stoppers your mouth because  you can’t quite swallow, Honestly, who can as they cum this hard. 

“Good god, love,” his head is thrown back, “that’s- fuck.” He pops out as soon as he’s done cumming. He squats down to fervently kiss your mouth full of his cum.  You swallow a gulp before his tongue swipes in, rooting in your mouth for his own taste.  He holds your head, one hand on top, the other on your jaw.  He works your mouth, steals your air, commands your tongue despite Austin jerking your whole body. 

A kiss like that could be considered distasteful in another setting. The cum, the forcible invasion of his tongue, the fact that it’s in the middle of your orgasm. But here? Right now? After all that has happened in the past two hours, hell, in the past two days… it’s hot as fuck. 

He pulls back, sucking on your tongue as your orgasm spirals down

“God your tongue tastes so good with my cum on it,” he groans. 

Cal reaches over the couch to your clit. His fingers feel different than Austin’s, his movements less refined, but holy hell does it work for you.

“That’s it, squeeze him, milk it out of him hunny,” his Londoner accent thick in your ear.

It kicks you back up in no time and you are squealing into Cal’s shoulder.

Somehow, Austin still hasn’t cum, riding on the edge, dripping sweat, waiting for that tip over the top. Callum’s fingers slip off your clit and down to Austin’s balls, then behind. 

“C’mon, fill her up man,” Cal encourages as he fondles his friend.

It’s just the push Austin needed. He thrusts deep once, twice. He roars behind you, his ass shuddering as he cums. 

Sometime later, you awaken to gentle snoring. It’s very dark, did all the candles burn out? You feel warm skin next to you. You shift to find warmer skin behind you and a sheet over the top of you all. It takes you a second to realize that all three of you are packed into your bed. You don’t remember getting here and frankly you don’t care.

The only problem is that your bladder is screaming at you. Slowly you figure out which limbs are yours and disentangle them from the boys’. Callum is behind you, one hand thrown over his head like a little boy. Austin is curled up in front of you, little spoon style. You decide that wiggling out the bottom is the only way out.  

When you come back, Callum has rolled to his side and stolen your spot. He is curled around Austin, holding him to his chest. You smile, well, what happens after dark can stay after dark. Plus, anyone with a pulse would want to spoon Austin. You slip under the covers into the warm spot left by Callum, pressing your back up against him. His big hand momentarily covers your thigh and squeezes. 

credit to @saradika for the graphic!

Always tag me: @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight

"I've been tagged by you before Lumiere!": @thisworldisntrealhoney,  @1nho,  @megangovier, @briaandthephantoms, @andro-inherdreamworld @callumsgirl @blombardo  @fefeisastar @hacunamy @nestito702 @denised916 @jayydep @r0m4nitcl0v3r @heyidc03, @secondchild-2, @flander42 @natural-born-rebel-spirit @lecosymood @kathrynzaragoza @bsunshinexo @jayydep @ifyouloveweedletsgosmoke