#I almost didn’t post this because… I can’t draw muscles

[icezeebee]

For part 3 of @dilatorywriting ‘s siren Vil series. (Please read it their dynamic is so silly)

I know there are inaccuracies but I hope you still enjoy it 🙇‍♀️

[calebrity]

ataxia

sylus x fem reader

⤷ sylus wants kids, sweetie. lots of kids.

kind of a part 2 to this piece, but it can still serve as a lil standalone as well ♡ DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS

cw ▻ nsfw, dubcon, breeding, pregnancy mentions, daddy kink, im a strong believer in sylus wanting a big family, whipped sylus, characters depicted are 18+, stockholm syndrome, yandere/obsessive tendencies, ~2.5k words

notes ▻ eeee they fr live in my head rent free </3 anyways take this crumb while i work on like other fics. daddy sylus is actually KILLING me like always on the noggin 😵‍💫

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

There’s a certain peace you feel, curled up on the leather couch, in watching your husband sit on his knees as the little ones crawl around the carpet, playing with them no different than a toddler would.

Not exactly a pleasant peace, by any means, but a simple, sort of resigned one. Your muscles seem to lose the tension, shoulders always piked high, ready for attack- or some other (meta)physical blow- slumping into rounded blades. You sigh.

Perhaps it’s the knowing that whatever bad thing that could’ve come- already has. Now, you’re experiencing the sloping aftereffects of it.

And this—

Sylus, with a beaming grin, letting out an almost breathless laugh as he scoops up one of the boys and twirls him overhead, the other kept by a protective hand at his side so he won’t bump on the corner of the coffee table—

Is just the fallout.

Ruby-red eyes flit over (and they always do sooner than later, like you’re a beacon in the middle of a dark sea) and crinkle at the edges. You’ve told him before that you don’t like when he throws the babies up in the sky like that, that if they were to suddenly fall, they can’t take flight like Mephisto. He must remember, because he lets out a little, woeful noise and carefully lowers him.

The smile remains, though, kilowatt and wide, a little starry-gazed like he’s inviting you to slip off the sofa and join him on the fluffy rug with your children.

The fatigue natural to post-pregnancy has already claimed you tonight, though. Truth be told, you’d have hesitated even if it didn’t. It’s fine, tending to your children on your own; his long absences leave you with massive windows of alone time with the little ones, and you actually enjoy it (save for the huge toll it takes on your energy, of course, but Luke and Kieran lend a hand where it counts- where they’re allowed).

That sentiment changes a bit, though, when your husband does get home. With his presence comes the cold reminder of how things really are, how you’re still an unwilling counterpart in all this- frilly gowns and jewels and the private chef he hires for fancy dinners (because he has the money for it) be damned.

You want to go home. That wish, hollow as it is, still stands.

…Even if it’s started staggering, in these last few months.

He’s always been more than content with just the two of you, but in the last several weeks, you compare Sylus’s emotional state to a suitcase packed too full, joy spilling out the sides. Evidently, he doesn’t try to close the zipper; he lets it happen with gladness, with his hands open and lifted, but you’re not sure he entirely knows what to do with himself. With these significant developments that are just as new to him (possibly even more, as much as that flummoxes you) as they are to you.

It’s as weird as it is endearing to see what having two children (twin boys, funnily enough) will do to your husband. But if there’s one thing you learned about Onychinus’s illustrious leader in the past couple years of your marriage—

It’s that he does not settle for less.

And when he draws closer, both little ones secured in his lap- dozing off because it’s already thirty minutes past their bedtime- and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss there, rubbing your knuckles dotingly…

You can tell there’s something more he’s craving.

✿

“A girl,” he moans.

Sometimes- after you’ve just put down the boys for four consecutive nights in a row before collapsing in bed, your lover hardly having the opportunity to show his affections, all but guilted into letting you catch up on your sleep- it’s almost easy to forget how Sylus feels, your brain willing it away. How good he fucks you.

If you’re being more general- how good he takes care of you.

“Give me a girl this time, sweetie, just-“ a gasp, “one more.”

And vaguely, in the haze of sweat and burning hands, his thick, long cock plunging in and out of you deeply- slowly- your juices and his pre slicking between you, sticky as molasses, you wonder to yourself if he’s even convinced of that himself.

Just having one more, you mean.

The twins were unexpected: that right there is an understatement. You were hardly prepared for one rascal- all the countless evenings he spent buttering you up, so attentive, and then cumming into you with whispered vows to knock you up be damned— but when the xray revealed not one misshapen, little form in your womb, but two?

It was a bombshell.

Sylus, beside you (on the leather couch downstairs with your personal doctor he paid God knows how unreasonable a sum to show), had squeezed your hand in his and tried to mask half of his joy. The priority was in comforting you, helping you to realize that this was a good thing- a beautiful thing- that your life was not officially over and- hey, don’t worry, hasn’t he taken good care of you thus far? Surely, adding a couple little ones into the equation wouldn’t suddenly make it impossible.

You’re both very capable people, honey. Even more so together, with him. (Well, he assures you as much, anyway.)

Whether or not he could take care of you was never exactly the worry, though. The worry was that you’d be under his hand forever— and a baby? (two, you strictly correct. Two babies) You could kiss the last hope you had of ever weaseling out from his grip, or luxurious manor, goodbye.

He must know it, buried deep in the back of his head underneath the genuine layers of desire to simply start a family with you, his beloved girl, and flesh out more of a solid, burgeoning life; the silent promise underlying the pregnancy tests and inpromptu housecalls of your poor, overworked doctor.

That a family ties you to him forever.

A tether that’s damn near impossible to cut yourself loose from, even if you stood a punching chance at it to begin with. Glues you together in a way that even marriage doesn’t quite scratch the surface of. Your bond is perpetuated by blood, now. Flesh and bone. Your DNA, warped with his to create—

Monstrosities—

No, a harsh voice in the corner of your skull surprisingly snips back. They’re not monstrosities, far from it. All previous qualms nudged aside (and you had a lot, to be clear; hours spent sobbing and pushing helplessly at his chest as Sylus crooned and wrapped you in his arms proves that), doubts surrounding parenting and your own self preservation- your children are beautiful, that’s true. Healthy. Perfect.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and choose the high road here (the high road means willfully forgetting how involuntary this whole arrangement was in the first place)- they’re positively adorable. With his white hair spiking on their heads but your eyes and lips- and a shared penchant to land themselves into trouble, places they shouldn’t be before either of you stoops over to lift them out. Albeit, you’ll admit that their noses are still up for debate; it’s hard to pinpoint the resemblance when their faces are endearingly round, too chubby to really tell in this stage, but you secretly hope they’ll take after you in that regard.

You… don’t know how you’ll continue to operate if staring at your children is like staring at a mirror image of their father.

But… I mean, they’re fucking innocent in all this—

Your precious boys aren’t like their father. They… won’t be. You’ll make absolute sure of it.

“One more,” he chants, sucking in a long, thin breath through perfect teeth. And damn it all he feels good. So good. Maybe he had more than just one selfish, substratal reason for populating your otherwise fairly quiet home. Because you’re more obedient lately, wanting for it, almost… It gets him riled up in ways he could not begin to articulate. Hesitant still (sometimes he has this awful, basal fear that it’ll never go away, your trepidation towards him)- but sugar-sweet when you lie on the silken bed and present yourself with bashful cheeks that tell Sylus you hate yourself for it but have no real control in the moment.

You moan so prettily for him when he pries your thighs apart and presses them either side of your head, fashioning you like a butterfly, to slide in and out of you with ease. Melodic. Maybe he’s tone deaf to all songs save for you because he knows you, knows you like the back of his hand, pitch and lilt; he could pick out the voice of you in a crowd full of whooping people, he thinks.

Again, you blame your excitement on what he’s done to you. The twins’ pregnancy, the fluctuating hormones that have you bouncing between hysterical sobs and yanking your wide-eyed husband into impulsive, suffocating kisses before his fingers quickly settle around your middle. All the gentle erosion that he’s guided you through across the span of almost two years has left you worn and vulnerable.

But you suppose if something were to ever encourage a deeper bond- strengthen it- what else would it be than to take a man’s seed inside your womb and gift him with a bunch of unruly but cute kids? That’d gnaw away at just about anybody’s inhibitions, even if it grudges you to admit that. It lessens what remnant you held onto of this idea of ‘autonomy’, makes you fully lean onto him.

Sylus takes that news much, much better than you.

It’s… got to be more than physical between you now, you think distantly as he bullies his cockhead against your smooth walls, stroking a spongey spot in the bulwarks of you that makes your head go kaput. Like something spiritual, perhaps. He’s joined his soul with yours and that’s why you’ve been so obedient lately, so needy, clinging onto him and making his back your own personal scratching post as he plays at the idea of impregnating you again.

Oh, fuck, he’s such a bastard you hate him you hate him you—

You suppose your baby girl, inevitable to come somewhere down the line- whether that means during the next pregnancy or the third- won’t be like him, either.

She’ll be a sweetheart, and soft. Perhaps she’ll inherit her daddy’s crimson eyes or his smooth, sharp tongue, his inclination for success, but she’ll carry her mother’s heart with her. She will be kind.

Until someone like her daddy comes along. Flips her world on its head.

(And you know that having Sylus as her daddy would be the simple fact that staves off all potential men intending to prey on her, but still, the thought remains, niggling and bitter.)

“Take daddy’s cock, sweetie,” he goads, breath shot right from his lungs as he traps you beneath him- not that you’ve much the will to resist anymore- and moans over you. “You’ll take what he has to offer, won’t you? Your pretty belly will take all of it in?”

Tears prickle at your eyes when his flit down to your tummy, pupils swelling wildly as his jaw sets tight. He hisses through clenched teeth, cock giving a hot pulse accordingly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the bump there, the mound that’s not yet formed over a for now slim belly and wrinkled skin (stretch marks that you loathe but he worships on most nights, with your heels over his shoulder and his tongue lapping greedily at your pussy, palms kneading the flesh with reverence). It’s hardly been six months since you had the twins (a home birth, he’d insisted, because it was safer that way, more sterile, less stressful for you), but Sylus finds himself pining for your body to adapt to his seed again, for your breasts to plump and your stomach to round, your skin to glow.

(Your hands to reach for him because your emotions have been sat on one long rollercoaster ride and you can’t help whatever the fuck is going on inside you.)

“Sylus—“ You mewl, panting as he knocks his forehead to yours- with a whit more force than you think he’d meant, but he’s a little dazed right now, and your pussy feels so good, so don’t hold it against him, kitten- and grunts back. “Yes?” He breathes, and you liken the sound to a gust of wind, powerful and shaking.

“I- I don’t know,” you all but wail, desperately trying to tamp down your sounds of pleasure before they can escape. You’re failing.

Your reticence is for a number of reasons. First of all, your boys are just down the hall, swaddled in their respective cradles under their rotating airplane fixtures and sleeping soundly. You don’t have any intentions of changing that- especially for something as stupid and pathetic as essentially whoring yourself out to their father (and you’re not a whore, but you can’t help but feel like one when you start to bask in the attention he gives you- your hormones post-pregnancy compelling you to do all sorts of wild things).

And secondly, Luke and Kieran don’t renown you as stubborn for no reason, or your husband, lovingly, as a drama queen— and there’s a defiant part of you that does not want to see the satisfaction on his face when you start to crumble under his ministrations and open your mouth about it.

But all that, for Sylus, is a wonderful work in progress.

And if we’re to be crystal, for as much as the N109 Zone’s number one magnate prioritizes the end goal, he thoroughly enjoys the process.

“You don’t know what, Sweetie?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage right now, you’re squeezing him so tight. In that moment, the fog parts, and he knows with a hundred percent certainty that you do not want him to leave. Yes, your cunt is saying as much, and he rewards it with a carefully angled thrust right against your g-spot, but your face tells no different a story.

You’re beautiful. Perfection embodied. Makes him lose his breath a little.

“I-If I want a girl,” You heave. “If I want one at all.”

Something like dejection passes across his handsome visage then, or maybe it’s uncertainty that weakens the tight knotch in his brow as he inwardly struggles- between his approaching climax and the single mind he’s got to stuff you full of his release- for an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to anger you. Doesn’t want to make you hate him, no, especially not when you’re finally starting to dip your toes in his waters after all his painstaking efforts to make you comfortable. Oh, God knows Sylus would kick himself for that.

…But this will be good for you. Having another, he means. It’ll be good for the both of you and if you’d just let him show you—

He’s painted the perfect demonstration of that quite well with the boys, hasn’t he? In this past handful of months, you’ve never looked happier and you’re positively glowing and all Sylus has ever wanted was to see your pretty face light with that dazzling, little smile. The twins he’s given you, unbidden as they initially were through your lens, make you so, so happy.

This will be so, so good.

Perfect.

If you’d just give in.

Oh, you’re so maddening sometimes but he adores you, every part and piece. He stoops over so his damp lips brush the lobe of your ear, the perspiration dotting his temple wetting your flushed cheeks. He croons, “You do. You do want it. I’ll show you, kitten, just how bad you need it. The twins need a sister, don’t you think? They won’t know anything other than playing rough, if not.”

Your fingertips squeeze into the lean planes of muscle of his back. He’s burning up, near feverish what with the heat sweltering between your sandwhiched bodies, but he gives a shiver in response like he’s enduring temperatures below freezing.

Panic, beneath the misty veneer of pleasure that makes your face go slack- and the subtle, inexplicable flash of something that almost convinces you Sylus is right, that you do want it- slips into the forefront of your muddled brain. Reaches a hand through the dirt and revives itself, reminding, no, no, you don’t want this, you don’t want him, you don’t want—

You let out a delicious gasp as he spears into you, the flesh of your thighs dimpling as he presses down the undersides of them. Firm, but gentle. It’s true, you’ve become considerably more flexible since meeting him- since having to accommodate him- but he’ll never give you anything more than you can take.

You’d never admit it, but there’s almost a little bit of comfort in knowing that.

“I-I’ll make sure they know how to play nice,” you force out, taking your lower lip in your mouth and suckling as the telltale rush of your climax draws nigh, hardening in your belly as it builds. “I’ll make sure they know how to be gentle, Sy!” Foreign to your own ears. Your voice is horrid as you belatedly register it, all sniveling and gasping- downright pathetic as you cling onto him for dear life and he ruts into you like a dog in heat.

You’re grasping at straws now, you know, but for as feeble as your excuses are, you hope they hit their mark. That they’ll get him to reconsider-

“But sweetie,” he breathes tenderly, “you’re already making sure I’m gentle,” he reminds in a pleasant voice, edged with the remnants of a self control that unravels at a steady pace. “How will you juggle between the three of us? Hm?”

His cockhead, fat and precise, catches on that spot in you that makes you go positively crazy and your eyes flutter back. You let out a strange, choked sound that he marvels at before he capitalizes on the reaction completely, buffetting away at the final walls you’d erected against him tonight.

All are near crumbled.

“I’ll find a way,” you nearly squeak- high-pitched and unconvincing because his mind’s already made- before he’s lolling your jaw back towards him and smashing his lips to yours in a decadent kiss, silencing your protests- for as weak as they are.

It’s close to visceral, the contact, wet lips melding hungrily with yours, trading groans and mewls as he effectively pistons his hips into you and paints colorful stars across the black span of your eyelids. In a word- invasive. Torpefying, all your limbs unfurling and slipping away from him in favor of curling into the sheets as your release approaches at whirlwind speeds, blunt fingernails clinging onto you so tight there’ll be bruises formed tomorrow- as well as an apologetic, rueful sigh on Sylus’s end, because he swears to God he’s trying to hold back—

Fucking mind-numbing.

And isn’t that just what you need? A quiet conscience? A shot of morphine fed through a needle straight into the veins, an emotional kind of tranquilizer or- or something to moderate the snarled mess your heart’s become all because of him—

It seems he’s cognizant then, pupils dilated madly as he finally blinks, of the hands that clench too tight- withdrawing them immediately from your thighs (regrettably, they remain cleaved open in a willing offer for him, shaking and red with his prints) to loop your wrists either side of your head. Holding your hands. Ever the romantic. You almost laugh, seconds off from that white-hot tidal wave of pleasure, at the irony of it all. Onychinus’s formidable, takes-no-bullshit leader, fucking you with all the grace of a big clumsy dog but all the love of one too— loyal and determined, bleeding heart on his sleeve.

He’s still kissing you, sucking on your tongue filthily, and all you can think of is waking the boys sleeping soundly next door how exquisite it feels, his thick member dragging in and out of your walls like it’s his right. Sylus certainly believes as much.

He’s ruined you too good for anyone else; you’re starting to believe it, too.

“There you go, kitten!” He gasps. “Let go. Just- fuck- let go for daddy. Such a good, good girl. Such a good mommy, you are. Our- oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, perfect- Our little girl will be so, so lucky to have you.”

When he comes, you do, too.

[mv1simp]

Obsessed ♥️

Max Verstappen x Reader

got the tensions so high, you can’t sleep through the night, know you try to fight it, but it’s on your mind (got you obsessin now, counting your blessings now)

After having had his eye on you - the paddock's it girl, viral influencer and now Lewis Hamilton's new fling - for months, Max decided to finally make you his after you snap his self control with your teasing. And everyone knows he’s not one to do things half heartedly - even if that means claiming you until you realises he’s the perfect boyfriend for you instead.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, dark! Max Verstappen, naive! Bratty! Reader, dubcon, kidnapping (but just for like a couple of weeks), LOL I KNOW I SAID I WOULD NEVER WRITE KIDNAPPING BUT I GOT HORNY, size kink, cheating, BDSM, bimbofication, aphrodisiacs, this is the nastiest piece of filth I’ve produced I hope the dark max girlies rejoice

With his muscled arms crossed and a clenched jaw, a certain blonde Dutchman watches you confidently walk around the paddock, your hips moving sensually underneath the frilly miniskirt you’ve decided to wear. There’s no way you didn’t notice the many eyes on you, guys from all different garages checking you out with interest, Max thinks with annoyance clear on his face. He’d heard about you a long time ago, as a rising content creator and viral Insta model beginning to dabble in sports reporting, but it wasn't until just a few months ago that he had first seen you. Max always rolled his eyes as he walked past reporters interviewing you, eagerly asking about your perfect makeup and gorgeous outfits. F1 was meant to be about racing, about bloodthirsty competition, not about pandering to internet celebrities. Especially ones who were only there because of fake fame made from social media. Honestly, Max hated attention seekers like you, and hated how you were in the Redbull garage more and more often to give your audience a closer look.

Yeah, he hated you, but somehow he couldn’t stop thinking about you all the fucking time. Before races, after races, back home in Monaco on an evening out, at night in his bed unable to fall asleep, in the morning as he zipped up his training fit. He hated how much attention you would draw with your pretty face and curvy body on display beneath the tight outfits you wore. He hated how all your interviews and posts went viral as the online audience flocked to your natural confidence and outgoing personality as you charm your way through the paddock. He hated how sexy you looked with your thick lashes and long curls, hated how his engineers would become distracted when you’d walk past mid conversation. He hated how you smelt like sweet vanilla perfume and how you’d stare at him with pouting full lips and hurt puppy dog eyes everytime he ignored you when you sweetly talk to him. Your stupid sweetheart pink minidress was so fucking tiny, pushing your cute tits up until they were practically in his face, how was his cock not meant to get hard at the sight?

Then he’d always have to storm off to his cool off room, closing his eyes and angrily jerking off and only cumming when he thought about finishing all over those lush tits of yours as you pull down your dress, looking up at him on your knees with those wide doe eyes. You disinhibited Max just by being in the same room, somehow made him spin out of control. And Max Verstappen was always in control.

You’re far too much of a potential headache for him to pursue you, attracting so much media attention that there's no way he could speak to you in the paddock without it ending up in 10 different headlines. So he decided to regain control another way - getting multiple other girls underneath him instead to blow off the steam, get his mind off you. But no matter how many he slept with, in however many positions or risk situations, he just couldn't fully unleash himself. It was almost funny how the universe taunted him by making him think about you even more. Mid thrust inside another random model he'd met at a club, he's far from focused on her and instead imagining how much prettier you'd look beneath him. It was almost too easy to start fucking the girl who's name he'd already forgotten from the back, so he could picture that it was your lush ass he was squeezing and slapping instead, your pretty hair he was pulling as you made cute ah, ah, ahs! Max came within seconds at the thought, releasing a low moan as he breathed your name. He wasn't surprised when the girl stormed out of his apartment angrily afterwards. Putting on some sweats, he made his way out to his balcony with a glass of gin, sipping slowly as he stared out to the glimmering Monaco nightlife. He should’ve known that replicas could never compare to the original, to what he really craved - you. You were the real deal, a true natural beauty with an aura that exuded confidence. He was done trying to ignore his instincts, and what Max wanted, Max always got. And what he wanted now was you.

There’s no more wasting time for Max, because he immediately calls his private jet and flies to your city, showing up at your door with an absurdly large bouquet of dark red roses. But to his surprise and frustration, you turn his offer for dinner down, saying that you’ve started seeing someone else. Apparently in the past month while Max had been suppressing his desire for you, you had somehow gotten tangled in a sensationalised media fling with Lewis Hamilton. Seeing you laugh as you cling onto his rival’s arms, dressed in your usual pretty pastel pink minidresses made Max’s jaw tense. But he doesn’t miss the way your doe eyes curiously drift over to him when you think no one’s looking, hastily turning back to Lewis when you find Max’s intense blue gaze looking back at you. He doesn’t miss the way you bite your glossed lips as Max unzips his suit mid interviews with you that he’s started doing, revealing his tight fireproofs stretched across his muscled pecs and broad shoulders. He makes sure to lean in, looking at you with full attention and letting you smell his husky cologne mixed with post race sweat. He smirks when he sees how you subconsciously take a deep breath, how your pupils dilate with attraction. Max is so much bigger, stronger, powerful compared to you, and your current boyfriend, and you guiltily squeeze your thighs together to control yourself. When he sees the way you cross your legs, miniskirt rising up to reveal chubby thighs that you clench so hard that your knuckles turn white, he knows that he has you right where he wants you. He corners you in an empty storage closet post debrief, large hands gripping your full hips as he leans down and murmurs that you two would make such a good couple, he’d spoil you so much, are you sure you didn’t want to join him for dinner tonight?

To his extreme annoyance, you hold your ground even more firmly than before, pushing him away and telling him in a condescending tone No thank you, like I said, I’m seeing Lewis now…it’s rude of you to ask again! You flash him a glare with those cute doe eyes of yours - an expression that doesn’t suit your pretty face at all - before strutting off in your kitten heels. You turn to look at him before you leave the garage, catching his icy blue eyes on your swaying hips, and can’t hide the small pleased smile at having caught the interest of the F1 champion. Max’s eyes darken as you slip out of his grasp for the second time, because now he was certain you knew exactly what effect you had on the Dutchman and were using it to your full advantage. Oh, and did you use it - bending over suddenly to grab something you “dropped” just as Max would appear behind you, giving him a hint of juicy ass, leaning in to grab something next to him and letting your soft cleavage press against his biceps. The real cherry on top would be the way you glared at him haughtily when his eyes would inevitably drift down to your neckline, where he caught the perfect view of your cleavage, before hearing you scoff at him and stride away with the ever present sway of your plush hips. And Max’s heated gaze would be fixated on you, watching you make yourself comfortable on Lewis’s lap with a giggle - but your oh so innocent eyes would meet ice blue ones with a fiery defiance. It was like you were taunting him, seeing how far you could take it before he snapped.

Max hadn’t planned on finally losing control when he did. After the Monaco race, when everyone found themselves dancing and drinking to the pounding bass in exclusive nightclubs, you had joined Lewis in celebrating his P2 with Ferrari. You still weren’t officially his girlfriend, with Lewis’ laser focus on an 8th WDC meaning he didn’t want to be distracted with a serious relationship. Still, you had hope you could be the one to convince him otherwise - even if shivers ran down your spine and heat pooled in your lower stomach not from Lewis’ warm, comforting eyes but from his arch rival’s intense, dark gaze. Even now you couldn’t help catching Max’s eyes across the neon club. You knew you shouldn’t think it, but seeing him lean against a railing and talk animatedly to Lando with a gorgeous smile on his face, you admired him secretly. He looked so good dressed in a white shirt that highlighted those broad shoulders and his infamous tight jeans, showing off his muscular thighs.

And then a girl approached Max, looking the very picture of a French model, flirting and batting her lashes up at him. You roll your eyes as you see the Dutchman entertain her flirting, because of course a guy as arrogant and cocky as him just loved women who threw themselves at him. Not you though, and as you wander off from Lewis and find your girlfriends you’re determined to put Max Verstappen far out of your mind and only focus on twirling and grinding your curves on the dancefloor. You do such a good job of drinking tequila shot after shot that it’s a little hard to remember much after that.

You remember giggling with your girlfriends, reapplying your makeup, saying goodbye to Lewis who wanted to go home early but you wanted to stay out and have more fun! You go from one club, to another, but the whole time you can’t stop imagining Max’s intense gaze locked into yours. You think you went for fresh air at some point, almost stumbling in your sparkly heels but then strong hands are holding you by the waist, bringing you in against a warm chest. And you’re staring into those ice blue eyes again, tipsily babbling that you’re sooo sorry Maxie, can he pleaseee help you find your friends?

Max looks handsome even in this dim street lighting and it makes your heart race. You feel your entire body weight being held up against him, as he’s whispering soft nothings in your ear that you’re okay, schatje, he’s got you, shhhh, here just give him your phone and he’ll tell your friends where you are. You nod sleepily, suddenly feeling so tired all of a sudden, grateful that you’d run into someone kind who was helping you out.

Really, Max hadn’t been planning on taking you back to his. But you’d fallen into his arms, begging him to help you, practically just asking him to look after you and make you his. You’re such a sweet girl, after all, dressed in her gold sparkly minidress and kitten heels, oblivious to the stares of the many hungry men around her who shamelessly checked out your bouncing tits and ass with ever cute jump on the dancefloor. And Lewis had left you all alone, all defenseless. So really, Max had no choice but to protect you and take you home with him. To unlock your phone and text your friends that you were going back to the hotel before your early morning flight so they didn’t look for you. To lay you down in his soft sheets, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your delicate neck as you slept comfortably, licking a line up the column of your exposed throat as he inhaled your vanilla honey perfume. It’s hard to resist the temptation to ruin the sleeping beauty beneath him, to spread your soft thighs with one of his muscular ones and grind his painfully hard erection against your heat, but he holds himself back - for now. He knew you’d have some difficulty seeing eye to eye with his method of protecting you, so he took some precautions…by locking you in his room as he headed out the next morning as you continued sleeping.

When he came back at lunch, he finds you anxiously pacing, your curls a disarray from pulling on them and streaks of mascara running down your face in tears at the unfamiliar situation. Your jaw drops in shock as you finally come face to face with your captor. Max?! You gasp, relieved it was someone you knew and not a random serial killer. You’re running up to him, confused, asking him to let you go home because why had he locked you in, you didn’t understand, was the door jammed or something-

Max cuts you off with a grin darker than you’ve seen before, confirming that you’re exactly where he wanted you to be. He tells you about how he planned on keeping you safe, keeping you protected, even if it means making you stay inside his apartment for the next few days. You don’t understand, schatje, he murmurs in a frustrated Dutch accent. You’re far too precious to be left all alone. Do you know how many bad men are out there who want to do bad things to you? Or who want to use you like a fling and never commit to you fully the way you deserve, like Lewis is doing.

Your eyes widen in shock as he slowly stalks towards you, backing you into a corner as he confesses what he’s done. You know you should feel scared, should be in hysterics, but for some reason you don’t actually think he would harm you…physically, at least. Mentally he was doing everything to break you down and accept his offer of becoming his. You’re crazy, you say, outraged. This is just kidnapping, it’s illegal, everyone will be looking for me, do you know how famous I am-

Oh, you had no idea just how far Max was willing to go when it comes to you. He smirks, shows you the multiple texts sent from your phone to friends and family that you’re going on some wellness retreat, you would be out of cellphone range. You look in horror at the replies telling you to enjoy, and then at your Insta post telling your thousands of followers you would be taking a break, and finally at your text to Lewis saying you think you two should take a break…and his reply agreeing, that you could catch up with him in a couple of months. It was too perfectly laid out, because you had been planning on flying out for a holiday that day - just to a fancy Greek resort with a suprise ticket for Lewis, and not some secluded retreat without wifi access. You’d even had your baby pink suitcase all packed full of cute outfits, ready to go - that Max had somehow collected from your hotel room and now deposited to you smugly. See, schatje? He purrs. I’ve thought about everything. Just relax, I’ll take good care of you.

You don’t believe him at all at first. You’re scared now that no one knows where you are, an unusual feeling for you around Max with whom you feel like you have the upper hand. But after a couple days pass and he makes no physical move to touch you, instead just telling you to shower because you smelt like a nightclub and making sure you ate three times a day, you start to relax when you realise he’s not planning on selling you off to the black market or force himself on you. And to be fair, the apartment is hardly a jail cell. No, the huge Monaco penthouse Max owns can only be described as luxurious, with his own terrace pool and gym, decorated with displays of his endless trophies that remind you just how successful your captor is.

You’re still skittish until he starts letting his cats inside the room to keep you company. Seeing his cute bengals who curl up in the bed to keep you company and then comfortably migrate over to Max, who treats them with such care and adoration, chips away at the last pieces of fear that fling onto you. Then you’re just annoyed, pissed off that Max thinks he can just make you his. You start fights with him, telling him he’s delusional if he thinks you’d ever want to get with him, just because he couldn’t charm you normally he decided to force you to spend time with him?

Max is unphased with your verbal insults, finding you similar to when his cats are in a hissy mood. It’s not until you level up that you really start to test Max’s patience. He regretted bringing your suitcase to make you feel more at home, because instead of wearing the same old hoodie and sweats of his for the past week you decide to put on things that are a little more…revealing. He comes home from padel to find you lounging on the plush couch, greeting him with a smirk as he walks over to you, oh so innocently stretching your neck and accentuate the low neckline of the white summery minidress you’ve chosen. Max had liked the sight of you looking so soft and cozy in his clothes, but seeing you get dolled up again, seeing how you bat your thick lashes up at him, giving him the perfect view down your plush cleavage from your seated position filled him with pure raw desire again.

He knows what game you’re playing though, and he’s not letting you take the upper hand. Instead, he teases you by leaving heat pooling in your tummy with his dark, intense gaze before asking what you wanted for dinner. You don’t stop there, of course, wearing skimpier outfits every day, endless halter neck crop tops and skin tight baby tees with tiny skirts, having him come home to find you sunbathing on the balcony in a pathetic excuse of a bikini, fat ass and lush tits practically out on full display.

You thought he’d finally snap when he catches you almost escaping from his apartment, when he’d let his guard down a couple of weeks in and left you alone in the living room to answer his phone. He’d never left you alone in any part of the apartment before where you could access the front door, and you didn’t even think for another second before scrambling towards the door, getting as far as stepping out into the hallway-

Before you’re yanked back inside with a strong arm around your waist, easily manhandling your full weight as you try to yell and fight him off. He locks you into your room again, like he’d done on the very first day, ignoring your angry bangs and pleas to let you out. So by day two you’ve switched tactics, remembering the most effective way at getting under his skin. You smirk to yourself as you rustle through your suitcase, pulling out the baby pink bullet vibrator you always packed.

Sitting in the next room over, a scowling Max spins his rig wheel around, the annoyance in the way he aggressively clicked his steering buttons evident. He thought you’d know better by now than to try something as silly as trying to escape. Clearly, he needed to make you understand your new position by his side. You needed to be disciplined, to be punished for testing Max to his limits. He’d let you get away with far too much, and now you were under the illusion that you had the upper hand. His dark thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a low buzzing, before he hears your sweet moaning, making his eyes widen in surprise. You sound like an OnlyFans star, putting on an absolute show with high pitched whines and moans he can hear through the wall. He smirks in approval - until he hears you breathily gasp Lewis, please…

Oh, sweet little you had no idea what she’d just awoken inside the possessive Dutch Lion. You were playing with fire, dramatically letting out sinful noises and moaning Max’s rival’s name. You don’t get to say it for long, because within seconds Max is entering your room, blue eyes icy cold as he glares at your arched form on the bed. You jump, startled, not having expected him to actually come inside and there’s an embarrassed flush on your face as you withdraw your hand and quickly snap your thighs shut, mindful that he could see between your legs. You’re stammering, asking him what the hell he’s doing here, can he get out-

You squeak as Max wraps a single large hand around your ankles and yanks you forward, easily bringing your whole body in front of him. You don’t get to say much more because you’re suddenly dangling in mid air as he tosses you over his shoulder, shutting up your indignant yelps with a firm slap to your bare ass that’s barely covered in the tiny red nightie. You can’t help the butterflies swirling in your tummy at seeing how strong Max is, how he carries you like you weigh nothing over to his bedroom, tossing you on his soft mattress with a bounce. You swallow nervously as you see the look on his face, his sharp eyes taking in your heaving chest and exposed cleavage where your nightie had started slipping off. Maybe you had taken it too far this time, so you sweetly try to apologise but are met with a dark chuckle from Max. Oh, it’s way too late for that, schatje he croons, tilting your delicate neck up to meet his intense eyes as he stands in front of you at the foot of the bed. A shiver runs down your spine at his possessive tone, but with it you feel your aching pussy throb, already stimulated earlier from your games. I think it’s time to teach you who you really belong too, no matter how much you keep trying to deny it, hmm?

And like always, Max proves his words weren’t a threat but a promise with his actions. He’d tied you to his headboard, your arms resting above you comfortably but without any chance of getting free. He knew that he’d have to break you in, leave you craving his touch so desperately that in the end you begged for him and never wanted to leave his side. So he teased you mercilessly now, large palms exploring your shivering form ever so gently, making you tense as you wonder where he’ll go next. Making you part your lips and sliding a finger in for you to suck on, over your peaked nipples through your lace nightie, and then down, down-

You whimper as Max fingers your hypersensitive pussy, your puffy folds eagerly dripping as he smoothly fucks you on his large fingers. So fucking tight and warm for me, Max groans lowly in your ear, licking the shell of it. Can’t wait to see how well you take my cock.

Your doe eyes widen at this, and you adamantly shake your head, whining that there’s no way you’d ever let him inside you-

Max smirks as your cunny gushes fresh slick all over his hand as you practically ride his fingers, despite your best efforts to act like you don’t want him. He decides to give you a little extra push in the right direction, grabbing a bottle of oil from his bedside table. Uncapping it, he lazily lets it hang downwards and drip all over your inner thighs, before trailing it up over your peaked nipples. You arch against the bed at the strangely pleasant sensation, the chill making you gasp. But soon the chill was replaced by a burning need, as your soft skin went into overdrive, desperate to feel Max’s strong, warm hands again. What the fuck did you just do to me, you demand brattily, refusing to admit the raw lust throbbing in between your legs right now was your own.

Instead of moving closer, Max grins as he gets up off the bed, still fully dressed despite the state you’re in - hands and thighs tied up, silk nightie bunched around your waist and lace cups pulled down so your pretty tits are on display. Oh schatje, he croons, stroking your cheek almost lovingly and making you glare at him. It’s just a little…stimulant. Makes things very fun in bed. But it only works to heighten emotions you’re already feeling…so if you really don’t want this at all, then it should just fade away, yeah?

And with a goodbye kiss to your forehead, he strides out the room, telling you he’d be back in a few hours. Of course, the oil he’d poured all over your body was nothing more than a particularly potent aphrodisiac, making you more sensitive and turned on. But telling you that it would only affect you if you felt attracted to him was a rather devilish move by Max to make you question your boundaries, second guess the line between hate and love towards the Dutchman.

It proves to be a very successful strategy, because that evening when he asks you if you’re ready for him to fuck you, you’re watching him in anticipation, biting your lip to try and hold in the desperate pleas. You so terribly want to just ask him to have his way with you but cling onto the last shred of self control you have. Max sees this, and responds by slowly undressing down to his boxers, enjoying the way your breath hitches as you stare wide eyed at this broad shoulders, his tense abs, and down to his muscular big thighs that you’d love to rub your pussy against. And when he settles in next to you, still carefully avoiding laying a hand on you but instead pulling his own large cock out of his boxers, he can’t resist darkly chuckling as he sees you practically swallow back drool. He jerks himself off slowly, and you lick your lips as your gaze remained fixated on the beads of precum rolling down his tip. He’s so well endowed that you can appreciate his size even with one of his large palms wrapped around it. More wetness slides down your cunny, mixing with the oil as it travels down in between your sensitive asscheeks. You whine, suddenly feeling boiling hot despite the chill from the aircon. You’re so thirsty, feeling so warm, so desperate with your need to feel Max that maybe taking him inside your mouth would help. You reassure yourself that it wouldn’t go any further than that, and breathily ask Max if you could go down on him. Hmm, what was that, schat? the handsome blonde next to you teases. Couldn’t hear you.

You huff, knowing he was giving you attention hard time for your bratty attitude earlier, but swallow your pride as you ask could you please suck him off, you’d do a really good job, you promise! You just needed a little taste, a brief relief from the sweltering torture consuming your body right now.

Max smirks in approval, rewarding you by releasing your ropes. You breathe in relief, sitting up to relax your muscles, but instead find the ropes replaces with a collar fastened around your neck, attached to a lead resting comfortably in Max’s large palms. You flush at the possessive gesture, but don’t resist as he playfully tugs on your collar to bring your face level with his cock. Up close, it’s even bigger, swollen and angry and red, making you swallow nervously before poking your tongue out to flick his tip. Don’t tease, Max growls above you, his hand territorially tangling in your curls. Or I’ll have to leave you alone again with some more of that oil all over your ass this time, hmm?

Your eyes widen at the threat of more torture, over your sensitive back hole this time, and you quickly start bobbing your head up and down his fat length. Hearing his low groan of approval, you enthusiastically deepthroat and choke on his pulsating shaft, head down and your ass up in the air as more and more slick drips down your thighs. You can't believe how horny you’re getting sucking Max off! You don’t normally enjoy giving blowjobs, preferring to have guys go down on you like the pillow princess you are, but something about the heady taste of Max's precum, the comforting warmth in your mouth is so addictive that you can't help but eagerly worship his cock with your plush lips. And the way he's murmuring filthy praises above you, calling you his good girl, take it all the way in, just like that, helping you take his sizeable length with a helpful hand applying pressure to the back of your neck, just adds to the heat pooling in your belly. And when he cums, his hand holds you down in place as you do your best to swallow the generous load he pumps down your throat. When he lets you up, you sit back, slivers of his cum dripping down the sides of your mouth that you lick up as you meet his heated gaze. Max got his release - finally, after all your relentless teasing - but you've become even more frustrated and desperate.

Max gives you a knowing smirk, taking in your heaving tits and dazed eyes. Training you would be much more effective if he drags your punishment out, and he does exactly that by telling you to go shower before he makes you both some dinner. The change in pace to sweet domesticity messes with you even more, and even though the warm shower water washes away the sticky oil coating your body, you can't stop thinking about how good it had felt letting Max handle you like that.

So a few days later, when Max is back from a race weekend and you've been secretly playing with your vibrator while picturing his cock instead, you sweetly ask if you could please sleep in his bed tonight? Just because you were feeling so lonely, of course, you weren't going to have sex with him or anything!

Max obliges, coming to bed in a tempting display of sweats slung low across his waist so you can admire his muscular chest. To your dismay, he pays no attention to the baby pink negligee you've put on, the fabric practically see through and showing off your tanned nipples. Instead of bullying his way inside of your clenching cunt like you hoped, he contentedly games away with his TV in the bedroom. Asking him to use his fingers again would be fine, right? He'd already done it before, without you asking...so really, it didn't count as anything more. You still weren't giving into him, you reason with yourself naively, before leaning up to press your tits against Max's large biceps and sweetly ask Maxie to pretty please help you out, you hadn’t been able to make yourself orgasm, just this once could he use his hand again?

He sighs, putting down his controller, murmuring that you were so needy, he’d only do it if you put that special necklace on again, okay?

You bite your lip anxiously for a moment, looking at the bedside drawer where you know the collar and leash rest, before giving in and nodding your head obediently, making Max smile and your heart flutter from making him happy. It was just this once, you were certain you’d calm down from this despite once you got your release! And so with the collar securely tightened around your delicate neck, you excitedly part your legs as Max lifts you and sits you in his lap, your back to his chest. He teases you for ages, only lightly rubbing circles through your thong, and you can’t even complain because he’s messily making out with you, his tongue exploring your willing mouth. You’re so caught up you don’t even realise he pulled out the oil until you feel it suddenly drip all over your spread inner thighs. H-hey! you protest, managing to weakly protest against Max’s distracting lips. No fair, that oil was so intense last time, and you were being so good for him now, why was he punishing you again?

Max hums as he litters your neck with gentle bites and hickeys, murmuring that he was using it as lube so he didn’t hurt your tight cunt with his big, thick fingers, making your heart race in confusion from his apparent thoughtful actions. Besides, he reminds you, you won’t feel anything different as long as you don’t actually have feelings for me, remember?

His gaslighting works its magic again, because he teases you right on the edge with gentle thrusts of his two fingers, not quite giving you enough to send you over the edge as your cunny flutters around his digits. You tell yourself that it’s just the oil heightening everything, including the tiny little part of you that wants Max back, as you as him for more, harder, please-

And then, when he’s already worked you through two orgasms with his hand you’re asking for even more, screwing your eyes shut and burying your face in his muscular neck. Would you please use your tongue Maxie? I need more!

Laughter rumbles through the Dutchman’s broad chest as he runs a soothing hand down your back, cooing how you really were just a sweet little thing that needed him to take care of you, hmm? But he’d already finger fucked you twice, and now you wanted him to eat your pussy, too…how were you possibly going to make it upto him?

Your dazed eyes try to focus as you run through all the possibilities, offering to cook his favourite pasta dish for him, or wash the cats, or reorganise his trophy display - but Max shakes his head. And then, just like he’d hoped, you blush and shyly whisper into his ear that you could make him feel good too, and let him fuck your mouth again if he wanted?

Max had to control himself from all but thrusting his cock into your divine warm throat right there. Oh, did he want. You had no idea how much he wanted, but he plays it cool as he shrugs and says you’d have to do a better job than last time, then.

You nod eagerly, ready to prove yourself, and willingly meet his lips in a deep kiss as you part your legs, expecting him to move his talented mouth downwards. He was such a good kisser that it already made you wet with slick, you couldn’t wait to see how good he teased your clit! But to your surprise Max repositions you, easily tossing you around so your thighs are snugly thrown over his broad shoulders and your face - your face heats up as it comes right in front of his erect cock. M-Max! you whine, embarrassed at the filthy manoeuvre into sixty-nine position he’s somehow manipulated you into. You’d never done something so dirty before! But when a familiar hand possessively tangles in your curls, pushing your neck down firmly, you have no choice but to part your plush lips and welcome his throbbing member down your throat. As you gag and choke on him in this unfamiliar position, drool and lipgloss leaking from your lips and dripping down your chin, Max starts lazily lapping at your dripping cunt through your soaked thong. He works you up into an ever more frustrated state, before yanking the flimsy lace to one side and swiping his nose through your folds to deeply inhale. Fuck, you smelt amazing, even better than anything he’d been dreaming about, and he’d certainly been having his fair share of dirty fantasies about having you split open on his tongue. Your responsive moan vertebrates around his cock, making pleasure course through him and he rewards you by dragging his wide tongue through your soft, puffy folds. You’re absolutely debauched for Max now, head completely empty and only one thing on your mind - which you make clear as you let out high pitched moans and shake your ass back against him, desperate for more. Max has to keep you disciplined, of course, keeping your head down like a good girl so you obediently continue kissing his cockhead and slurping on his large balls that were close to bursting. If he let you run free he’d have no doubt you’d start riding his face like a cowgirl, desperate for your own pleasure like the pillow princess you are. But you were learning your place, learning how to obey Max and make him feel good first, and you use your bouncing tits to rub against his warm cock as you keep suckling on his sensitive tip. He cums with a pleased growl at your submissiveness, thrusting his hips into your waiting lips so you could drink the entire creamy load greedily.

Only then does Max properly fuck you with his tongue, placing you on your back with his huge hands pinning your thighs against your soft tits, exposing your glistening pussy. You scream his name as his wicked tongue glides into your cunny, tears gathering in your eyes from the sheer intensity before you end up squirting all over his chin, making a mess of the sheets. He tsk’s at you playfully, blue eyes glinting as he takes in the beautiful sight of you completely wrecked and gulping deep breaths of air as you come down from your high. He can’t resist grabbing his phone to capture the moment, the flash capturing your glowing skin and swollen lips, the hickeys littered over your arched neck and soft inner thighs, your pink negligee still bunched up around your waist. Maybe it’s too soon, but he can’t resist-

Schatje, he murmurs, low and deep, making you cutely blink open your eyes from the content sleep you were heading towards. His phone light remains on, the blinking red light indicating that he’s recording as he asks you how did you like the taste of his cock?

A smile slowly spreads across your face, giving you the very picture of post orgasmic bliss as you lick your lips and say it was soo yummy, Maxie, you’d happily blow him anytime he wanted!

The handsome blonde lets out a slow exhale at your sinful confession, deciding to test how far he could push you. Oh really? He murmurs. Was it better that your ex’s dick?

Recognition flickers in your eyes at the mention of your ex, and you bite your lip again, thinking but Max plays unfair again when he comes in against you, letting his now hard length rest against your lower belly. You’re immediately distracted by the pulsating warmth deliciously stimulating your clit, practically getting heart eyes as your eyes darken sultrily. Oh, so much bigger and better than my ex, you say unashamedly, looking right at the camera because you know what Max wants. I never let him finish in my mouth, he’d always have to wear a condom. But you, Maxie…I’d drink your cum everyday and still want more! You finish with a playful giggle, wiggling your hips to get more friction on your clit.

And Max knows he’s got you exactly where he wants, ready to make him feel good however he orders it. He snaps away more steamy photos first, wanting to add to his personal collection while you look so delicious in his bed. Videos of you squealing happily as he slaps his heavy cock against your clit, the weight of it dizzying, and then of you jiggling your ass against him he turns you onto your side to slide himself in between your thighs. Feeling Max’s strong muscular arms holding you close against him, his lips tracing your ear as he murmurs dirty things in your ear, and most of all feeling his cockhead rub against your slit as he slowly fucks your thighs from the back breaks you down even more. Please, Max you beg, the sound music to his ears. I need it…just the tip, please?

You feel his lips smirk against your ear as he teases you for being so desperate for him again, see, he told you you’d feel so good by his side, right?

And when his fat cock stretches your pussy open you can’t help but gasp, because if this was just the tip you couldn’t even imagine how amazing the rest of him would feel. You both moan together as your wet cunny clenched and drools around his length, and then you’re reaching back and gripping his hip to guide him further into you. More, please Maxie, I need you- oh!

There’s only one way this ends once you’ve both gotten a taste of each other, and are addicted. With him fully thrusting his length in and out of you, making you scream his name as you cum around him, messily squirting. You’re so far gone that you don’t even say anything except moan sluttily when he finishes inside you, leaving you stuffed full of his creamy cum. There’s no going back after that, and in the morning - after he’s had another round in the sheets with you - he finally takes you out of the apartment, making your debut at a expensive cafe as Monaco’s new it couple. And with your manicured hand wrapped around his bicep, walking into brunch in cute kitten heels and feeling dozens of admiring and envious gazes on you both, you can’t help but feel like you’re finally where you’re meant to be.

—————————————————————————

A/N: goddamn this took so long to write hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the delay in posting Ik I’ve really slowed down, work has been getting me tired af lately but should be easing up soon!! Have lots of drafts half done hehe keep sending me inspo I love all your messages!!!

[tetzoro]

LOVERS ROCK — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. zoro roronoa !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : zoro has a new outfit for your excursion to egghead island and it fits him a little too well . . .

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. thigh riding, dry humping, multiple orgasms, praise, zoro calls you pretty, — WC : 1.9k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : i figured posting this on hump day was fitting. enjoy ! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

zoro’s musk wraps around you as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. steel, sweat, blood, and the salt of the sea all wrapped into one. the scent of something dangerous that should leave you repulsed only draws you in more. 

because you know better, you know what every inch of his body tastes like, how addicting it is when it melts on the tip of your tongue. can he blame you when you press your lips against the skin of his neck, humming approvingly as you steal another taste?

he lets out a groan that reverberates against your lips, one that has your kiss turning into something more vicious as you suck against the spot, leaving your mark for all the world to see. 

“easy.” zoro’s voice is low, his fingers tightening against your hips. the heated make out session was quickly becoming more as your lips latched near the column of his throat, feeling his pulse quicken under your tender care.

“can’t. it’s this suit.” you reluctantly ease up, warm breath fanning over the agitated spot you proudly left behind. “looks so good on you, zo.”

“yeah?” zoro couldn’t help but feel a little smug at your reaction to it. “why didn’t you just say so?”

“was me rubbing up against you not a big enough hint that i found it hot?” you pull back, giving him a pointed look. 

“how should i know?” his face heats up, singeing pink as he makes eye contact with you. “you act like this no matter what i do!”

“shut up.” you huff, looking away as your own cheeks become warm. “i do not.”

“yeah you do.” zoro’s hand found your chin, bringing your attention back to him. the blush that softly blooms upon his face dances along his cheeks as it spreads to his ears. “its cute.”

you open your mouth to retaliate once again but he beats you to it, using the opportunity to slot his greedy lips against yours as he pulls you in for another heated kiss. one that stole the breath from your lungs and replaced it with desire, a deep longing for his touch even though he was sitting right beneath you. you needed more. 

decidedly, you easily maneuver yourself from his lap to his thigh, the thick muscle sturdy as you straddle it. biting back a moan, you let out a soft strangled noise that slips into zoro’s awaiting mouth. electricity coursed through you both, a shift in the air that wraps around your shoulder, weighing you down to sink your core further against his toned thigh. 

“couldn’t even wait for me to get out of the suit, huh?” zoro whispers against your kiss bitten lips, hands gripping your sides as he holds you in place. if he wasn’t so damned strong you’d have moved by now, given into your lecherous thoughts that heat up your core with unadulterated need.

zoro flexes his muscle, testing you and gauging your reaction. even though you were separated by the almost comically skin tight clothing, the pressure sent your eyes reeling to the back of your head. with a short chuckle, he unflexes and the intensity simmers, leaving you full of want.

“zoro,” you mewl out in frustration, the sound dangerously close to a whine. your fingers grip into the plushness of his coat, more than ready to use it as leverage as soon as you can move your hips. “what are you waiting for?”

slowly, zoro begins to rock your hips against him, a steady pace that feels different from normal — it was alarmingly easier. the fabric of the suit was so slick on its own that you could slide along it with no problem, no hiccups. 

“just gonna ease you —“ zoro starts before you smack his hands away. enough was enough and he was going far too slow for your liking. he lets go, his smirk resting on his face as he holds his hands up in false surrender before moving them to rest on your thighs. “impatient, huh?”

ignoring his comment, you start moving your hips and just like you thought –  you could gain a lot of speed. with a steady hold on his jacket, your hips behind to move on their own accord, not an ounce of hesitation as your clit deliciously runs along his flexed muscle.

“z-zoro,” you breathe out, head lolling back as you keep up the pace. zoro could feel how wet you were, your own suit didn’t leave much to the imagination either and the wet spot forming on his covered thigh was steadily growing. 

“feel good?” he asked, beginning to continuously flex and unflex his thigh, the ridges catching along your clit and only making you spiral more.

“mhm.” you nod, already feeling the coil within you ready to snap. “so, so good zo.”

“filthy girl.” zoro kisses along your jaw, moving down your neck as your pace stutters. you could always tell your praise affected him, stirring something deep inside of him as the ghost of the smile seeping into your skin while he brushes his lips along your jugular. “if you keep this up, i’m gonna have to get a whole new suit.”

“can’t stop—“ you gasp out, breathy pants leaving your lips as you get closer to your high. 

“then don’t.” 

two words that had an unintentional ripple effect, your body moving without any forethought, driven by instinct and lust for the man smugly sitting under you, expertly watching you with lust-blown eyes as you take what you need.

each delicious drag along his thigh was sending electricity up your spine, the pleasure invading your brain and turning it into nothing more than a dull static, desperately chasing the high that you’re sure will bring you clarity once again.

distantly, you hear zoro muttering sinful praises, running his mouth in encouragement as you ascend to new heights. your center of gravity was dependent on him and the mind-numbingly corded muscles that make up his thigh. one wrong move and everything would tilt on its axis — you’re not sure if the thought excited you or not.

“shit, i’m gonna —!” you yelp out, your voice finally able to break through the steady moans and whimpers that were flowing out of your mouth like water. 

“let go f’me, c’mon.” zoro gives your upper thigh a harsh squeeze and your body locks up under the searing touch. it was earth shattering, so much so that the lower half of your body stuttered against the slippery fabric, cries of his name tumbling from your lips. “atta girl.”

the praise messed with your mind even more, melting it into a puddle that zoro was destined to lap up like a dog on a rainy day. you squeeze your eyes shut as the after effects still course through your body, gripping onto his shoulders like the world depended on it.

after struggling to catch your breath for a moment, you slump against him a bit, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. his palm soothingly runs along your back, easing you down and back to him, right where you belong.

“you good?” his low, gruff voice seeps into your skin and you only want to burrow deeper into the comfort of it. you make a small sound and reluctantly pull back, the look in his eye darkening. it was clear how much he wanted you.

“mhm.” you whisper, your palms running along the skin tight suit, agonizingly taking your time. your core still felt so gooey, like burning lava that was hot to the touch. each motion you take was lazy and uncoordinated until your fingers trailed along his covered abs that ripple in anticipation, making sure to outline each divot. “gonna take it off now?”

“takes too long to take the whole thing off. besides,” zoro’s breathing gets a bit heavier as your hand keeps moving lower to where he’s pulsing with need. there's a short pause before he roughly grabs you by your backside and lifts you up toward him, “can’t wait.”

moving over his covered length, the fabric was so thin you could feel him throb with need, each beat making your head spin more and more. zoro groans as you nestle in place, head tossing back at the sudden pressure. his hips jolt up to chase the thread of friction you tease him with, growing more impatient with every glide you take.

“cmon.” zoro grunts out, not wasting any more time as he takes control, moving your hips over him. you gasp as he thrusts against you, needily chasing his own high. “do what you did earlier.”

“now look at who the impatient one is. hmm?” you tease, grabbing onto his coat once again for leverage. but the need he felt transferred to you as soon as he let out another groan. mercifully, you  give into his desire as you quickly match his pace, your arousal igniting throughout your body.

“shut up.” he barks with no bite. “you’re gonna make me cum in this thing.”

“isn’t that the point?” you tease, your tongue poking out along the shell of his ear, before your nose nudges along his earrings. “i want you to come for me, zoro.”

“fuck.” he gasps out, fingers harshly gripping your backside as he moves you quicker, the friction burning you both up, ready to consume you whole. with a curt slap to your ass, he gives his order. “keep going.”

and you do. moving along him as if you were really riding his cock just the way he likes, gliding over him as your clit throbs against his cock, the combined heat suffocating you both.

zoro tried to remain intact, but you could see him tearing at the seams, strings of his self control spiraling out of control as you do a number on him. pretty saliva covered lips parted with grunts steadily pouring out, face rosey and scrunched up in pleasure. 

you move your hands to weave themselves in his hair, tugging harshly that forced a choked groan from him. through half lidded eyes, he looks back up at you with stars shining in his iris, twinkling with his love for you; a supernova waiting to explode.

“close for me?” you coo, watching as his mind goes blank, his grip tightening. “wanna watch you cum.”

“fuck—“ he head tosses back for a minute, steeling himself to outlast you as long as possible, but it was a lost cause. his next words grit through his teeth, his self restraint being heavily tested. “yeah, yeah i am. too fuckin’ pretty.”

“zo-.” you gasp, your second orgasm pooling in your core, ready to erupt as his compliment rushes down your body, tightening it up as it works its way down.

forever fated to be together, your pleasure merges into one — both of you hurdling over the edge. zoro cums with a grunt of your name before biting his lip so hard he almost draws blood. 

there’s an inexplicable warmth that blooms between your thighs, a mix of your mess swirling with the warm cum that steadily flows out of his cock. the fabric that separates you is fully drenched with both of your arousal and the thought only drags out your pleasure.

“mmm.” you fully slump on him this time, curling into his body as yours turns boneless — nothing more than a heap of limbs with a heartbeat that beats to his name.

“happy now?” zoro breathes out, his chest still rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. 

“mhm, so happy.” you purr, shutting your eyes. 

“good because my suit is ruined.” zoro grumbles. as if he really cares. you let out a chuckle, your hand wandering along his biceps.

“that’s too bad.” you grip his puffy coat once again, pressing  your lips to his ear, his earrings clinking together as you brush past them. “guess you’ll just have to take it off.”

thank you so much for reading ! ᰔ

[bubblegum-cherry-lips]

first snow ❄️

summary: the boys are not used to seeing you this excited for the first snow of the season.

prompt: day 1 - first snow (prompts from this post)

pairing: poly marauders x (gender neutral) reader

cw: none

word count: 814

One of the best feelings in the winter is waking up cozy on a weekend morning, when you don’t have to rush to work - when the world seems to move slowly, and you allow yourself to do the same.

As your eyes slowly open, eyelids still heavy with sleep, you slowly become aware of your own body, every nerve and muscle waking up. The morning light is shy as it falls into your room, and even though you miss the summer sunshine you can’t help but feel thankful for the lack of brightness in the morning. You stretch your muscles, mindful of the bodies next to you, and then pull yourself up until you’re leaning on the headboard, taking in the scene in front of you.

The man closest to you is James, lying on his stomach with his hand stretched out to where you are, fingers so close that they brush your thigh when they twitch. He’s snoring softly, and he will probably deny it when he wakes up - put you all know the truth. To his left, sharing the middle space of the bed, is Sirius, and you barely suppress the giggle when you notice a tiny bit of drool on his pillow. He’s sprawled across the majority of the bed, like a starfish, legs intertwined with James’ and his pillow placed in the crook between Remus’ arm and ribs, holding onto Remus’ hand as if his life depends on it. You’re not quite sure how comfortable that position is for Remus, because Sirius had pushed him almost to the very edge of the bed, but he seems content enough and you hope he had a good night’s rest.

You try to get up without waking any one of them, of course - but as soon as the bed shift, it’s like the alarm goes off and one by one, they start shifting. The first one, of course, being Remus

“Dove?” His voice is scratchy, eyes blinking adorably when he catches you mid step.

“Morning Rem. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“‘S okay. What time is it?”

“Too fucking early.”

Sirius’ grumbles draw a laugh out of you, and when the boys start bickering, James’ sleepy mumblings overlapping with Sirius’ whining and Remus’ attempts of being the voice of reason, you stand back and watch your boys, and you feel like love will literally burst out of your chest. You just love them so much.

Giving yourself a few more seconds to linger, you throw the boys one last glance before moving towards the bathroom, mentally going over the list of things you have to do - but when you pass by the bedroom window, a flash of white catches your attention as it’s barely visible through the curtains.

But even though it’s barely visible, you know exactly what it is, and excitement rises in your throat as you pull apart the curtains and a loud gasp leaves your lips, snapping the boys out of their antiques.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s snowing!”

You have always loved the first winter snow - how it would cover the ground, the trees and cars, and you would finally get that feeling of holidays and Christmas, and everything good the winter can bring. This, however, is the first year you all are living together, so the boys haven’t exactly had the chance to see you like this.

That’s why they almost have a heart attack when you yank the window open and lean over the edge, trying to catch a few snowflakes with one hand, while loosely holding on with the other.

You barely get a single snowflake on your palm before a pair of hands grabs your waist and you are being pulled inside, the bedroom window slammed shut by a panicky James, and Remus’ worried face entering your view.

“Dove, what the hell?”

“I wanted to catch the snowflakes!”

“By throwing yourself out of the window?”

“And with just a shirt on? You don’t even have the pants on!” Sirius’ grip is still iron tight around your waist and okay, maybe you can see their point but it’s not like you were trying to fly out. Besides, you all live on the first floor, so it’s not like you have far to go. Of course, if you were to say that, you would be on the receiving end one of Remus’ famous disappointed glares, so you keep your mouth shut. Instead, you place your hands over Sirius’ and lean into him, while smiling apologetically at the other two men in front of you.

“Sorry, I got excited.”

“That’s alright sweetheart, we just worry.” The kiss James plants on your lips is the softest thing ever.

“How about we go make some breakfast, and then go out and enjoy the snow after we eat?”

For a first snow day of the winter, this one isn’t so bad.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

How I draw: Use of references

Second response to a few art questions from @johnny-and-clyde let’s gooo!

I love references! Like most artists I did have that phase where I thought I was better than everyone because I didn’t use ‘em, but lemme tell ya- starting to use references took my art from this

(Art from 2021-2022) To some better lookin stuff, and eventually to the stuff y’all know me for now lol!

Nowadays I do use references for almost every drawing, but the amount that I reference them varies Occasionally it’s pretty direct, like my drawing of Curly Shepard, in which I HEAVILY referenced a photo of myself for the pose and fit:

(I don’t dress like this on a daily basis the pic was taken at a Twilight-themed school dance ok) (I’m not cool enough to wear that many necklaces w/o a good reason 😔)

In drawings where I directly reference photos that don’t belong to me, I put the reference in the post under the drawing, so folks know I didn’t plan the concepts/compositions on my own. But usually I don’t directly reference things…

Usually I use a bunch of different references for a bunch of different things. This is for two purposes:

1- Making sure everything stays vaguely anatomically decent, that the fabric folds in the right places, that the perspective works, that the lighting looks good, etc…especially in tricker/unusual poses. Um I’m also pretty sure that I might have some form of aphantasia, or at least a really weak “mind’s eye”, which is probably why I struggle with composition/planning in art and why I do so much better with references

Like here, when I used this pic of Emilio Estevez’s character in Repo Man to make sure I was getting Mark Jennings’s face shape right- just glanced at it off to the side and (more or less) drew what I saw

Or here, in this pic of Steve Randle- I didn’t know how to even start to draw the angle I needed, so I took a pic of myself and used that

2- Capturing the likeness of a person. For most new characters I draw, I take a bunch of screenshots and roughly redraw them and occasionally trace them to build muscle memory, all while taking little notes about unique features they have. Then, once I have a feel for them, and enough odd-looking line drawings to look like a crazy stalker, I’m ready to start actually drawing post-able art yk?

Here’s an example from 2023 where I studied Nancy Wheeler. Final product ain’t fantastic, but this was two-school-years ago so it’s basically ancient in my book lol

I do still use refs often in the finals, but less directly and with less adherence

But I will say, for rougher/cartoonier drawings I don’t use as many refs. Like, I didn’t use references for these (although I did pose in the mirror to get the arm right in the self-portrait lol) :

Lastly, I also find it’s nice to have a mirror/window nearby to look at my own anatomy and reference that, although that’s mainly just useful for characters who look semi-like me/have similar builds to me lol. Like I can reference myself for drawing Steve Randle or Johnny Cade (at least his face lol), but not so much for drawing like…Dally or Evie or Marcia. Still, it’s useful, especially when I can’t find a specific reference I want, yk?

Anyhow, those are the main ways I utilize references in art! Hope some of this was helpful :))

[scavengerssuccotash]

What does aftercare look like for Clint and Nat?

Depends on what kind of aftercare you’re looking for, my dear.

Was it a rough mission that left their bodies sore and aching?

If that’s the case they soothe each other’s sore muscles away in a variety of ways. For Natasha the bulk of her sore muscles rests in her thighs and legs. Clint with usually draw her a nice hot bath with some soaking salts (lavender scented) and let her decompress. Sometimes he’ll join her, especially if his back is hurting, but most times he just lets her rest in the bath and play errand boy if she needs something. Afterwards, Natasha will curl up with him on the couch with her feet in his lap so he can rub them. And oh god! His hands? If Natasha were religious his hands is the closest thing to making her believe in a god. About the time he works his way up her calves, she’s limp against the arm of the couch and almost asleep.

Clint on the other hand carries most of his stress in his shoulders and arms. (Clint often jokes that if you put the two of them together, her legs and his upper body, they could qualify for a retirement community by the state of their joints alone.) With that said, baths hardly touch the ache in his shoulders. Showers are his go-to, along with icy-hot and Natasha’s own bone melting masseuse skills. Repetition with the draw weight he’s got might’ve given him great definition but it also aged his rotator cuffs and shoulder blade ten years. After a long hot shower, you can find him sitting on the floor between Natasha’s legs with an ice pack on each shoulder as she rubs his neck.

Or are you looking for the tumble between the sheets kind of aftercare?

In which case this came to them with much more difficulty than it did with the other kind. Particularly for Natasha. Any wonder why? The first few times they slide between the sheets, Natasha would jump out of bed, quickly throw on her clothes and leave while Clint just laid in bed still coming down from his post coital high, dazed and ultimately confused. In hindsight, Natasha’s sudden departure after taught Clint a lot about himself. Namely: how much he really did like and need the after romp cuddling. Be it some internalized misogyny, or a lack of self introspection Clint had just assumed that is what you did with your partner, so…he did it and didn’t look into it any deeper than the surface level. Turns out it just took Natasha leaving him high and dry (wet?) for him to realize that, “actually no, I think I like the cuddling!?”

Conversely Natasha dipped because she had wanted to stay, which was in of itself a terrifying epiphany to have after what she’ll testify to is the best sex ever. It was all too much too fast and god she can’t do this?! Can she? She wants to, but…

In the end it took three months, a couple of drunken blurt out your feelings kind of nights, and a close call in Mumbai for them to get on the same page.

For Clint to say, “I need to a place to land after soaring that high, Nat. I drop like a fucking stone, and it’s not a good feeling!”

And for Nat to say, “I don’t know what to do with all this, I wasn’t trained on what to do if I actually fell!”

“No one gets a manual, Tasha. You just do what feels right.”

“Us. That feels right.”

Natasha relaxes into their after sex cuddle sessions a little bit better after this. She still leaves after, only spending the nights when they drink and she doesn’t want to drive or bother with a taxi or public transport, but she stops leaving right away. She lingers long enough for Clint to be on the precipice of sleep, before slipping out of bed. Which is fine by Clint, he’s admittedly a bit of a bed hog.

About a year and two months into their relationship, the aftercare is superb. Clint gets his cuddles, and Natasha, well Natasha gets breakfast in bed now. And sometimes, when Clint’s feeling a bit cheeky he will wake her up in the most delicious of ways.

Thanks for asking, hope you enjoy! 🥰

[strangersails]

part two of “billy tries so hard not to fall in love with steve (and fails)”.

“look, i know i’m an asshole” billy says, still so close to him. “and i know apes have better mannerism than i have, that i look like i don’t give a shit. but that. is nothing personal. okay? i’m just not a people person, i need constant space and i need to leave when things start to feel serious.”

“billy. you don’t even call me by my name. how is that serious?” steve rubs his face with both hands, then he folds his arms on his chest again.

billy takes the hint and takes a step back. “it is to me. i don’t call you steve cause that feels personal. i don’t stay in your bed after we fuck, cause that feels personal. i don’t want to hear your stories, because that feels too personal.”

“and why is that bad?” steve asks.

this also feels too personal, but now it’s too late.

“because if it’s personal, it means that we’re close. and if we’re close...” it takes him a moment to end the sentence, and he can’t do it looking him in the eyes, so he draws them on steve’s hands and then admits, “it means i have something to lose”.

steve tilts his head back, his arms still folded on his chest while he looks at billy. “i get it, but then i don’t understand this: what’s the point? why’d you kiss me?”

which is a fair question, billy’s gotta say it. “i don’t know. i just... i miss you, i told you.” billy is more honest than he thought he would be, but at this point why would he lie? what good would it do? he’d already exposed himself, anyway.

“you mean you miss the sex.”

billy can’t say if it’s a statement or a question, but it pisses him off whether it’s the first or the second. “i mean i missed you, harrington” he says, and he regrets the name almost the exact moment it slips from his lips.

he surely regrets it when the little muscles around the corner of steve’s lips curl and kind of shape it in a little, sad pout.

“look. i’m not gonna lie, i missed the sex too, but do you really think that you’re my only chance to get laid? i don’t just miss you cause you give me the best orgasms.”

“what do you miss, then? what can you possibly miss about me, when you’ve barely treated me like a hole this whole time? i don’t understand.”

billy’s heart sinks at those words. “i know i was a huge asshole and i’m sorry for that. i didn’t really mean to. i was just trying my best not to let you come too close. i know occasional sex can be tricky.”

“answer me. what do you miss, if it’s not just the sex?” steve sound so suspicious, like he’s sure there’s nothing billy could possibly appreciate about him enough for him to miss his presence. billy knows he really fucked up.

he takes a moment before he answer, and he feels steve’s compelling stare. “you smell really nice” he says then. “your breath” he gulps nervously, interrupting himself, “smells nice.” what the fuck, billy. “you like phil collins, which is embarrassing, but it suits you. i know it cause you’ve got all the damn tapes piled up on the desk next to your bed and they once fell on my face when you were pounding me so g—”

“jesus christ shut up.”

“—and your writing is the ugliest, i still got your stupid ice cream shaped little post it with your number on it sticked in the sun visor in my car, but you made that cute little heart drawing with the devil’s horns and tail, i couldn’t physically throw it away.”

“you kept it?”

“yeah.”

“it was a joke, that stupid drawing.” steve’s ears go red.

billy can’t help but grin. “it’s ugly. it’s the wonkiest heart i’ve ever seen.”

steve shoves him gently by the shoulder. “shut up. you kept it.”

“i kept it.” billy curls his finger around the front belt loop of steve’s denim, and tugs him a little closer. he can’t help himself. “i like the fact that you’re a nice person, even though you don’t believe it, for reasons that i ignore.”

billy also ignores the little twitch of steve’s eyebrow that confirms what he just said.

“i like that you’re dyslexic but it pisses me off that you won’t—”

“wait, what?” steve’s face flushes a hot, fluorescent pink while he nervously laughs. “you like that i’m dyslexic? what does that even mean? it doesn’t even sound like a compliment...”

“that’s cause it’s not a compliment” billy lets his fingers graze on steve’s hips only to get to wrap his arms around his tiny waist.

“...”

“i’m not joking, i like it. it’s a steve thing. it’s part of you and it’s... i don’t know. look, i suck at this kind of things. i know you a little, i know how i feel when i’m with you and i kind of miss it.”

steve has his arms folded on his chest between them. he hums. billy would pay to know what’s going on under that nest of messy, fluffy hair. he hates the silence and that stance too. like steve wants to put distance between them. but at the same time he could get rid of billy’s embrace, which he didn’t, and that gives billy a little hope.

“okay” steve says, eventually.

“okay...?” billy repeats prompting him to be more explicit.

“i believe you.”

of fucking course, he wants to say. he didn’t make a fool out of himself admitting all those embarrassing things to him only to be questioned? why would he lie about it, anyway? stupid harrington. he won’t be hearing of any more of those nauseatingly sweet things anytime soon.

“well, thanks” he just says, still a little anxious about what’s coming next. he hopes it’s not a but.

“but” here we go... “i don’t know what you expect from me, then. you want to fuck and then what?”

billy lets out a heavy sigh and lets his hands drop from steve’s waist.

“hey. get back here.” steve doesn’t sound like he’ll accept no's.

so billy gets back to wrap his arms around him, even though his stomach is still tense.

“i did not tell you to get off, did i?” steve sounds dead serious.

billy holds him tighter out of spite. and nostalgy.

steve unfolds his arms and let his hands linger on the other boy’s biceps.

“what do you want to do, billy?” he asks again. “you want to fuck and then what? because if we’re going back to you treating me like a hole we’re not going to—”

“please don’t say that” billy interrupts him.

it’s steve’s turn to sigh, this time. he draws those slender fingers of his on his chest. billy is glad he busts his own ass off in the gym. “alright. but i mean it, we’re not going far if you plan on going back to strangers fifty seconds after you give me the best orgasms of my life.”

billy’s pride sings for a moment, but he still struggles with the rest, so he can’t brag right now.

“look, i get it. boundaries. we can have them, bills. i’m not asking for you to stay the night and hold my hand and sing me to sleep. just. i don’t know.”

billy wants to eat his stupid worried face and shower it with kisses and the thought makes his stomach twist, but what can he do? the other option is going back to being avoided and he hates the thought even more.

“we can hang out sometimes maybe? when i’m not actually busy or something” he tries.

“i mean, you don’t have to” steve don’t look at him in the eyes, like billy’s jacket is too interesting all of the sudden. “i don’t want you to feel forced to do something you don’t want to...”

“it’s not really like i don’t want to, though” he admits.

“it’s not?”

that stupid hopeful face he makes. billy wants once again to skin him alive.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks, before he can hold himself.

steve’s face goes all red again. “you better. you’ll need a lot of those if you want me to forgive you.”

billy leans in and gives a quick peck on his lips, tightening his grip on the boy’s hips. “oh, it’s like that, uh?”

“it’s like that...”

steve says that with the velvetiest voice, and billy chases his lips, catching them on a kiss that soon becomes sloppy and wet and deep, they kiss with tongue and teeth and hot breaths and fingertips. steve makes the most delicious whines, and billy can’t help but pull at his hair, bringing him closer, licking into his mouth and savoring him like it’s the last meal of his life. steve melts into the kiss, billy can feel the way he goes limp against him, the way his arms are hanging loose and relaxed around his shoulders.

“it’s so unfair that you kiss like this and we only started now” steve whines, pinching his nipple as a punishment.

billy flicks his forehead in return. “ow.”

“you owe me a hundred kisses at least, hargrove.”

billy leans in to kiss his lips again briefly. “yeah, yeah, you already said that.”

steve grins from ear to ear, lips stretched against billy’s. billy bite them.

“what the fuck are laughing for?”

“i can’t believe you kept the drawing.”

he regrets it already and makes that obvious rolling his eyes on the back of his skull. “shut up. i’m throwing it in the trash.”

“no you’re not.” steve kisses him.

“no i’m not.”

and steve kisses him again. and then billy is opening his mouth, angling his head just a little to be comfortable to dive into steve’s parted lips again. steve tastes like booze and cigarettes and billy loves it.

they’re never going back to not kissing.

[hockeynoses]

what spring does

Summary: Ste/ddie snz fic!  It’s been a long winter and spring is finally here. Eddie’s in the house working on music while Steve is out working in the yard. Steve purposefully forgets to take his allergy meds.

Rating: PG-13. I was gonna take this further but I’m too lazy. 600 words.

Notes: Written for an Anon ask: “more sneezing steve with a knk eddie fic? maybe this time they’re in the privacy of their own home and there’s no holding back?” Sorry I didn’t get to any actual fuckin’. This is already a shortened version of the fic because I was too unmotivated to clean the whole thing up. It’s almost more fluffy than horny, but maybe one day I’ll write a part 2. I meant to post this in the actual spring, but never got around to it!

The title is from Pa/blo Ner/uda. 🌺 "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees." I think it’s a gorgeous line that also happens to be a bit fetish-y.

-

“Lots of pollen out there?” Eddie asks casually, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the counter. He keeps his arms crossed and tells himself not to get grabby.

Steve gives a pointed sniff, dragging a finger under his nose. “Lots,” he says, as Eddie’s eyes track the movement.

“Hmm, spring’ll do that. But the flowers are going to be so pretty,” he says playfully, dimples pressing into his cheeks. His eyes rake over Steve’s frame – the corded muscle of his arms, slick with sweat. The way his long fingers are still rubbing at his pink, freckled nose. “Hey,” Eddie taps Steve’s calf with his foot, “Flex for me, big boy. I wanna see those muscles you been workin’ on.”

Steve huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, but there’s the slightest flush to his cheeks as he acquiesces, curling his arm up until his bicep bulges in a way he’ll admit he’s pretty proud of.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” Eddie smirks and waggles his eyebrows.

Steve’s answering laugh is cut short by a hitch in his breath - “Heh…ihh-” He squints up at the light beaming through the kitchen windows, overtaken by a “hih-AEESSHHoo!” that he buries into the elbow of the arm he’d just been flexing. He stills for a moment, blinking in the crook of his arm before pulling up with a little, “Whew!” as he shakes his head, dazed by the strength of the sneeze.

It sends an electric jolt of arousal straight to Eddie’s core, and he can’t control the giddy excitement that floods through him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.” Eddie stares at Steve, his eyes heavy-lidded as they greedily take in every detail. “Did you take your meds?”

“No…” Steve glances at him to watch his reaction.

Eddie’s eyebrows practically disappear into his bangs. “Oh really? Any particular reason?”

Steve’s eyelids flutter and he pitches forward again. “hih’IISHH’iue! Ugh.” He sniffs, lightheaded. “I ju-uuust - hih’KXXT! gshHT’CHHuh!”

“Is it my fucking birthday and I forgot?” says Eddie, his smile reaching his big eyes. Warmth blooms inside him, his head going all floaty in the best way.

Steve laughs, shaking his head and straightening up. “I just wanted to mbake the mbost of it.” He waves a hand at the window and the invisible pollen that Eddie was seriously going to have to dedicate a song to at this point. “I know you’ve been going crazy with all this gloomby weather and thought you deserved a pick-mbe-up.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, taking in this marvel of a man. He can hardly believe his luck.

“Oh, I’ll pick you up, alright!” Eddie says with a manic grin before springing into action. With a burst of frenetic energy, he gets his arms under Steve’s ass and hefts him up a foot or two in the air. Laughing, Steve steadies himself by digging his hands into Eddie’s shoulders.  Eddie clambers as gracefully as he can to their room. He can feel Steve’s chest expand against him, drawing in a sudden, shaky breath. Steve’s fingers dig further into Eddie where he’s gripping him for purchase, powerless to cover a spraying “iihh-KSHH!  ah…hah’IITCHuh!” that mists the air behind them.

Eddie squeezes his ass in response, his own dick twitching in his sweatpants. When he reaches their bed, he deposits Steve onto it with a grunt before climbing on top of him.

As ever, Steve surprises him - the world spins in a blur of color and Eddie finds himself flat on his back, pressed into the cotton sheets, Steve straddling his hips. Breathless, he looks up at Steve with stars in his eyes. He’s never going to take this man for granted, ever.

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Dead Beauty AU (Chapter 5)

Yeah I just wanna post it here too.

Oh and Maeve and Malvina are Flower's, @tiredflowercrown

When Harry exits the Hell Hall his feet are too heavy and his mind is swimming in all the wrong directions: Ivy’s fault, naturally. The mix of alcohol and whatever poison she gave him.

He swallows heavily and bangs his hook to the metal gate, just because he fucking can. He hopes that bitch is suffering as much as he is.

And holy hell, is he suffering: the metal clang just about threatens to split his skull open.

He just hopes dear Ivy heard it too.

On completely unrelated note, he really would like to know how she got Claudine fucking Frollo, please and thank you. That girl has problems, alright, and he’s the one saying it.

Y’know, maybe she decided if she’s going to hell, she might as well go with a blast, and Harry can approve of that.

If he had his flask, he’d drink to that sentiment, even.

More importantly, he still wants his haircut.

Alas, he just starts walking towards the Tremaines – hey, it’s closer, and he doesn’t exactly fancy arguing with his older sister about his methods of delivering demands, thank you. Besides, Harriet is just a fucking hypocrite.

He’s pretty sure she slept with Diego the last time she was vaguely in the vicinity of Hell Hall.

Harry smirks at that.

He drags his feet as he sneers into the shadows, twists his wrist around to stretch it – the light twirls on his hook – cranes his neck around to stretch it too.

Curiously, that seems to send a street rat or two running.

This is fine.

It shouldn’t be too long to the Tremaines now, but he could just swear the bloody streets keep stretching under his feet. He kicks on something at the ground, mutters curses under his breath. And if he loses his balance for just a moment after that, well, who cares?

Two children run by him and he sneers at them to mind their way; his vision goes blank for a moment.

Tremaines’ is right there.

He collapses at the nearest chair.

He breaks open the door, swatting his hook at the irritating decoration above it. He doesn’t manage to tear it down. Shame.

It is an eyesore.

He’d say he hopes Anthony went out already, but frankly, he doesn’t care enough.

„Dulcia, darling!“ he calls out, „You promised me the haircut?“

„Oh, I don’t care,“ he lifts his hand to make a dismissive gesture and lets it fall when he discovers how heavy it is, „Just do your worst. I want Harriet to know I’ve been there.“

She appears behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and sighing: „Whatever is wrong with you, Hook – my dear cousin is right there, and his mood didn’t get any better.“

She tugs at his hair rather harshly, which he registers mostly because he’s looking in the mirror.

„Also, what the hell do you want me to do with this?“

Dulcia laughs: „Why, that almost sounds like a dare–“

Harry discovers his lips are too numb to form an answer; he barely manages a crooked smirk, twisted more by the cracked mirror. His face feels weird.

Dulcia tugs at his hair again, turning his head from side to side to examine her canvas, and his whole body locks in a horrible spasm. He can’t jerk away or even breathe– his chest starts to hurt.

He watches his lips turn blue – watches Dulcia notice his stiffness and his expression – and curses Ivy. She wasn’t stingy with the dose, that’s for sure–

He manages to draw in a breath, his muscles relax a bit.

„What the hell was that?!“ asks Dulcia.

„So you’re faking choking to death for fun?“

„Quiet!“

She is simply too loud, her voice too high – Harry remembers his manners again and says: „Oh, nothing to worry about.“

„Oh no, that’d be the poison Ivy gave me.“

„Oh, you moron,“ Dulcia’s voice turns soft, placating, „You played Russian Roulette with her?“

Harry hums in response.

„Did you win or lose?“

„…Yes.“

This is starting to get majorly annoying, thank you for asking.

Dulcia deals him a gentle slap over the back of his head.

„Fucker,“ she says, and his body spasms again.

Oh, and it seems the ruckus finally dragged Lord Tremaine over. How lovely.

„What’s he doing there?“ Tremaine asks, as if it wasn’t clear – he came for the haircut. Duh. He told him already.

„Dulcia, why is he choking to death in our salon?“

„Choking to death, obviously,“ answers Dulcia, sounding insultingly uninterested.

Harry would argue, but, y’know. He still can’t breathe.

Well… Why not?

It’s not like Ivy would share the antidote or anything.

Choking is fine, but that humiliation would probably kill him.

Harry watches Dulcia shrug her shoulders delicately, and, yeah. He’s reasonably sure that if he dies in there, she plans to use his head as a training dummy for the little ones.

Which is absolutely unacceptable, by the way.

He breathes in again – fucking finally – and immediately spits at Anthony: „None of your fucking business, Tremaine!“

„My salon, my business,“ he answers, voice stone-cold.

„Dulcia, take this moron to the Mims right now,“ says Anthony, „If he dies at our salon, Harriet will never speak with me again.“

„My life, my business,“ mocks Harry back, turning around to look at the marginally more agreeable cousin, „Dulcia, about the ha–“

The movement makes his muscles lock up painfully again, which is starting to get really fucking repetitive.

„That’d be a pity for sure,“ agrees Dulcia in her overly sweet voice.

Harry manages to catch his breath again: „My sister’s too good for you anyway,“ he says. He just smirks when Anthony attempts to kill him with a glare.

Really, it’s almost admirable how much contempt Tremaine packs up into one word. Just a shame Harry isn’t exactly in the shape to break his nose, right now.

„Dulcia, to the Mims, now. Before I can think the better of it. You are also welcome to just dumb him behind the corner though,“ Anthony raises his voice, which makes Harry snarl at him. What is it with the Tremaines and yelling all over today?

„Angelica, Desdemona, Deborah, go help Dulcia with him!“

„I can take care of myself, thank you,“ he says instead, pushing himself off the seat, and almost immediately collapsing forward into his reflection. Well, fuck.

„Well, good fucking luck with that,“ says Harry, letting the Tremaine harpies drag him away.

„Clearly, you can’t,“ drawls Anthony, and Dulcia grabs Harry’s shoulder, drawing her sharp, carefully manicured nails deep into his skin.

„Now go. I do not wish to deal with your sister in a worse mood than she is now.“

As he passes under the door, he finally manages to tear down the horrid glockenspiel, to his satisfaction and indigent cry of one of the girls, which doesn’t seem like his problem.

Like, at all. That thing has been causing him headaches for months.

Now, Maddy being her usual bitchy self?

That does seem like his problem.

„Absolutely not–“ the demon-witch-whatever cries out, pointing at the list of rules scribbled on the wall with something that’s probably human blood, „You know the rules! No first aid! Your overdoses are not my problem! Your relationships problems should stay your relationships problems!“

Harry sways in the place as the younger Tremaine girls back away from darling Maddy, and Dulcia steps forward a single step, once again speaking in that placating voice of hers: „C’mon, Maddy, who said what about first aid? Just give him the antidote.“

„That’s what first aid is–“ grumbles Maddy.

„I don’t need an antidote,“ chimes up Harry, catching his balance on a nearby shelf, which makes Maddy look like she wants to bite his arm off. Sweet. Maybe he’d finally get actual hook like that.

„I want my hair done, Dulcia.“

…Yeah, no. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not so fine, Harry thinks as he painfully struggles for breath.

„See?“ Maddy gestures at him; he slowly slides to the ground, as his muscles refuse to cooperate again.

„He’s fine. Now get him out of my apothecary.“

„Maddy, be a dear. Just give me the antidote against strychnine. He’s got shit ton of gold on him, you can take it as a payment before he comes to himself.“

Harry would really love to protest that. She can’t take his gold just for a stupid antidote!

However, Maddy looks like she’s considering this: „…How do you know it’s strychnine?“ she asks with some suspition.

„Ivy always uses strychnine.“

That is not a concerning statement at all.

And Maddy doesn’t look too convinced.

Dulcia shoots Harry a look that can’t mean anything else than „You’re so gonna owe me for this,“ and then tells Maddy: „If he dies, Harriet will be out of it and then Ginny will be upset too.“

„I… Suppose I can spare some antidote,“ decides Maddy finally. He didn’t know she cared for Harriet’s witch all that much, but then again, Gothel can make herself likable like nobody’s business. And she is high most of the time, she has to get the stuff somewhere. He supposes it makes sense.

After that, the Tremaine girls leave, and Maddy quickly gets tired of staring at him, instead alternating absentmindedly playing with one of her dolls, yelling at one of her cousins in a language that makes the hair at the back of Harry’s neck stand, and preventing some mangy kid from randomly tasting the shit on the shelves.

He doesn’t fight Maddy when she forces a pill into his mouth in a pause in between spasms, and doesn’t swat away Dulcia’s hand when she offers him water with it.

That should count towards his debt to her, by the way.

The kid keeps singing in the same language.

Harry tries to ignore that and just focus on his breathing and, more importantly, about ways to get back at Ivy. Might that bitch be slowly dissolved in acid while listening to this crazy little Mim kid singing the demons to sleep or whatever.

Said mangy little Mim kid comes over and pokes at his ribs.

„Is he dead yet, Maddy?“

„Don’t know, don’t care. You know how to check.“

Harry does not wish to know how the Mims check if their customers are still breathing or not.

„I’m still alive, kid,“ he tells her, „Shut it.“

„Shame,“ the kid sighs, „Maeve said I get to dissect the next moron that overdoses.“

„Maeve also said you’re not supposed to talk like that in front of the customers, Malvina.“

Harry snaps his teeth at Malvina as she tries to poke at his ribs again.

„If that’s all, ladies,“ he grits in between his teeth as he pushes himself up, „I’ll be on my way.“

Malvina steps away from his as he struggles to regain his balance – he almost falls down as the doors to the Apothecary fly open and CJ greets the shop with a bright smile: „Hiii!“ she says and turns to him, „Freddie said you’d be there, Ettie’s getting snappy again– ooh, can we get some of that candy?“ She points to a shelf of brightly coloured expired candy.

„You lot are not allowed weed,“ notes Maddy dryly.

„Why not?“ asks the little Mim kid; Harry seethes at the sentence.

„Pleeease?“ whines CJ, making big eyes at Maddy and slipping her one of her gold bracelets over the counter. Harry barks out a laugh.

„This never happened,“ says Maddy as tears open one package, stabs her nail through some gummy bears, and gives the mutilated candy to CJ, „And if it gets into your head wrong, don’t fucking come back here.“

„Don’t worry, Maddy,“ answers Harry, grabbing his younger sister’s arm before she gets any more bright ideas, „I’ve had enough of this place for quite some time.“

He leads CJ outside.

„How stabby is Harriet?“ he asks.

CJ swallows one of her gummy bears as she thinks of an answer, carefully storing the other pieces in a napkin in her pocket: „Hmm… Not as much as when I bleached her hair. Kinda about when Frollo wouldn’t stop ringing the bells cos of some celebration or whatever.“

Harriet spent most of that time too drunk to form a coherent sentence, and honestly, Harry doesn’t blame her.

„No, wait! Like when the Hearts twins got the jewelry she wanted at the market the other time!“

„Well, then,“ Harry smiles at his younger sister,„How do you feel about a new haircut, then?“

„Yes!“ she jumps in her place, „Yes! Harriet’s gonna be so pissed!“

Anthony, too, and it’s not like anything interesting is happening at the port now: He seriously doubts Ivy managed to forward their demands to her youngest cousin yet.

[kirschbluetenregen-ao3]

🖤 Eclipse — Chapter 2 is (finally) here! 🖤

What is he up to?

I took me some time to finish the new chapter and I want to apologize for that. What happened?—Well, as you see, it’s obviously Sirius’s fault, I can’t work like that!

Jokes aside. Apart from feeling a bit down combined with a small lack of motivation, I struggled with my health for several months already (probably even longer, but we tend to ignore our problems). When I came back from Japan I not only had lots of work to do, I also concentrated on my health. That is something I now have to live with, but I’m on a better way and as I also reduced my working hours to further concentrate on my health, my Japanese classes and my writing, I hope that there will be more regular updates coming again.

Thank you to every single one of you who didn’t give up on me yet and is still interested in reading what I come up with. ❤️

Now, let’s concentrate on the new chapter where we will be introduced to Ichika, Yami and Yosuga. I loved putting in some aspects I learned in Japan (especially from the Samurai and Ninja museum I still want to blog about) and it this point I can also finally post a picture I found months ago on Reddit and which was a small inspiration for Yami’s looks in Hino.

At last, here you go with a small teaser of this chapter:

It was a goddamn tragedy that Ichika’s strength and talent were not as appreciated as she deserved. Female Samurai among them were very common, it was completely normal women were trained to fight alongside men on the battlefield. And just because their old man decided to hate her from the moment she was born and that it was her fault their mother died, she never had a chance within this clan. Yami Bousou was head of their family and everyone did as he said. His children are a shame and not worthy?—Reason enough for them to look down on them and ignore that their leader was a fucking cunt who had nothing better to do than abusing his daughter by using her as his punching ball.

The best thing that could have happened to them was their friendship with Ryuu. Ryuu had always been different. As an arrogant teenager Yami had found this boy was a dreamer with his way of thinking how he could change this world. But at the same time he had liked those ideas and the picture of a place his sister could live peacefully at. Ryuu had been the person that restored Yami’s faith in humanity when he had already been tired and embittered at a young age. He had found a way to trust someone else beside his sister. And suddenly there had been another person who tried to protect his sister like a brother by heart and not by blood.

He had sharpened his senses, had strengthened his muscles, had improved his skills as a swordsman not only to be able to protect his sister, but also to teach her how to defend herself. And when he had turned fifteen and received his scroll, the Dark Youjutsu had made him even stronger. He almost laughed when he remembered the confused look behind Bousou’s cold eyes when his son suddenly started to end their matches in a draw. That he showed more and more potential to surpass him. But instead of being scared, his old man had become megalomaniacal with mad ideas of taking over the entire country and his son at the top of it all as his personal puppet.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60460129/chapters/159268119#workskin

[amberlide]

Last Sentence Tag Game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence (not going to do that XD).

Apparently I was tagged by two people for this, so I have to do it XD Thank you so much! @animasola86 and @thefeatherwrites I loved your snippets!! :D I decided to make a separate post, because I'm gifting this to a friend @tessari-the-dreamer and I want her to find my sneak peaks instead of scrolling down... ;) So, since I stopped posting I thought it would be nice to share some lines for all my WIPs, so people know I'm not dead, but I'm just writing like crazy XD as always, Penelope x Garreth ;) I'm tagging @oceangirl24 and @mikaharuka, Tess, if you feel like it! No pressure!

Everything is SFW!! (Yeah, what a surprise, right? :O) Nothing is edited so it sucks...

Main fiction: THATP Chapter tbd - Jealous Geminids Amit chuckled, tousling Penelope’s hair. “Well, maybe I have some Korean ancestor, who knows?” Garreth blinked in surprise. “Korean?” “Yes, Penton is half Korean,” Amit promptly replied. “Actually, a quarter.” Penelope corrected. “You also have a second Korean name, right?” Amit continued, trying to remember it. Penelope nodded. “Jandi or Jan-di.” “Oh, that’s interesting! What does it mean?” Natty clapped her hands, her eyes shining with interest. “Grasses,” Penelope shrugged. “My father thought I would be easier to raise than his plants, but apparently that wasn’t the case.” A quarter Korean? A Korean name? Garreth couldn’t stop blinking in disbelief. How many things didn’t he know about his friend?

Hexed - Chapter 7 - The forbidden fruit (part II) Despite having meticulously prepared for that night, Penelope had to admit she couldn't shake the feeling that she was orchestrating more of a trap than a romantic encounter. Similar to the intricate strategy of certain orchids, mimicking the appearance of insects to draw them closer and utilize them as pollinators, she was deceiving, creating an illusion. Like those flowers, she had crafted her own mirage—a silent invitation to entice him into her desires, aiming for him to succumb to her allure and satisfy her longing for intimacy.

Out for bids - Chapter 1 - The Auction Ignoring her words, Garreth leaned forward and took the other quill from the inkwell, swiftly shifting the sack of gold from the contract he made to sign it.  Penelope grabbed his wrist, before he could do it. “Please. Sir,” her tone was low, pleading almost, as she emphasized the last word, but as she met his steady gaze, she realized the unforgivable mistake she had made. She saw his jaw clenching, a muscle twitching under his freckled, pale skin, his eyes shimmering in what she could only imagine was devilish pleasure.  There was no way he would renounce to her. 

A cabin in the woods - Chapter 3 - Healing attempts (wolf!Garreth fiction)

He tilted his head, what was she doing? He felt her hands on his back, gently caressing his fur, leaving him shivering in pleasure with each gentle stroke of her small fingers. She was moving towards his tail, when she reached it, she suddenly couched, “Let’s check if you are a lady or a gentlemen,” she mused, “I can’t really say from your size…”  Realizing what she wanted to do, he stiffened and immediately sat down, warmth spreading all over his body at the thought as his rear touched the ground. “Oh come on!” she huffed, and started to gently pat his thigh, trying to let him rise. He didn’t move, stubbornly remaining seated. There was no way she was going to check his privates! “Wolfie, please! This will take only a minute, you have too much fur to…” she didn’t finish the sentence as she sat on the ground, still trying to get him up.

[colorfuldreamsmkg]

Bad Girl A - Ch 4 Execution (Post 1/5)

May 4th, 3:02 AM. 15 minutes was naught but the length of 3-5 songs. An EP filled with love, sorrow, and final goodbyes for someone whose hands were clean of Juniper’s blood, their true killer still left a mystery within the crowd. 3-5 songs were not enough to summarize the value of someone’s life, or the people they touched, yet the group did their best to sing her praises just as much as if they had an entire musical.

And those 15 minutes were up.

Miku prime clapped her hands, like a kindergarten teacher drawing attention from an unruly class.

“Well, now, that was soooo touching, wasn’t it? I hope you got all your goodbyes in, because it’s all you’re getting now! It truly is a shame, Erika, I have nothing against you personally, you know~ You helped me so much, after all! Consider this my personal goodbye, too. Maybe, in another world, we could’ve been communicating directly much, much more. Maybe we could’ve been friends! But for now… Your time is up.”

Despite being lifted up into the air, the waters of the salt flat reached upwards below Ozzy and Cecilie’s feet, taking the shape of a hand and swallowing Erika within its palm. Wrestled out of the grasps by a shapeless beast with no muscle to truly fight back, Cecilie and Ozzy were left behind soaking wet with salt water, alone and on the surface.

The scene of the execution flickered onto the large screen placed before you, as Miku Prime watched the opening set dressing with a sparkle of pride in her eyes, before slowly sinking under the water herself. As she was down to her shoulders, she said one final piece.

“Ah… I had to miss out last time, didn’t I? It would be a shame to not take the job personally again.”

And then, she was fully gone. It was just the remaining participants, alone on the surface.

Regardless of how much she struggles, Erika finds herself unable to resist as she’s dragged under by the water. They almost open up their mouth to scream–but they at least have the thought to not give up any air. She doesn’t have a promise that this execution will be somewhere she can breathe. Before they know it, they’re taken to a dark room. She’s roughly stuffed into a chair–strangely soft? It isn’t until her hands are yanked forward and placed on a wheel, and a seatbelt is forcibly strapped over her torso that she realizes what she’s sitting on. 

The lights in the room suddenly flare on, and Erika finds herself in a garage. They sit in a bright teal car in the driver’s seat, and with a sharp grin Erika’s way, Miku Prime herself plops right into the passenger seat beside her. The car is a convertible, the roof already pulled back. From the limited view of the garage door the night sky outside is well lit, but somehow even with that they can’t see anything else besides the road in front of the garage. 

At first, they plan to resist it, crawl out of the car and run instead of going along with whatever Miku Prime has planned. As soon as they start to move towards the door however, a few of Miku’s hair tentacles snake out to snatch Erika’s wrists and keep them on the wheel, while another snakes around one of their legs to keep their foot near the gas pedal. The car’s engine runs to life without Erika so much as reaching for the key, and the radio begins playing a song, which Miku Prime casually reaches out and turns the volume up of. Between Miku’s grip on them and the way the car is starting up on its own, the message is clear.

Erika has no control over anything here, just the illusion of control. Just like the way they’ve not had control over their own life.

With a lurch that they feel in their stomach, the car begins to drive forward as soon as Erika’s foot brushes the pedal. Right off the bat, the road is riddled with potholes and bumps, and Erika is jostled quite a bit. The car begins to pick up speed down its midnight drive, and the driveway path soon turns into a road flanked with trees. Instead of the healthy looking trees of late spring, these trees look entirely dead. Unnatural, twisting things that almost seem to be leaning towards the road at times like grasping hands. 

As the car speeds up, the road seems to get worse and worse, the overhead branches leaning further and further down. On more than one occasion, a low hanging branch swipes at Erika’s hair, another at her cheek, another at her neck. The car’s wheels catch on a bump, and one branch leaves a scrape along their collar. Is this how they’re meant to die? A thousand scrapes and cuts by branches leaning into the car?

No, clearly not, as Miku’s tentacle snakes towards the wheel moves to quickly jerk it to the right for a moment. Just a moment, but it’s enough to make the car start to swerve off the road. Erika yanks the wheel back, breaking it free of the loose hold of Miku’s tentacle. She seems to have that much control over her situation at least, as the car straightens out again. Still–she doesn’t miss the nasty sound of branches much more loudly scraping against the car. One of them even takes off the mirror on that side. The car straightening out is short lived though, as the wheels catch on another pothole, and then another, and now and then Miku’s hair yanks the wheel one direction or another. Each time, Erika swerves to correct the car, but she has less and less time to avoid a wreck. 

Less time and less room for error as the trees lean in more and more. The road itself even starts to become more narrow as time passes, a clear countdown until one simple mistake is all it will take to send her straight into a wreck. It soon becomes a pattern that each correction becomes an over-correction on the increasingly more dangerous path. The car doesn’t seem to be losing speed for any of its scrapes though, even as a larger branch cracks the windshield, making seeing through it all but impossible.

As the moments pass by, a stray thought cuts through the tension and fear and panic in Erika. The simple thought to wonder, is this how it would feel to drive drunk? To know you are one slip up away from catastrophe? They don’t get to wonder that for long, as then–

[uncouth-the-fifth]

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

_

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

_

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

_

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

[huge-enthusiast]

Miraculous fic recomendations!!

This is just an excuse to show all my bookmarks? Yes. Yes, it is. I'm pretty sure most of this fics are really popular, but try see if you find something you didn't knew about!

All of the fics will be rated Teen and up audiences or lower. Also if I don't put the author's tumblr is because they didn't put it in the fic or/and I couldn't find it.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

knowing you by emsylcatac (they are not really the author of the fic but that's the account that says in the fic, the actual author doesn't have an account).

After dropping their transformations months ago, Marinette and Adrien see each other for the first time after being apart. They've both left too much unsaid and have to work to pick up the pieces of their confused hearts.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal but mostly ladynoir, light angst with happy ending.

the last day on earth by Reiaji

The first time Marinette sees Chat Blanc, she's fourteen years old. The second time, fifteen—the third time, seventeen.

The closer she grows to Adrien, the harder it is to save him.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, kinda heavy angst, hopeful ending.

tell me something i don't know by carpisuns (@carpisuns here on tumblr)

Do you think it still means something? To love someone, even if the universe said you had to?

The odds of having a soulmate are about negative one billion (or something like that). But somehow, like they always have, Marinette and Chat Noir find themselves together. They’re ready to finally tell each other everything, but it turns out that even soulmates have to keep secrets, and while their bond draws them together, duty forces them apart.

Chapters: currently 17/28 (WIPs can be exhausting but this one is 100% worth the wait!)

Mostly marichat but almost all of the lovesquare sides make an appearance, soulmates au, mostly fluff but it can get angsty if it wants to.

One Thing After Another by SKayLanphear

Marinette notices that, sometimes, Adrien acts a little out of the ordinary--like the time he stood in a cardboard box for no reason, or when he actually hissed at Nino. It's only when she starts to notice the similarities between Adrien and a certain feline that she begins to get suspicious.

Basically, Adrien acts like a cat when he probably shouldn't.

Chapters: 15/15

Mostly adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, miraculous side effects (by both sides wich is really cool!), it's fluff with a lil tiny angst for drama.

This would take some getting used to by Codango (@codango here on tumblr!)

Adrien peeked out from behind the chimney even as the magic of his own Chat Noir mask fell away.

She was still visible, her dark hair bobbing under the street lamps a couple blocks away.

“Marinette.”

Adrien blew out a confused breath. His fiery Ladybug… was the quiet little mouse who sat behind him in class?

“What. The.”

This… would take some getting used to.

Chapters: 8/8

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Adrien's part, awkward flirting, just fluff, nothing to worry about.

comfort food also by Reiaji!

In Marinette's house, cooking is a language of love, and Marinette loves Adrien more than most.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette with a little of ladynoir, super super fluff, a lot of insight into Marinette's chinese heritage.

The right side of his face by walkingonthestars (@hamsternamedmarinette here on tumblr!)

Marinette and Adrien are able to remain in their new seats in the back of the room at the end of Chameleon.

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette, fluff with light angst.

it's a long way forward so trust in me by aloneintherain (@captainkirkk here on tumblr!)

“You’re not the only strong one around here, Chat,” Marinette said. She looked a little winded, but she wasn’t struggling to hold him up.

This close up, he could see the freckles on the bridge of her nose. He could see how that smug smile lit up her eyes. He could feel the strain of her arms—and wow, okay, he really wasn’t the only person around here with muscles.

Six times Marinette carried Adrien (plus one time he carried her).

Chapters: 1/1

All the sides of the lovesquare! Fluff with LOTS of mutual pining.

a fight that you were born to lose also by aloneintherain

When the prosecution starts throwing around the word victim in reference to Adrien, he has to stuff his hands under his thighs to keep himself from bolting out of the courtroom.

Adrien had felt unsafe during those last few weeks, but, until he had woken up and seen Father silhouetted in his bedroom doorway, that had only been paranoia. Father was controlling and cold, but he wasn’t hateful. Adrien was isolated. He was often hungry. And some weeks ago, when he had snuck out to visit Nino, sitting thigh-to-thigh on his bed while Adrien cried in that silent, crumbling way of his, he hadn’t argued when Nino put a hand on his shoulder and said, tentatively, That’s abuse.

But Adrien remembers being small and Father touching his hair after he’d aced another test; Father holding his scribbled drawings like they were something precious, and framing them around his office; Father, dressed as Hawkmoth, his eyes wild behind the mask, lashing his sword against Adrien’s baton; Father, collapsed against Mum, crying into her ashy hair.

Adrien finds out Gabriel is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel gets to bring his long-waited plan into action.

Chapters: 1/1

This one doesn't really focus in the ship that much as is an Adrien character study and an exploration of his relationship with his father, but they're still there so I put them here. Really heavy angst (this is one of this fics that haunt me in the middle of the night) with a happy ending. ❗TW: parental abuse, eating disorders❗

Supercut by LNC

Marinette loves her friends and Adrien can't deal.

Chapters: 1/1

Post-reveal lovesquare, again light angst, an exploration of Adrien's insecurities, Marinette Dupain-Cheng deserves the world, happy ending.

Madame Snare by jettiebettie

“Sounds like a lot of work for nothing. She should take this as a sign to have a relaxing weekend with no responsibilities.”

“It's a lot of work she put her whole heart into. It wouldn't be right for it to go to waste,” Adrien whispers to him. The look on Marinette's face is enough to cause Adrien's own heart to ache. If anyone deserves the satisfaction and pride from a job well done, it's her.

“Too bad there isn't anyone else who can walk in those death traps,” Plagg says. Adrien hums in thought, tapping his chin.

“I could.”

Chapters: 1/1

Marichat, episode-based, Chat Noir in a dress!!!, light angst but it's mostly just idiots being idiots and a lot of fun.

in the same sun by peachcitt (@peachcitt here on tumblr!)

"It’s hard to believe that I saw you last at the peak of summer, when the sun was close and warm - and so were you. It should go without saying that I miss you. I miss you something terrible."

//

"It’s been seven months to the day since I’ve seen you. I wish you were here more than anything else."

Two letters, signed with initials instead of names, found in Paris, France.

Chapters: 1/1

Ladynoir, just angst, that's it, written like letters. No ending, just pain.

an uncurtain discovery by Missnoodles (@ladyofthenoodle here on tumblr!)

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Chapters: 1/1

Ladrien, it says it's crack, and don't get me wrong, is super funny, but I also found it sad as fuck?

An Open Secret by Kasienda

Adrien whirled around toward Marinette. She smiled at him.

He couldn’t smile back. He stared at her like the dumb blond model that he was often accused of being.

Something shifted in her expression. And her warm open Marinette smile transformed into Ladybug’s grin. He was looking at Ladybug right now.

He knew Ladybug’s name!

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And he couldn’t say anything! Not to Marinette! Not even to Plagg, who had confided two weeks prior that Master Fu was growing increasingly paranoid since the location of his home and hideout had been compromised. Their master had apparently decided that Chat Noir and Ladybug would have to give up their miraculouses if they ever discovered each other’s identities.

It wasn’t fair!

...

A fic where they both know, but can't openly talk about it.

Chapters: 4/4

Post-reveal... but is it? Mostly adrienette and ladynoir, fluff with light angst and them being absolute idiots at hiding their secret identity.

golden (like daylight) by okayanna (@anna-scribbles here on tumblr!)

Friendship, Adrien decided, shaking off the mental image of Marinette’s hurricane eyes and hesitant mouth, parted in a small, careful “o.” He had a very strong friendship with Marinette. That was all.

or

Adrien thinks a lot about words, love, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chapters: 1 + epilogue

Adrienette but has lots of ladynoir, another Adrien character study because I hate myself, it tries to not be angst but the writing will punch you in the guts and make you cry, it's so good.

Strangers in the Bright Lights by poodles (@ladybeug here on tumblr!)

Adrien is about two drinks in when he sees a girl at the end of the bar wearing black cat ears. It's kind of weird, so he watches her, and although it's crowded he can see her face when she turns around. She’s wearing a Chat Noir mask. He takes a quick look around- nobody else is wearing a mask. Just her.

Adrien finishes his gin martini and heads over to her. He could use some company tonight anyways, he hasn’t told anyone he’s back in Paris and Nathalie won’t arrive in town for another month. And it’s been a rough day, okay? A rough move! He’s not sure he wants to be back yet, and he spent most of the day in the Agreste mansion sorting through some photographs of his father he found in the study. Maybe he wants a drink and some stranger to tell him he’s pretty! That’s not a crime, is it?

Chapters: 1/1

Adrienette but it's also ladrien??? I think??? It's super super angsty but they're both drunk the entirety of the fic so it's also really funny.

Pick-Up and Chase by also SKayLanphear

After she accidentally trips into Adrien and apologizes about "falling for him," Marinette learns that he's no match for cheesy pick-up lines--whether they were unintended or not. And while she finds it flattering that he turns into a flustered mess with only a few words, Marinette comes to regret making him uncomfortable. That is, until she learns he's Chat Noir. At which point the phrase "just deserts" becomes a permanent fixture in her everyday plans.

A story in which Adrien is flustered, Marinette is smooth as glass at dropping lines, and Chat Noir gets the romance he was always asking for--even if he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Chapters: 10/10

Adrienette with one sided reveal by Marinette's side, it doesn't say it in the tags but I'm pretty sure the characters are much older than they actually are in the show, so much fluff and so much flirting.

Pairing: Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Nino Has Done Nothing To Deserve This by GuardianKarenTerrier (@guardiankarenterrier here in tumblr)

It's nothing, really- just an innocent comment, a joke. But when they hear it, Nino and Alya come to a realisation.

There were, in retrospect, dozens upon dozens of hints. Now that they're suddenly aware of all their friend's flimsy excuses and rushed explanations, they're not only sure how they've missed it, they're not sure how anyone else has either. They realise that it had to be magic protecting their friends- and that same magic has ceased to work on the two of them.

Well, this means they'll just have to start watching over their friends themselves.

Chapters: 7/7

This is more a found family fic than anything else, Alya and Nino are the mom friend, has light angst but it's mostly identity shenanigans in the most bizarre way. ❗TW: eating disorders❗

christmas lights by demistories

Nino checks up and down the street, checking to make sure there’s no raging akuma headed his way before he crosses quickly and ducks inside the small café. He closes the door quickly before the icy air can blow inside and tugs his beanie down over his ears. He spots Alya sitting alone in the corner.

Chapters: 1/1

Just fluff!! Really short but really sweet.

hold on, i still want you also by Missnoodles!

Written for the @thedjwifizine ! Wich I also recommend if you wanna binge a lot of djwifi fics while also looking at amazing art!!!

Five times Alya ran into her ex, and the one time he stopped being her ex.

Chapters: 1/1

Light angst with a happy ending! I don't really like the ex-lovers to lovers trope but this one is the only exception.

I will continue to expand the list in the future! But by now I hope I was helpful in the search of new fics!

[direwombat]

Caress to the cheek after a moment together. - for jakesyb

flaksdjfal;sdfkj i swear i didn't mean for this to be as smutty as it is but uh... enjoy. this one takes place before (but on the way to) them developing/realizing they have feelings for each other. also general warning for jacob being creepy and misogynistic. syb is working on convincing him she's. y'know. not an object, but it's a process rip

When Jacob emerges from his post-coital half-doze, Sybille is already dressed and pulling on her boots. She sits at his desk, her body folded in half as she leans down to do up the laces. Dexterous and clever fingers make quick work of the knots. The strong, sinewy muscle of her arms flexing as she tugs hard to make sure they’re secure, before rising to her feet and grabbing her jacket where it had been discarded on the floor. 

Jacob shifts to lay on his side, propping his head on his knuckles, as he watches with mild disappointment as she pulls it on. The garment barely manages to hide the hard work he put into marking her skin, leaving only the faint blush of purple bleeding past her collar. His movement catches her attention, and when her eyes meet his, he flashes her an incredibly self satisfied smirk. 

“That bad, huh?” he asks, as if he hadn’t just fucked so hard he had to clap his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. 

Fond exasperation is how he chooses to interpret the look she’s giving him. His smirk widens when she cracks a small smile and rolls her eyes. “No, Jacob,” she says, the distance between them quickly closed with a few strands of her long, long legs. She kneels on the hardwood floor next to the cot where he lay, resting one forearm on the thin mattress while the other strokes his mussed hair. “You did just fine.”

“Just fine?” he repeats as a question. Part of him knows she’s purposefully underselling just how badly he’s ruined her for anyone else, but he still can’t help but listen to that possessive beast telling him to pull her back underneath him and show her just how fine he can be to her. She’s his, and he feels the constant need to prove himself worthy. “Well, we can do better than that.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. Her hand trails down the side of his face, almost tenderly. If it were anyone else, he would have slapped their hand away. But not her. Only she can touch him like that. Only she can see him with his guard down like this. She cradles his cheek, thumb gently rubbing back and forth over his cheekbone. “You know I can’t stay,” she says, and if he didn’t know any better, he might have thought she sounded sad. 

Of course she can’t stay. She has work to do, destroying everything his brother worked so hard to build. Of course she can’t stay. She has to go reporting back to Eli and his pathetic excuse for a militia, and pretend like she isn’t sleeping with the enemy. 

But it doesn’t stop him from grabbing her wrist, thin but nowhere near brittle, and dragging her hand to place a kiss to her open palm. “I know,” he answers. But someday she will. It may not be today. It may not be tomorrow, but someday she’ll stay because she’ll realize that this is her home. Not the Wolf’s Den or Falls End. Here, in her rightful place -- next to, on top of, beneath -- with him. 

Someday, she’ll stay because she’ll have nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. And when that day comes, he’ll be there, ready and waiting to welcome her Home. She’ll be safe with him, he’ll make sure of it. And when the day comes for them all to retreat underground, she’ll be right there with him to keep the Armory in order and to warm his bed. Fulfilling her duties like the good little pet he knows she can be.

His cock twitches at the thought. 

Always a perceptive one, somehow, she notices. One corner of her lips quirks up and her gaze drifts down and to the side in the way they do whenever she’s considering mischief. Her tongue darts out to wet her still swollen lower lip before she draws it between her teeth. When her eyes snap back to his, the fire behind them, while not blazing as it was just a mere few hours ago, certainly smolders with some kind of heat.

Pulling her wrist free from his grasp, she leans in and presses her lips against his as she snakes her hand underneath the covers. He grunts and barely suppresses a shudder, bucking his hips as her chilled fingers ghost along his length. “You want me to stay longer after we fuck?” she whispers, wrapping her hand around him and giving him a few solid pumps. “Get a bigger bed.”