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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

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Keep Going

Zayne x gn!Reader x Sylus

In my heart of hearts I fucking know Sylus has a thing for when Zayne speaks medical

Thank you @unknown-ends for inspiring this one cuz ough it lowkey consumed me

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: fluff, smut, polyamory, oral sex, kissing, biting, blow/hand job, cuddling, aftercare, banter, teasing, cum eating/swallowing, literal sleeping together, established relationship, licking

Word Count: 2,116

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Zayne glares at Sylus. "What are you doing?" he hisses.

Sylus has the audacity to pull that smug grin on him, at the same time he pulls the blankets down Zayne's body, slips his hands under his pajama shirt to feel the lean muscle of his stomach. "You're having trouble sleeping - I want to help. It's as simple as that."

Zayne looks pointedly over at you, only a couple feet away, back facing him. You're fast asleep and completely oblivious to what's happening on the other side of the bed. "We could wake them up-"

"And?" Sylus leans down, eyes still locked on the doctor, to kiss just above his naval. "They can join in if they need a sleep aid." A brush of his teeth, just enough to have Zayne shuddering beneath him. "I'm happy to assist."

Zayne becomes momentarily transfixed by the sight of his partner. The warm glide of his hands as they push his shirt up to stay bunched under his pecs and hook fingers around his waistband to tug down the front of his sleep pants. His tongue follows the path of his happy trail, swirling around the fine hair and lapping hot and wet at his skin, all the way down to his pubic bone. No doubt Sylus can feel the growing need in his pants as it rises to bump lightly against his throat and chin, if the dark cloud shadowing his eyes is any indicator. Still, he can't help looking over at you again. If they were to accidentally wake you up, what would you think? What would you do or say? Would you be annoyed at them? Would you join them? Would you be completely indifferent? He tries to weigh every scenario, but it becomes increasingly difficult the more aware of Sylus's breaths fanning across his skin he becomes.

A hand reaches up to guide him back to looking down the length of his body, at the man straddling over his legs, now tucked partially under the blanket. "You can say no," he says, voice even and silently promising the dismount that comes with his honest refusal. "Or, you can tell me just why sucking you off will work to put you to sleep."

His ears flush red. He stares at Sylus, contemplating, weighing his options, for one breath - two. And then he nods, almost imperceptibly, swallowing down the saliva pooling in his mouth.

Quietly, in that steady, methodical tone he usually speaks in when discussing anything medical, he whispers, "During ejaculation, men release several brain chemicals."

Sylus hums, pleased, and sets quickly to work. He pulls his pants down, dragging his underwear with them, over his half-erect cock. He studies the veins and curve as he pushes Zayne's legs apart to settle between them. "Keep going."

"Norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide, and prolactin, which has been-" His words choke off, caught by the delicate press of lips to the length of his cock. Several left in a row, from the base to the tip. Ruby eyes implore him not to stop. He lets out a shaky breath. "-linked to the feeling of sexual satisfaction."

His cock twitches to life. Sylus rubs the soft skin of his inner thighs, his hip, all while pressing those maddening pecks along its length. He ducks down, kissing down the underside of his shaft, down to the hanging weight of his scrotum. His large nose bumps up against his cock as he lazily sucks one of the testes, humming his satisfaction at the taste of Zayne's skin.

Zayne's fingers tangle in Sylus's hair, grasping lightly, though the strain in his hold shows just how much tighter he wishes to hold on. It's a fight against his self-control; his ability to stay even-minded in this moment. It's a losing battle when Sylus is his opponent, but one he fights nonetheless. Sylus reaches up to hold his other hand, fingers laced together, thumb stroking his scars.

"Prolactin levels are naturally higher during sleep, so it is likely that its release during orgasm leads to the feeling of sleepiness. Additionally, oxytocin and vasopressin, also released during ejaculation, are also associated with sleep, and frequently accompany the release of melatonin."

Sylus releases his testicle with a shimmering splotch of saliva. He licks up the entire length of his cock, all the way to the tip, now leaking precum in glistening pearls onto his stomach. His tongue dips into the slit, lips closing around it to suck daintily. Zayne grips tighter at his hair, cheeks flushed and breath heavier as he chokes out the final reason:

"Oxytocin is also t-thought to reduce stress levels, which could lead to relaxation and sleepiness."

Sylus squeezes Zayne's hand. It's all he can do to stay silent as the heat of his mouth engulfs his cock, head tossed back and teeth biting cheek to hold back the sounds in his throat. He stays there for a moment, too. Swallowing around the girth of his dick, flattening his tongue along the thick vein on the bottom, staring up at his partner's reactions. Long enough to have the fingers in his hair tighten further and tug, begging him to move.

He's slow as he pulls off. Teasing, savoring the moment, the weight and taste of his partner on his tongue. He hollows his cheeks and sucks down again. Rising and falling at a steady pace. Not fast, just enough to have Zayne breathing heavily through his nose and squeezing him with his thighs. The wet sounds seem far louder in the quiet of the bedroom, mixed with his breaths and the quiet sounds of pleasure that rumble in Sylus's chest.

You can't say for certain what it was that woke you up. If it was the noise, or the slight shaking of the bed, or just your subconscious latching on to what's happening behind you. Either way, you blink blearily into the darkness, turning over to see what's going on. The glint of Sylus's eyes flicker to you, amused. Zayne's eyes are shut, or far too lidded to see anything other than Sylus's ministrations on his cock. A warmth, little more than a match-flame, alights within you, but the exhaustion from the day is far greater than it. The usual arousal you'd feel when seeing your partners so intimate is instead replaced with adoration. Love for these two men you can call yours, joy at seeing them together despite the differences they've faced in the past.

Zayne startles when he feels the mattress shift under your weight. You close the distance between you and him, pressing your chest against his arm, cupping his cheek in your hand to turn his face toward you. He's flushed so bright, from embarrassment and arousal. "I apologize for waking you, I-"

You shush him softly as you kiss his lips. Where Sylus's mouth is heated and passionate in its actions, yours is languid and sweet, sleepy and lazy. He sighs with soft relief into your mouth, the tension of being caught melting away. Your thumb strokes over his cheekbones, fingers curling under his jaw, behind his ear, brushing the mess of dark hair with tender care.

Sylus pulls off of him with a pop, dipping his head to lick up the puddle of precum from his stomach. Zayne pulls away with a shuddering breath. He presses his face into your neck, and you run your fingers through his hair. "Our poor doctor here needed some help falling asleep," Sylus muses between licks.

You hum softly. Zayne's hair is so soft, even dampened slightly with sweat. You kiss his temple, eyes closed, at peace. "Was cuddling not an option?"

"Certainly not the first one that came to mind," Zayne retorts dryly. Sylus nips at his skin, eliciting a hiss from your partner. "We can take this elsewhere so we don't continue to interrupt your rest."

"Nmm, no, it's okay."

Sylus takes his hand from Zayne's thigh to hold your calf, rubbing affectionate circles into your leg with his thumb. "I would offer my services to you, beloved, but I don't think you'll need them."

You laugh quietly, cut off by a yawn. "Another night, maybe." You turn to look down at Sylus, Zayne still breathing in hot pants against your neck, his cock still painfully erect and needy, glistening with saliva and pre-spend. "Keep going."

There's no command, no force behind your words, but Sylus takes them as a strict order nonetheless. He smirks wickedly up at you just before he takes Zayne's dick back into his mouth, bobbing along the length.

Zayne lets out a strangled, choked sound. Devastatingly beautiful. You brush his hair back, tug lightly on the strands to pull him from your neck. His mouth finds yours straight away. Tongue licks needily at the seam of your lips, but he follows the pace you set without hesitation. The dynamic between the rhythm of Sylus's mouth and the caress of yours makes his head feel light.

Your hand trails down his neck, along his sternum, over his shirt, until you're able to slip it under the bunched up hem. It's all too easy to find the perky bud of his nipple. And oh so wonderful hearing the sounds he makes as you circle it with your fingers, press against it, pinch it, pull it. His fingers tighten in Sylus's hair for support. You barely pull away to leave light kisses on his top and bottom lip, mouth parted around his heavy breaths.

Sylus's hand leaves your leg. It glides over Zayne's hip before he wraps it around the base of his cock, his mouth focused on the swollen head. He tongues at the leaking slit and the ridge of the tip, fisting his cock up and down at a pace faster than his mouth moves. Zayne strains to watch even as the burning ecstasy in his abdomen contorts his face, growing overwhelming, determined to watch the final moments of his treatment.

You bury your face in his neck in turn, mouthing lazily at the soft skin there. You can feel the thrum of his heart against your lips. Fast and eager, waiting for the fall at the end of this cliff.

And fall he does. With strained, stifled whimpers, he cums into the hot mouth of your partner. Sylus's brows pinch together, eyes closing, as he takes the full heft of Zayne into his mouth again, his cockhead shooting cum against the back of his open throat. Zayne subconsciously rolls his hips up, chasing the friction, nearly making Sylus gag.

Sylus pulls off of his cock for the final time tonight. He's panting, trying to catch his breath around a swallow. His eyes are lidded with satisfaction, the blankets falling around him as he sits up to take in the beautiful sight laid out before him.

Zayne, hair a mess, skin shimmering with a thin layer of sweat, panting heavily, head tilted back with his eyes shut, trying to come back down to earth. And you, tracing lines and patterns against his stomach, nevermind the mess, eyes closed and content, nuzzling against his shoulder.

Sylus slips out, blankets pushed to the foot of the bed, and disappears in the bathroom. When he returns with a wet cloth, his lover's breaths have calmed down. One arm wraps around your back, holding you close, as the other sits empty at his side, as though waiting for Sylus's hand to fit within it once more. He watches sleepily as the mess on his stomach is cleaned up, shivering as the cold bedroom air chills the sheen of water left behind.

Sylus's warm, rough hands slip his underwear and sleep pants back up onto his hips. Slip his shirt back down with knuckles brushing down his abs, and draw the blanket back up. He leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Zayne's lips. The salty taste of himself on his lips sends a trill down his spine.

"Thank you," he breathes lowly into the space between them.

"Happy to help," Sylus responds with a teasing grin. He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. You're already fast asleep. "Sweet dreams, snowflake."

Zayne watches the hulking figure of his partner leave the bedroom, unresolved bulge in his own pants. As he turns to the side to fully curl up with you, the heady scent of sex tickling his nose with your shampoo and Sylus's cologne, he thinks of all the ways he can return the favor in the morning. He falls asleep with images of Sylus's face pinched, head thrown back, mouth hinged open around guttural groans, and an invisible weight on his tongue.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @leiakitty

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27spoons · 24 days ago

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okay so someone said "nat backshots" and i said "say less" now you get a blurb of nat taking readers strap

nsfw blurb / smut / gn!afab!reader / porn no plot / strap-on used, referred to as cock / some ass smacking / nat cries at some point / size-kink nat agenda / blame the horny asses in the server / it's me I'm the horny ass / not proofread we die like coach ben at nat's hand/ wc: 1569 (nice)

she's already on her hands and knees by the time you pull the harness tight around your hips, her breath hot and uneven where her forehead presses into the mattress. a flush creeps down her spine, bright red that sharply contrasts the pale skin—it makes your mouth water. makes you wanna leave your fingerprints along the bony protrusions, so that she remembers who made her like this.

"last chance, nat," you murmur, voice low as your knees press into the bed behind her, letting the head of the strap brush against the inside of her thigh.

nat can only grunt in response—although it sounds more like a desperate whine than anything else—and her hips tilt back in a silent invitation. you know her well enough to know she isn't going to beg. no, natalie scatorccio doesn't beg. at least, not until she's fucked stupid and barely holding onto reality.

you let her stew in it a while longer. let her squirm. let her feel the size of it, how much you're giving her. when you finally take the translucent blue cock into your hands, you can't help but grin. nat can't fight the whole body shiver that rakes her as you start to run the tip through her folds. she's wet, but you knew that already, didn't you? she's always wet for you.

"oh, nat. look at you. you don't even know what you've gotten yourself into, huh?" you let your spit fall from your mouth onto the toy, lathering it across the ridged surface. "you think you can take all of it?"

"oh my god," nat groans, trying to shift her hips to get you in, "asshole, i've been with dudes before. just... c'mon..."

you chuckle and nudge your knee between her thighs, forcing them wider. she's dripping already, clear slick painting her inner thighs, but you don't let yourself get distracted. not yet. you've got a point to prove.

"yeah? how many of them made you shake like this?"

you let the tip of your cock catch on her entrance—just the tip—and push barely inside, enough to make her walls flutter around nothing, enough to make her hips jerk back instinctively, desperate to pull you deeper.

you hold her still with a firm hand on her hip, fingers digging into the soft skin. "feel that, baby?" your voice drops into a cruel taunt as you roll your hips in slow, maddening circles, just enough to tease the first inch past her entrance. "not even halfway in yet."

nat groans—long, low, and frustrated—and tries to rock back again, only to be met with your grip tightening, a silent order to behave.

she looks good like this. helpless. squirming. needy.

"squeezing me so fucking tight already," you murmur, dragging the words out as you pull back a fraction, letting the ridged head catch on her entrance on the way out. "gonna split you open real nice, huh?"

nat makes a sound of helplessness, and you can feel her walls fluttering, trying to pull you in deeper.

greedy.

you deliver a sharp slap to her ass for that, clicking your tongue. "i thought i made it clear that you're not to move? when did you decide you could?"

nat whimpers, fingers fisting in the comforter to keep from swatting at you, but she stays put. she doesn't push back again. she knows better. you both know that.

"thought you were supposed to be tough?" another inch. slow enough to be cruel. the stretch forces another broken noise out of her, muffled by the thick blanket. "c'mon, nat. take it. take it for me."

when she doesn't respond, you draw your hips back again, just enough to make her feel empty, then immediately push forward and bury yourself to the hilt.

the sound the leaves her is sinful.

it's one of those times where pleasure blurs with pain, a fire burning in her veins as her body attempts to accommodate the sudden, harsh intrusion. the stretch feels like something out of a horror film and like taking a shot of pure ecstasy, and she can't help the moan that rips itself from her throat when your hips start to wiggle.

"fuck," nat gasps, voice cracking as her face presses harder into the mattress. she's practically trembling under you, arms straining to keep her up, muscles in her thighs twitching from the effort.

you let her sit there for a moment. trembling. split wide open around you. letting her feel just how deep you are. letting it burn.

"mm, you feel that, baby?" you whisper against the shell of her ear, your chest pressing flush to her back. "you feel so fucking full, don't you? can't even move, can you?"

nat whines low in her throat. you smile harder.

you hook an arm around her waist and pull her up onto her knees properly, forcing her to arch for you, forcing her to feel every goddamn inch. she scrambles for purchase, a shaky hand reaching back to grip at your thigh, your hip, anything.

"'s too much…" she mumbles pathetically, but she doesn't make the effort to pull away. she doesn't tell you to stop. in fact, her cunt only flutters around you, greedy and overwhelmed and aching.

"nah," you murmur, brushing her hair to the side so you can kiss the back of her neck. "you're taking it. and you're doing so fucking good, nat. so good for me."

and then you rock your hips, just once, just enough for her whole body to jolt forward on the bed, a broken moan punching out of her lungs. she can feel every ridge on the surface—the saliva you spit on, her own juices, everything. it's all too much and not enough at once.

"jesus christ," nat hisses, squeezing her eyes shut like it would help. like it would make it easier to take you.

the grin that splits your face borders on feral as you start a slow, brutal rhythm. shallow thrusts that barely pull out before sinking right back to the hilt, giving her no time to think or even breathe.

no, she can't think when all she can feel is you. inside of her, stretching her out, wrecking her tight, fluttering cunt with each snap of your hips into hers.

nat collapses down onto her forearms with a strangled whimper, thighs shaking violently from the effort of staying upright. her hair sticks to the sweat-slicked skin of her back, panting so hard you can hear every wet breath she fights to take.

good.

you want her fucking ruined.

you fish a hand in her hair, tugging her head back enough to make her arch even deeper. making her take you even deeper.

nat sobs at the angle, but once again makes no effort to pull away.

she doesn't want to.

"shhhh, i know, baby," you mock, low and cooing in her ear, digging your hips back slow and snapping forward hard enough to make the bedframe creak. "doing so good for me. so good."

she nods frantically, barely even aware she's doing it, like her brain's short-circuited into pure instinct. like all she's ever wanted to was to be good for you, to take your praise down her throat and choke on it.

you slam your hips forward again, and nat actually yelps, the sound immediately breaking into a desperate moan as she lets you take.

"such a good girl," you whisper, breath hot against her ear. "taking my cock like this. fucking hell, nat. you're perfect. my perfect girl." you emphasize every word with a snap of your hips, never stopping to cease your relentless pace.

you can practically feeling her tightening, spasming around the strap like she's right on the edge of something, and the thought of her coming just from this? just from the fullness, the stretch, the weight of you inside her? well. it makes you slam your hips harder into her.

"gonna make you fucking come like this," you pant, voice ragged with exertion. "gonna make you fucking break—!"

if you could see nat's face, you would see the tears spilling from her eyes as ragged moans rip from her throat with every thrust you greet her with. what you see is how her body tenses under yours, all her muscles locking up like she's trying to fight it, trying to be 'strong' and not give in.

"don't fight it," you breathe, sweat running down your face in small rivets, "c'mon, nat. be a good girl. be a good girl and come for me. come all over my cock. show me you want it."

the permission was all she needed, and the moan that leaves her sounds like a sigh of relief. she falls apart for you with a raw, broken cry, walls clamping down so hard around your pistoning shaft that it makes your head spin. her whole body trembles and spasms through it, wrecked and ruined and perfect.

you don't stop moving. no, you fuck her through it. slow and deep, grinding your hips into her until her sobs turn into wails from the overstimulation, until she's clawing at the sheets and practically begging you to move faster—but never stop. no, she doesn't want that.

"good girl," you whisper again, brushing her sweaty hair back from her face as she gasps for air. "so fucking good for me, nat. always so good."

#“blurb” is used loosely #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio smut #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets smut #yellowjackets #ladles (fics/blurbs)#steak knives (nsfw)#from the cutlery drawer #q

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gildedwillow · 1 month ago

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she denies you until you're crying - melissa schemmenti - 18+

"not yet," she purrs, lips brushing your ear as her fingers slow to a stop. you’re bound with her silk scarf, writhing against the sheets, begging like it’ll change anything. it never does

melissa schemmenti x fwb!fem!reader

You're already shaking by the time she leans back on her knees.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with sweat, your own slick mess coating the inside of your thighs, and your arms are stretched above you, wrists tied tight to the headboard with her silk scarf—the expensive one she wore to work that morning, still smelling like her perfume and heat and that bossy tone she uses when she’s had enough of your mouth.

You thought tonight was gonna be quick. Just one of those nights where you text her something filthy and end up on her bed ten minutes later. But no—Melissa’s in a mood tonight.

She’s completely naked, sitting between your thighs, skin glowing under the warm bedside lamp. Her tits are flushed, lips glossy from earlier when she’d gone down on you just enough to get you dripping—and then pulled away the second you started to grind against her face.

Three times now. Three fucking times you’ve gotten close—sobbing, grinding, gasping for release—and she’s pulled back each time with a smirk and a soft, cruel little “Not yet.”

You’re a wreck. And she loves it.

Her hands are rough on your thighs as she spreads you wider, dragging your leg up over her shoulder like she owns you. "You're not gonna break, babe," she mutters, voice low and hot against your inner thigh. "You keep sayin' you can't take it, but look at you—still fuckin' beggin' for it."

Her fingers glide through your folds again, slow and lazy, barely dipping inside just to tease you. You're drenched, clenching around nothing, whining through gritted teeth as she circles your clit with maddening precision. Just enough pressure to make you twitch—never enough to get you there.

“Melissa, please…” Your voice breaks, raw and wrecked.

“You gonna cry again?” she teases, grinning as she leans in to kiss the inside of your knee. “Gotta say, I kinda liked that. You looked real sweet with tears on your cheeks and my name in your mouth.”

You let out a broken noise, hips rocking up toward her hand, trying to get more friction—anything—but she just presses your hips down hard with one arm, pinning you in place.

"Beg properly," she growls, her mouth against your neck as she pushes two fingers deep inside you without warning.

You gasp like she’s knocked the wind out of you. Her fingers fill you perfectly—long, thick, practiced—crooking just right on the first thrust. She knows your body too damn well by now, knows exactly where to press, how to angle her wrist, how to fuck you deep and hard while her thumb circles your clit in tight, relentless strokes.

The noise you make is helpless. Loud. You don’t care.

Your thighs tremble as she pounds her fingers into you, slow and deep, her wrist snapping just right so the heel of her palm brushes your clit with every thrust. She’s not being gentle anymore—she’s fucking you open with her fingers like she means to break you, groaning softly as your walls clamp down around her.

“That’s it,” she whispers. “There she is. There’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

You come hard—too hard, after all that teasing. Your back arches off the bed, toes curling, the orgasm crashing through you like a goddamn storm. You’re crying again, moaning her name over and over as your body convulses, thighs trying to slam shut around her hand.

But she doesn't stop.

Even as you're sobbing, still tied to the headboard, body twitching and too sensitive to handle more, Melissa pulls her fingers out slow and messy, watching the way you spasm beneath her. And then—without a word—she reaches into the drawer next to the bed and pulls out the vibrator.

You whimper when you see it. Your legs try to close again, but she’s already shifting between them, pushing them wide and flat against the mattress with a look that makes your chest tighten.

"Aw, baby," she says, smirking as she flicks the toy on and the low hum fills the room. "We’re not done yet."

You’re still panting, tears streaking down your temples as she presses the tip of the vibe right against your clit—and grins when your hips jump like you’ve been electrocuted.

“You came once. That just means you're warmed up.”

The vibrator hums against your clit, a steady, relentless pulse that’s already too much—and Melissa hasn’t even cranked the speed up yet.

She’s got one hand between your legs, holding the toy down tight against your overstimulated nerve endings, fingers firm against your inner thigh to stop you from squirming away. Not that it would help. Your wrists are still bound tight to the headboard, shoulders aching, hips pinned by her body, tears already spilling again from the intensity of it all.

“Shh,” she murmurs, voice low and wicked as she leans in close. “You can take it. You will take it.”

You sob her name, voice wrecked, thighs twitching with every cruel little buzz of the vibrator. Your clit is so sensitive it feels like your whole body’s on fire, nerves screaming, and Melissa’s just watching you—like she’s memorizing every single reaction.

“Fuck, look at you,” she breathes, licking her lips. “All sloppy and shaking and still beggin’ for it. You came so hard and you're still dripping, baby. You wanna come again, don’t you?”

You nod—pathetically, frantically, unable to say anything but "please" on repeat like it’s the only word you know.

She smirks, then shifts just enough so you can see her reach between her own legs with her free hand. Her fingers disappear between her thighs, and she lets out a quiet, ragged moan—like she’s been edging herself this whole time, holding out just for this moment.

"God, I'm so fuckin' wet just watching you like this," she says, voice hitching as she starts working herself in slow, lazy circles, still holding the vibrator steady against you with the other hand. “Tied up, fucked out, cryin’ for me—Jesus, baby…”

Your eyes flutter, overwhelmed, watching her fingers disappear between her folds as she rubs fast and messy. Her body rocks slightly, tits bouncing, her skin flushed and gleaming with sweat. She’s groaning your name now, breathy and wild, and when she starts to fall apart, you feel it—her whole body tensing as her hand presses the toy harder into your clit.

It’s too much—but it pushes you straight into your second orgasm, your body arching again, muscles locked tight as your climax tears through you like lightning.

You scream, thighs clenching around her arm, sobbing as you come again, harder than the first—your body too raw to handle it, but too needy to stop. Melissa’s moaning above you, chasing her own high right along with you, and then—

“F-fuck, baby—shit—”

She gasps and curses as she falls into her own orgasm, her hand soaked with slick as she grinds into her own fingers, head thrown back, hair a wild mess around her face. You’re both trembling now, a tangled, sweating mess of need and noise and filthy pleasure.

Melissa collapses forward for a second, panting against your shoulder, the vibrator finally switched off and tossed aside. But she doesn’t untie you yet.

Instead, with a lazy smirk, she holds up her slick-covered fingers—her slick, still glistening—and brings them to your mouth.

“Open,” she says softly. “You’re not done.”

You do. You open your mouth obediently, and she slides her fingers past your lips, making you taste her. She watches you suck them clean, moaning around her knuckles as you swirl your tongue, your eyes glassy and wrecked and so, so gone for her.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” she whispers, voice all gravel and heat.

And you swear, even as the taste of her lingers on your tongue and your body twitches with the aftershocks of two brutal orgasms, you’d let her do it all again.

Tied up. Crying. Coming on command. As long as it's her—only her—you’d take it every damn time.

Your body’s still twitching from the overstimulation, your thighs slick, wrists red and tender from the silk scarf, but the second Melissa unties you, you don’t waste a moment.

You throw your arms around her neck and crash your mouth to hers.

She makes a muffled noise of surprise, her body still hot and humming from her own orgasm, but she melts into you instantly, kissing you back just as deep, just as hungry. Your lips are sticky with sweat and slick, tongues tangling, noses bumping—it’s messy, desperate, so fucking real.

“Jesus,” she breathes between kisses, grinning against your lips. “Didn’t even give me a second to—”

You cut her off by grabbing her ass with both hands—hard. Full handfuls of her soft, perfect curves, pulling her flush against your soaked, trembling body. She groans into your mouth, rutting against your thigh on instinct.

"Want you," you gasp, your voice raw. "Wanna feel you… right here."

You shift, your fingers still gripping her ass as you guide her down onto the mattress with you. Your legs tangle together, heat meeting heat, skin sliding with slick and sweat. You line her up against you, her thigh sliding between yours, and then your cores connect—hot, swollen, aching—and you both gasp at the friction.

“Fuck, baby,” she groans, her hands flying to your hips as you start to grind down, slow and deep. “You’re so wet, you’re—shit.”

You moan loud as her body presses tighter against yours, your clits grinding together in a perfect rhythm—hips rocking, thighs trembling, the slide of your soaked folds making you both gasp and curse. It’s a different kind of messy now—not rough, not teasing—just raw, all need and connection.

And you can’t stop kissing her. You press your mouth to hers again, then trail hot, wet kisses down her jaw, to her neck, to her chest—until your mouth finds her nipple and you wrap your lips around it like you’ve been starving for it.

She cries out, her back arching, one hand flying to your hair as you suck her tit hard, licking and kissing while you keep grinding your soaked cunt against hers. You switch to the other one, just as greedy, your hand still on her ass, pulling her harder against you as your hips slap together.

Every grind sends another wave of heat through your stomach, sparks flying, your nerves all lit up again.

Melissa’s panting, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she watches you suck her tits and rub yourself raw against her. “God, look at you,” she groans. “So fuckin’ needy—riding my thigh like that, sucking on me like you’re mine.”

You moan at that—yours, yours, say it again—and she feels it.

“Yeah?” she pants, her grip on your hips tightening. “You wanna come like this? Wanna make a fuckin’ mess all over me, baby?”

You nod, still mouthing at her chest, your whole body rocking against hers as you chase it. The burn builds again—slower this time, but heavier, deeper—and your cries start getting higher, more desperate.

Melissa grabs a fistful of your ass and pulls you hard against her, grinding her own pussy against yours until the wet slap of skin fills the room.

“Come for me,” she growls, her voice hoarse and wild. “Do it. Soak me.”

And you do—your body locking tight, a high-pitched cry ripping from your throat as you come again, your clit pulsing against hers, your whole body trembling as you collapse against her, still clinging to her like you’ll break apart if you let go.

She holds you through it. Kisses the top of your head. Her chest rising and falling fast beneath you, her thighs just as soaked as yours.

Neither of you says the words you’re both thinking.

But the way you don’t stop touching her—arms wrapped around her waist, face buried in her neck—and the way she strokes your back and whispers “I got you” over and over?

Yeah. You don’t have to say it. Not yet.

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kawhh · 3 months ago

Text

I'm having the worst feral!Quinn brainrot. Actually the worst. I've been thinking about it all day.

This really isn't the best, but I've been trying to write it for about 8 hours. I had 2 lines written for most of that time.

Warnings: bondage, threats in his head, it's technically sort of tame for me.

Waiting until he's exhausted from a brutal round of games, in such a deep sleep that he doesn't realise that you aren't asleep in the bed with him. Aren't curled around him like you should be.

He doesn't even react when you trail your fingers down his forearms, how you wrap your hands around his wrists, squeezing them softly, feeling how strong they are. Giving yourself time to back out of your plan, knowing how mad he'll be.. you're not going to be able to walk for a week.

You can't resist the temptation of making him snap. He's been holding himself back recently, hasn't had that little extra edge. A little too soft with you, like you're suddenly too fragile.

Digging his nails into your skin like he's going to give you more, to fully get what he needs, what you want, only to retreat. Over and over again, night after night. It's fucking maddening. The threat of him being even rougher with you could make you cum on it's own, it's like he's edging you both for no reason.

You've had enough of it. You don't care what happens after. You don't care if he's mad, if he's upset, if he fucks you until you think you'll die.

You just need him to stop holding back, to stop holding back that part of him. If he thinks he'll scare you, he won't. If he thinks you'll run, you won't. You need him to be able to be fully himself. You crave it.

You'd been waiting until he was over yours.. it's much easier to restrain him to your headboard. Just tying his wrists together wouldn't be enough, you know he'd find a way to control the situation. To turn it around on you before you can make him see sense.

You brush away the faint feelings of worry as you wrap the smooth silk around his wrists, slowing down as he stirs slightly when you go to lift them higher, sharply inhaling. Waiting until he relaxes before you guide them up, securing them around the bars of your headboard, hoping the knots you researched online held strong.

Needing to be smart about it, making sure you're far enough away from him that he can't touch you, can't get near. You'd sit on his lap but you don't trust him to not ruin your plan with his legs. Don't trust him to not wrap them around you, forcing you down on his cock.

You don't have to wait long before he starts to stir again, his brows furrowing as he slowly starts to tug his wrists in confusion. Eyes snapping open when he realises he can't move them, head tilted back, glaring at the offending silk.

"Sweetheart.. what the fuck."

He's yanking harder at the silk, trying to free himself. Glaring daggers at you, a hint at the hidden feral feelings brewing in his eyes, making you even more confident in your decisions.

"Sweetheart, if you don't let me go, we're going to have a fucking problem."

He's throwing as much of his weight into his tugs as he can, lifting off the bed slightly with the force, sweat forming on his forehead from the effort, hair sticking to the moisture, making him look more deranged. Growling and cursing, maintaining eye contact with you as you sit there in silence, letting him brew.

Pausing when you reach out to grab the waistband of his sweatpants, watching you silently as you drag them down enough for you to be able to palm his cock. He doesn't react, just glares at you harder, looking like he wants to murder you with his own hands as you tease him.

"Sweetheart. This is your last. Fucking. Warning."

You can't resist rushing, not used to having this much control over him, the power going slightly to your head, making you less cautious. Sliding your hand into his boxers, tracing the veins of his cock with your fingers, gliding them up until they reach just under the head, rubbing small circles into him, watching as he starts trying to free himself again, only forcing you to tighten your grip on him.

The strangled moan he lets out, digging his teeth into his lip to hide how much you're working him up. Cursing as he throws his head back in frustration, planning on how he's going to get back at you while your hand speeds up, your little wrist twists making him grit his teeth in anger.

He'll make you regret this if it's the last thing he does. He can't wait to make you cry, to make you plead, to make you beg for his forgiveness. To restrain your arms.. your legs.. your waist. Whatever you do to him, he's giving back. You'd look so fucking cute and pathetic with a plug in your ass. Not being able to move a single inch while he fucks you. Vibrator on your clit. You'll deserve it all and more for being such a fucking brat.

He's trying his best to keep up the glare, his knuckles turning white with how hard he's clenching his hands, losing control of his body when you speed up. He hates how you know exactly how to touch him. How you know the exact pressure he needs. Hates how you're not giving in under his glare, knowing how weak and submissive you usually act the minute he's displeased.

He doesn't miss the slight smirk on your face when he can't hold back any more, cumming all over your hand. Every little action adding a tally mark. He's not missing one. He needs to know exactly how bad to punish his girl. How many lines he needs to write on your ass.

You're wiping his cum against his boxers, not even giving him the satisfaction of seeing it on you, crawling off the bed nervously. Watching as he thrashes around on the bed, the look in his eyes as you walk towards the door almost making you reconsider what you've done. The urge you have to already beg for his forgiveness, to give him anything he wants to ignore this. But you can't.

You know that whenever he breaks out from the restraints - you can already see the fabric fraying, it'll be worth it. You'll be ready to have him. To fully experience Quinn Hughes.

#quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes imagines #nhl smut #nhl imagine #dark quinn

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cevansbrat0007 · 6 months ago

Note

https://x.com/auxgod_/status/1854935706742706397?s=46

ari’s reaction if bird tried to walk out the house with this on 👀

Untitled Sweet Renegade Series Ask & Drabble

Please enjoy the Sweet Renegades Series Drabble found after the cut. Warnings include: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, Ari Being a Possessive Menace, Brat!Reader, Manhandling, Crude Language, and Cursing. Minors DNI.

Listen, Ari considers himself to be a rather progressive man. He has two sisters that he respects and adores. And a little niece that fills him with pride. He plans to teach his nephew about the importance of respecting women - of treating them with the utmost reverence and care.

However, the moment Ari laid eyes on his sweet, stubborn little Bird, it was if something in him snapped. It came from somewhere deep. Primal. And the beast in him demanded that he stake his claim. Before her, Ari had never really considered himself to be the possessive type. He just assumed that jealousy wasn't a part of his makeup.

But now? Her smile. Her laugh. Her light. Every delicate inch of her gorgeous curvy body. All of it belongs to him. In the most primal, feral sense.

And he does not like to share.

So, while he wants to encourage Bird as she continues down the path of consistent, healthy body positivity, he's also man enough to admit that that there's no way in hell he'd let her fine ass out of the house wearing a dress like that. And here's why:

"Baby..." He rasps, caging you in as he backs you against the door. "You look fucking stunning." Two thick fingers trail their way down your body, stopping once they reach the valley between your breasts. "But I'm afraid I can't let you leave. Not while you're wearin' that."

"What's wrong with it?" Your words come out as a gasp when you feel a hand wind its way into your curls, holding you still as he continues his assault. The seconds drag on as his head dips, his mouth finding yours.

"Because, sweet Bird." Ari presses, forcing you to take his delicious weight. Making your pulse spike as he grinds his increasingly hard cock against your abdomen.

"B-because?"

"Because..." He draws out the word as he wrenches your head back so that he can whisper maddening little love bites along the curve of your jaw. "This is the kinda dress you wear when you're out with your man." You have a hard time breathing as his free hand skims lower before coming to rest on the swell of your bottom.

"Oh yeah?" You continue to goad - against your better judgement.

To be honest, you'd known what you were risking when you saw the dress hanging on the rack. You had no business playing with fire. But that's part of what made all of this so fun.

"Absolutely." Ari's normally bright blue eyes darken with arousal as he watches your chest heave. Almost as if he's imagining what it might be like to slowly peel the garment off you, piece by piece. "Because these hips and that ass - they're enough to give a man ideas."

His soft lips find their way to your ear, his warm breath making you shiver.

"And when they start wantin' to entertain those ideas," he muses, more to himself than you. "I need to be there as your man to shut 'em down."

"I see." A sharp nip of teeth has you clenching your thighs together.

"Because I am the only man who's allowed to know what it's like to bury myself between those luscious thighs." Using two fingers, he tips up your chin, wordlessly demanding that he look you in the eyes. "And only I get to know what you taste like when you cum on my tongue. Which therefore makes me the only man with exclusive rights to your tight, little pussy."

"Okay Beast." You can't help the giggle that bubbles its way out of your throat. "I think you've made your point."

"Have I, little Bird?" He growls, releasing his grip on your chin to capture your wrists, trapping them above your head. "Or do I need to remind you that I'm not the sharing type?"

The steady tick in his jaw lets you know that you and your dress have once again pushed this man to the edge. But the real question was...

Just what did you plan to do about it?

Batting your lashes up at him, you decide it's time to let the brat in you win out once and for all. Go big or go home, you know?

"Eh, it's been awhile, big guy." You purr, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. "I'm thinkin' you might need to refresh my memory."

END

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eunseoksimp · 6 months ago

Text

Obsession ; Lee Donghyuck

Pairings: Ex Boyfriend! Donghyuck x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst, smut

Description: trapped in a web of desire and destruction, you find yourself drawn back to donghyuck—a man who thrives on your desperation, wielding your vulnerabilities like weapons for his amusement. he's cold, cruel, and intoxicating, a storm you can't resist even as it tears you apart. torn between guilt and longing, between a love that nurtures and a lust that consumes, you surrender to the chaos, knowing he’ll leave you broken but always coming back for more.

Warnings: donghyuck being your piece of shit ex that you can’t resist, infidelity and questionable morals, fingering, unprotected sex, use of swear words

a/n: it’s been such a long time since i’ve written something, but i saw the dreamies live three weeks ago and i couldn’t get haechan out of my head. also isn't a riize post oops. also trying to slowly ease back in to writing a bit more smut without cringing :)

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

“i’m starting to think you’re enjoying this a lot more than you let on,” he drawls, his voice a velvet blade, cutting through the fragile resolve you tried to muster.

what could you say? what excuse could possibly justify why you always found yourself drawn back here, like a moth courting the flame it once swore to avoid?

the door swings open, and there he stands, the glow from the hallway casting a golden halo over his sharp features—a devil in disguise. his lips curl into that infuriatingly lazy smile, a smirk that teeters on the edge of arrogance and amusement, gaze raking over you, deliberate and slow, before his fingers loop around your wrist and pull you inside.

the warmth of his touch shoots through you, a traitorous shiver trailing in its wake and he catches it, of course, his smirk widening, as you practically feel the weight of his ego swelling in the confined space.

nine months. nine months since you stormed out of this very apartment, every door slam echoing your hurt, every bitter word hanging in the air like a ghost. you had left him, shattered and raw, swearing it was the last time. yet, here you were—cruel fate, or perhaps just your own weakness, leading you back to the scene of your undoing.

“shut up, hyuck,” you murmur, keeping your gaze firmly anchored to the floor. even now, you can’t bring yourself to meet those molten eyes, the ones that always seem to see right through you.

“cute,” he muses, his tone dripping with mockery. “you think pretending to hate this will make cheating on your boyfriend any easier to justify?”

the words hit like a lash, shame igniting across your skin. but then he moves, closing the space between you with the ease of a predator circling prey. each step is deliberate, calculated, until your back hits the edge of his marble countertop, the cold surface seeping through your clothes, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.

his hands settle on the small of your back, the grip firm but not harsh, like he knows he doesn’t need force to reel you in. his touch drags you forward, and your breath catches as the cool metal of his rings presses against your sides, tracing small, maddening circles.

shame courses through you like a tidal wave, bitter and suffocating, but it’s no match for the inferno he stokes within you. desire, hot and all-consuming, rises to meet his touch, stealing the air from your lungs as he tilts his head, lips ghosting dangerously close to yours.

in this moment, your body betrays you completely, leaning into his pull, despite the fractured pieces of your conscience screaming in protest.

and he knows. god, he knows.

“look at me,” hyuck’s voice is a low, deliberate murmur, the kind of sound that slithers down your spine and pools in your stomach. his lips hover near the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath prickling your skin. your fingers dig into the edge of the table, the hard wood biting into your palms as you fight the tremor threatening to buckle your knees.

you don’t dare obey. you know better than to meet his gaze—those dark, magnetic eyes that have always been your undoing. one look, and you’d be lost. he’d have you exactly where he wanted, and like the fool you are, you’d let him.

instead, you shake your head in protest, squeezing your eyes shut as if that flimsy barrier could shield you from the pull of him. you don’t see it—the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the way that wicked grin carves its way across his face, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous.

and then you feel it.

his hand wraps around your neck, firm and unrelenting, his grip just enough to force your eyes to fly open. a gasp tears from your lips, sharp and startled, as you’re dragged back into his orbit.

“you know I hate asking twice, angel,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness, though the pressure of his hand tightens ever so slightly. your pulse throbs wildly against his palm, and you hate—hate—the way it echoes the same rhythm pounding between your thighs.

he sees it all. knows it all. and the glint in his eyes says as much.

as if to drive the point home, hyuck pulls you closer by the neck, erasing the last sliver of distance between you. his gaze doesn’t waver, locked on yours like a predator reveling in its prey’s surrender.

“but of course,” he purrs, his lips curling into a smirk that’s pure sin, “you probably like making me have to bend you to my will.”

you can’t speak. whether it’s from the pressure of his hand around your neck or the weight of his question, you’re not sure. but deep down, you know the real reason—the truth festering in the corners of your mind that you could never bring yourself to admit.

how could you say it aloud? that you relished this? that the chaos he stirred in you, the reckless abandon he ignited, was something no one else could replicate? certainly not your sweet, dependable boyfriend.

your boyfriend. the thought flickers briefly, like a distant beacon you don’t really want to follow. he was kind, attentive, always answering your texts with care, never vanishing into thin air to “enjoy the night” or leaving you second-guessing yourself.

he was everything hyuck wasn’t. and yet, here you were.

because there was something about hyuck—the way he upended your calm, the way his unpredictability set every nerve in your body alight. you knew the butterflies in your stomach weren’t some romantic thrill but a warning, your body screaming danger. yet, you ran toward it anyway, like a ship steering straight into the storm.

you’d leave your boyfriend’s place with flimsy excuses—work, errands, anything to mask the truth—and find yourself here, wrapped in donghyuck’s intoxicating pull.

donghyuck, with his honey-brown skin that seemed to glow in the dimmest light. donghyuck, with his dark hair falling just so, framing those piercing eyes that stripped you bare, laying your soul out for him to toy with. no one else had ever reached you like this—peeling back layers you didn’t even know existed, exposing raw emotions you didn’t know how to hide.

and he knew it. of course he did. that’s why he’d send you pictures of other girls he was hooking up with—deliberate, cruel, knowing exactly what it would do to you. he fed on your reactions, thrived on them, wielding them like a blade. and like the masochist you were, you let him. you always let him.

“enlighten me,” he taunts now, his lips curling into that smug, wolfish grin. “why is it you keep showing up at my door, hmm?”

“i thought you told me you found everything you deserved in him.”

his voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, sharp enough to cut. he knows the answer, of course. he always does. but he wants to hear it fall from your lips, to drag the truth from you as if it’ll make his triumph all the sweeter.

“words, angel. i need you to use them,” he coos, his mockery wrapped in honey. his lips purse into a feigned pout, as though this were some mundane conversation, as though his fingers weren’t still wrapped firmly around your neck, holding you in place.

“i-i…” the words stumble from your mouth, fractured and useless. the dizziness comes next—a hazy swirl from the weight of his grip, but worse, the heat that floods your body as his lips descend.

they graze your neck, soft yet deliberate, each kiss a spark igniting a trail of fire beneath your skin. goosebumps erupt in his wake, your body betraying you yet again. you head tilts of its own accord, baring your throat to him as if in surrender.

and hyuck? he chuckles softly against your skin, low and smug, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“so eager for me. i wonder,” hyuck murmurs, his voice a silken blade that slices through the last of your composure, “if you’re this pliant for sungchan.”

the name lands like a blow, a reminder of the person you’ve betrayed in your spiral back to hyuck’s clutches. your breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut as the sting of guilt prickles behind them.

you bite down hard on your lip, desperate to stifle the sob building in your throat. what kind of person does this? what kind of girlfriend are you, when your body—traitorous and weak—only seems to come alive for him?

a single tear escapes, tracing a slow, shameful path down your cheek. hyuck’s low chuckle follows, dark and knowing. the click of his tongue reverberates through you, his enjoyment as palpable as the air that thrums with tension.

he releases your neck, his hands sliding up to cradle your face instead, his thumb swiping away the tear with a tenderness so contradictory it makes your chest ache.

“don’t cry, silly girl,” he croons, his tone both mocking and saccharine. “i already know the answer to that question.”

you try to look away, but his grip keeps you steady, his gaze locking onto yours with the kind of intensity that burns.

“of course you don’t,” he continues, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “nobody knows how to make you feel this way but me. that’s why you keep coming back.” he leans in closer, his words brushing your skin like an intimate caress.

“isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

your resistance crumbles under the weight of his words. against your better judgment, your eyes meet his, truly meet them, for the first time tonight. you take him in, every detail. the dark flecks in his irises, the scattered moles you once traced with your fingertips, the way his hair falls a little longer now, grazing his lashes.

your heart slams against your ribs, a violent rhythm that feels too loud, too desperate. you swallow hard, unable to tear your gaze away as your eyes trail down, drinking him in like you’re parched and he’s the only thing that could ever quench you.

god, he hasn’t changed. not a bit. he still burns with that same maddening allure, that magnetic pull that sets your world ablaze. the fire he ignites in your stomach roars to life, an uncontrollable inferno that only he seems capable of sparking.

and that’s the most terrifying part of all.

you’ve tried to move on, tried to fill the void he left behind with someone kind, someone stable. but it was all in vain. every attempt to leave him behind had been futile. every lie you told yourself unraveled the moment you stepped back into his orbit.

because no matter how much you pretended, no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, some part of you—the most vulnerable, broken part—would always belong to him.

the silence between you is unbearable, charged with the kind of tension that tightens around your chest like a vice. his thumb lingers on your cheek, dragging slow circles as if savoring the tear he just wiped away. his gaze, dark and piercing, drinks in every crack in your composure, but there’s no softness in his eyes—only cold amusement.

“you’ve always been so predictable,” hyuck says, his voice as smooth and sharp as a blade. “throwing yourself at the things you know will ruin you. it’s almost pathetic, angel.”

your breath hitches, and his smirk deepens, smug and unrelenting as his hand drops to your throat again, holding you in place. his grip isn’t tight—yet—but the promise of his strength makes your knees tremble. you wish you could deny the power he has over you, but the truth is in the way your body responds to every word, every touch.

“maybe,” you manage to whisper, though your voice wavers under his scrutiny. “maybe i like the way it feels to fall.”

he lets out a low laugh, humorless and biting. “oh, i know you do. that’s why you’re here. why you always come crawling back.”

his hand slides down to your collarbone, then lower, the heat of his touch searing through your clothes. his eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, like you’re nothing more than something to be dissected, picked apart piece by piece.

“you’re just so easy to break,” he continues, his lips curling into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “always so eager to let me destroy you.”

your fingers twist into his shirt, your grip trembling as you try to ground yourself, but it only seems to fuel his cruel amusement. his free hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it free with a force that feels more like a warning than a rejection.

“look at you,” he says, tilting his head as if observing something trivial. “you don’t even try to hide how much you like this, do you?”

the sting of his words slices through you, but shame only tightens the knot of desire in your stomach. he knows it—sees it in the way your lips part, the way your chest rises and falls as you fight for composure, how you’re struggling to clench your thighs together.

“say it,” he demands, his grip tightening on your wrist as he yanks you closer, his voice a low growl in your ear. “admit it. admit that no one else can make you feel like this.”

you want to fight, to cling to some shred of dignity, but it’s useless. he’s already unraveled you, stripped you bare, and he knows it.

“i hate you,” you whisper, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a plea.

he barks out a laugh, sharp and mocking. “liar,” he spits, before his lips crash into yours.

the kiss is rough, bruising, a clear reminder of how little control you have. his hands are relentless, sliding over your body like he’s claiming you, like every inch of you belongs to him alone. and in this moment, it does.

the counter digs into your back as he presses you harder against it, his grip firm and unyielding. your fingers claw at his shoulders, desperate to find something to hold onto, but he doesn’t care. you’re nothing more than a toy in his hands, a distraction to pass the time.

when he finally pulls back, his eyes are cold, calculating as they search your face. he doesn’t need to say anything to remind you of your place—you see it in the smug curve of his lips, the way his gaze lingers like he’s already grown bored.

“see? that wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“you always give in eventually. it’s almost too easy.”

your chest heaves as you try to steady your breathing, your head spinning from the intensity of him.

to him, you’re nothing more than a game. a way to stroke his ego, to remind himself of the control he wields. and yet, despite knowing that, you still find yourself reaching for him, your fingers grazing his arm as if you can’t bear to let go.

hyuck chuckles, low and derisive, before shaking his head. “pathetic,” he says, the word cutting deep, but you don’t flinch.

because he’s right. And you hate how much you like it.

“hyuck—” your voice cracks, trailing off as your fingers clutch at the hem of his tank top again. the fabric is soft but stretched taut in your grip, an anchor in the storm of your own undoing. you tug him closer, your hands trembling, though whether it’s from desperation or shame, you can’t be sure.

“what?” he drawls lazily, his voice dripping with mockery. “what do you need from me, princess?”

the nickname isn’t affectionate. it’s laced with condescension, a sharp reminder of how thoroughly he has you wrapped around his finger. you can feel the weight of his gaze, studying you like a specimen caught under glass, a plaything meant only to amuse him.

and you hate yourself for the way it thrills you.

hyuck tilts his head slightly, feigning ignorance, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. he knows why you’re here—of course he does. this is his game, after all. you’re just the piece he maneuvers however he pleases.

“come on,” he presses, his voice smooth and teasing, like a predator drawing out its prey. “you’ve got something to say, don’t you?”

your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling as you try to force words past the lump in your throat. but all you can manage is a shaky, “hyuck, please.”

his smirk widens, and the way his eyes gleam—dark, triumphant—makes your stomach churn with both desire and self-loathing. “please,” he echoes, as though the word tastes foreign on his tongue. “you’re so weak. you can’t even say what you want, can you?”

the sting of his words leaves you breathless, but it only tightens the knot of longing in your chest, and most importantly between your thighs. you’ve walked willingly into this trap, after all.

this is what he does—feeds on your vulnerability, siphons every ounce of emotion you have to give, leaving you hollow and craving more.

he closes the sliver of space between you, his shadow swallowing you whole. his eyebrow arches, the picture of bored indifference.

“you’re an adult,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut. “start acting like one. if you want something, you better speak.“

your grip on his shirt tightens as you stare up at him, trembling under the weight of his presence. the cruel set of his jaw, the way he looks at you like you’re nothing more than a toy he hasn’t finished playing with—it shouldn’t excite you the way it does. but it does. god, it does.

you take another deep breath, trying to piece together a coherent thought, but your mind is a blur, your words caught somewhere between your heart and the tightening ache in your stomach. he’s watching you unravel, his gaze cold and calculating, like he’s already grown bored of this moment and is waiting for you to catch up.

“hyuck,” you whisper again, though it’s more of a whimper now, your voice trembling as you meet his eyes.

he chuckles, low and derisive, the sound reverberating through you like a pulse. “that’s it?” he taunts, his hand shooting out to grasp your wrist. his fingers curl around it firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you’re his for the taking.

“all that begging and you can’t even tell me what you want? what a waste of my time.”

his hand moves, gliding from your wrist to the base of your throat, his thumb resting just below your jaw. he tilts your chin up, forcing your gaze back to his, his smirk cruel and unwavering.

“let me guess,” he says, his tone mocking as his eyes trace over your face.

“you want me to ruin you, don’t you?” his voice slithers through the air, coiling around you like a noose.

your breath caught in your throat, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as his eyes bore into you—dark, sharp, dissecting every inch of your trembling frame. the room felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of his presence, thick and suffocating, like you were drowning in him.

“you want me to take every last shred of dignity you have,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, “and destroy it.”

the words hung in the air, a challenge, a promise, a sentence. you felt the floor beneath you disappear, the groundlessness of your own desire swallowing you whole. the ache inside you was unbearable, raw and clawing, a hunger that could only be sated by him.

he tilted his head, watching the way you trembled, the way your lips parted without sound, as if your body couldn’t keep up with the hurricane of emotion ripping through you. his smirk deepened, cruel and predatory, as though he were feeding off the desperation radiating from you, drinking it in like nectar.

“do you see yourself?” he sneered, dragging the back of his knuckles down the curve of your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you leaned into his touch despite his words. “allit takes is a few words, and you’re already falling apart for me.”

your voice faltered, your throat tightening as shame and longing tangled into one insidious knot. he knew exactly what he was doing, dangling you on a string like some pitiful marionette, pulling at your every weakness with precision, unraveling you with his callous control.

you craved the way he broke you down, stripped you of everything you thought you were until all that remained was your raw, unfiltered need for him. it was dangerous, maddening, addictive. the fire in his eyes burned too brightly, and yet you leaned closer, knowing it would consume you.

“say it,” he pressed, his hand cupping your chin now, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. his grip was firm, unyielding, and the dominance in his stare made you feel as though he could see every fragile piece of you, exposed and laid bare.

“say you want me to ruin you.”

You swallowed hard, shuddering, your chest heaving as you try to steady yourself, but it’s no use. you’re already undone, every wall you’ve built crumbled to dust at his feet.

“i—” you start, but the words die on your tongue as his grip tightens slightly, just enough to make you gasp.

“speak, princess,” he sneers, his smirk widening. “if you can’t even do that, stop wasting what little patience i have left for you.”

the cruel dominance in his tone makes your head spin, your body betraying you as heat blooms in your core. you hate him. you hate how easily he breaks you, how effortlessly he pulls you apart. but more than that, you hate how much you need this. need him.

“i want- i want you to ruin me. love it,” you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. tears prick at your eyes, but you don’t care. he’s already seen every ugly, vulnerable part of you. there’s nothing left to hide. “i love the way you ruin me.”

hyuck’s smirk sharpens, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips. “you’re learning.”

he tilts his head, his smirk curving into something sharp and predatory. His fingers trail down your jaw, the cool press of his rings sending shivers through you.

his touch is light, teasing, but there’s nothing tender about it. every motion feels calculated, designed to make you unravel just a little bit more.

“you’ll say anything I want, won’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and condescending. “you’d do anything just to keep me interested. it’s disgusting.”

“you hate yourself for it, don’t you?” he continues, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from your ear. “hate the way you keep coming back. like a moth to a flame. like you don’t know you’re going to get burned.”

you can’t answer, can’t even look at him. your head dips, but he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze back to his. his eyes are dark, devoid of warmth, but the power they hold over you is suffocating.

“you think you’re special?” he asks, his tone almost amused. “that i actually care about you? that i lose a single second of sleep wondering if you’ll come back?”

“i know what you are,” he says, his voice soft but laced with venom. “you’re nothing without me. just a sad little thing, begging for scraps of attention.

“is that why you keep coming back, hmm? because no one else would put up with how pathetic you are?”

you flinch, the tears threatening to spill again, but his smirk only deepens, pleased with how easily he can manipulate your emotions. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, tracing it slowly, almost mockingly.

“cry all you want,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost across your face. “it won’t change anything. you’ll still be here, won’t you? letting me do whatever i want. because you can’t help yourself.”

“hyuck,” you whisper, the sound of his name barely audible. your voice shakes, and you hate how desperate you sound, but the way his eyes glint with satisfaction tells you he loves it.

“what is it, angel?” he mocks, tilting his head as if he’s genuinely curious. “tell me what you want. use your words like a big girl.”

you bite down on your lip, struggling to force the words out. Your mind is a mess, every coherent thought drowned out by the sheer presence of him—overwhelming, suffocating, intoxicating.

“say it,” he demands again, his tone hardening as his hand drops to your throat, the pressure just enough to make you gasp.

“i want you,” you finally choke out, your voice breaking. “i want—”

he cuts you off with a laugh, sharp and cruel, as if the mere idea of you wanting him is a joke. “of course you do,” he says, his grip tightening slightly.

“you always want me. no matter how many times i push you away, no matter how many times I remind you that you’re nothing to me, you come crawling back. like a good little toy.”

you squeeze your eyes shut.

“open your eyes,” he commands, his tone cold and unwavering.

you hesitate, but his hand tightens around your throat, and your eyes snap open instantly. His face is so close now that you can see every detail—the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the glint of malice in his eyes.

“good girl,” he says, the words dripping with mockery as his thumb brushes over your pulse. “you’re so easy to control. so desperate to be wanted, you’ll let me do whatever i want, won’t you?”

you nod, your breath hitching, and his smirk widens.

his other hand trails down your side, his touch firm and possessive. the room feels hotter now, the air thick with tension as he presses his body against yours, pinning you against the counter. his gaze never wavers, holding you captive as he takes in every crack in your resolve.

“you don’t even care that this is going to destroy you,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his smirk curling into something sharper, more dangerous. “you just want to feel something, don’t you? even if it ruins you.”

he’s right. you can’t deny it, can’t fight the truth in his words. no one else makes you feel this way—alive, raw, completely undone.

“my room. now.” his voice cuts through the charged air, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

he doesn’t bother sparing you another glance, already turning on his heel as if your compliance is a foregone conclusion. of course, it is.

you scramble to follow, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to keep up with his lazy, unhurried strides. the disparity in your urgency and his indifference couldn’t be more stark, and it only serves to amplify the tight coil of tension in your chest.

there’s no warmth in the way he looks back at you—if he even bothers to look at all. he doesn’t need to. he knows you’ll follow, knows you’ll stumble through fire and glass just to stay close enough to bask in his shadow.

it’s dehumanising, and yet you can’t stop. you don’t want to stop.

your breath comes shallow and quick, anticipation crackling in the air around you like a live wire. the hallway feels endless, every heavy footfall echoing in the suffocating silence. it’s all-consuming, this quiet, and it does nothing to mask the way your heart hammers against your ribs or the way your palms tremble.

hyuck barely spares a thought for your clumsy attempts to keep pace, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. if anything, he seems amused by how desperate you are to match his rhythm, your starry-eyed eagerness practically oozing from your every movement.

“you’re really just a pitiful thing, aren’t you,” he mutters under his breath, the words low and dismissive, but it hits you like a freight train nonetheless.

when he finally reaches the doorway to his room, he doesn’t pause. he pushes the door open with a careless shove, the motion so casual it’s as if he hasn’t already consumed every one of your thoughts, hasn’t already rendered you into this trembling, obedient shell of yourself.

he strides inside without looking back, leaving you lingering at the threshold for a heartbeat too long. the hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed.

“are you just going to stand there?” his voice is sharp, laced with irritation, as he glances back over his shoulder. The way his lips curl into a faint smirk is a silent dare. “or do you need me to drag you in, too?”

the air feels thinner now, harder to breathe, as you finally step inside. the door clicks shut behind you with an unnervingly loud finality.

“look at you,” he says, turning to face you fully now. His eyes rake over you, slow and deliberate, and it feels less like admiration and more like dissection. like he’s picking you apart piece by piece, savoring every crack in your composure.

“you can barely stand still,” he taunts, his tone thick with mockery.

“what’s got you so worked up, hmm? is it the way i talk to you? the way i remind you just how insignificant you are to me?”

your throat feels tight, your pulse hammering in your ears. but even now, even when he’s baring his cruelty so plainly, you can’t bring yourself to turn away.

hyuck takes a single step forward, the distance between you shrinking until there’s barely a breath of space left. his hand finds your chin again, his grip firm as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze.

“do you even realize how pitiful you look right now?” he murmurs, his smirk twisting into something sharper. “standing here, waiting for me to throw you a bone. it’s almost sad.”

almost. the word lingers, cruel and deliberate, reminding you that whatever scrap of validation he might offer will always come with a price.

but it doesn’t matter, not when his thumb brushes over your lip again, not when his presence feels so overwhelming that you can’t think straight. the shame, the desperation, the sheer exhilaration—it all blends together, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

his gaze darkens, his smirk never wavering as he leans in just enough for his breath to ghost over your lips.

“you love being treated like this. like a toy I can pick up and toss aside whenever i feel like it.”

“of course you do,” he says, answering his own question with a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. “you wouldn’t keep coming back if you didn’t.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to give you a moment to catch your breath, but the space he leaves feels suffocating in its own way. his hand doesn’t leave your chin, his thumb still resting against your skin as he watches you with a cruel sort of satisfaction.

“go on, then,” he says, his tone light but laced with command. “tell me how much you need me. how much you hate yourself for it.”

and you know he’s enjoying every second of this—the power, the control, the way you’re crumbling under his touch. because for all his apathy, for all his cold detachment, there’s nothing he loves more than watching you fall apart for him.

“i need you,” you whisper, voice trembling as your fingers clutch at his shirt. “please. i want you so badly—please, hyuck.”

the words tumble out of you like a confession, raw and unfiltered, and for a fleeting second, the weight of your own desperation threatens to crush you. but then his laughter cuts through the silence, low and mocking, and it draws your focus back to him.

he leans against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk as he takes you in. your tear-streaked cheeks, the way your chest heaves with shallow breaths, and that reverence in your eyes—it’s intoxicating. you look at him like he’s something divine, something worthy of worship, and he drinks it in like it’s his lifeblood.

“you’re a fucking mess,” he says finally, his voice laced with amusement. “crying, begging—do you know how stupid you look?”

his words are cruel, but his tone is almost light, as if this is all just a game to him. and maybe it is. you can’t be sure anymore, not when he tilts his head to the side and his dark eyes glint with unspoken intent.

“you really can’t help yourself, can you?” he muses, reaching out to swipe a thumb across the wet trail of a tear, his touch deliberate but devoid of any real tenderness.

“such a wretched little thing.”

his hand doesn’t linger, pulling back as quickly as it came, and the absence of his touch feels like a punishment in itself. you shift, uncertain, waiting for him to say something more, to give you some sign of what he’ll do next.

“you’re my stupid girl,” he says, his tone almost conversational, like he’s stating a simple fact. “aren’t you?”

his grip on your chin tightens, just enough to demand your response, and you nod weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yes.”

his grin is wicked, devoid of anything remotely kind, and he lets go of your chin, stepping back just enough to make you feel the loss. he watches as you sway slightly, unmoored without his touch, and the satisfaction in his expression is unmistakable.

“good. on your back for me, pretty.”

the command, simple and sharp, slices through the tension thickening the room, and relief rushes through you like a flood. you obey instantly, scrambling toward the bed with a clumsy urgency that only feeds his amusement. propping yourself up on your elbows, you inch backward until your shoulders press into the edge of his bedframe, waiting for his next instruction.

hyuck takes his time, leisurely closing the space between you as his dark eyes sweep over your body. his tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and his gaze lingers shamelessly on the curve of your thighs, the hem of your skirt pushed just a little too high, the knee-high socks hugging your legs like they were made to tempt him.

“you’re such a sight,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice low and edged with a cruel sort of amusement. “and all mine to play with.”

heat blooms across your skin under his scrutiny, but you stay perfectly still, holding your breath as though any sudden movement might break the fragile thread of attention binding you to him.

“you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he steps closer, towering over you now, his shadow stretching across your trembling form. the corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“take everything i give you without complaint, right?”

you nod frantically, lips parting to form a shaky affirmation, but he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“words,” he reminds you coldly, his tone clipped. “you know i hate repeating myself angel.”

“yes, hyuck,” you blurt, voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll be good. i’ll take it all.”

satisfaction flickers across his face for a fleeting moment before he leans down, pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of your head. his proximity sends a shiver rippling through you, his scent—clean, sharp, and intoxicating—wrapping around you like a noose.

“no tapping out until i say i’m done.”

the warning in his voice is as sharp as the glint in his eyes, and the way he says it leaves no room for negotiation.

it’s not a question, it’s a sentence, handed down by the man who holds all the power in the room, and you know better than to argue.

“yes,” you whisper, though your voice trembles. “yes, hyuck.”

hyuck doesn’t rush. he takes his time watching you squirm, his fingers tugging at the edge of your skirt as he basks in the control he wields so effortlessly. the corner of his mouth twitches, his smirk deepening as his eyes lock on yours.

his hand reaches out, brushing against the side of your face, his touch deceptively soft as he tilts your chin up.

they trail lower, down further until he stops at your thigh, tapping it once, then twice, watching your face for any reactions.

you try your hardest to stay still, taking heed of his earlier words, knowing that any time you showed your impatience or tried to take the lead would only make things worse.

leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your stomach, before placing several more down the expense of your thighs. it’s torture, having him so close to where you wanted him to be, yet still too far.

“you’re getting better at being patient for me, aren’t you angel?”

you nod, sucking in a harsh gasp as he uses his middle finger to pull at the hem of your panties, as he slowly slid them down till they stopped mid thigh.

stupidly, your cheeks heat up as you feel embarrassed as the way hyuck’s gaze rakes over your bare skin, hungry even, as he positions himself between you, your legs encompassing his broader frame.

without warning he plunged a finger inside of you, not caring to take off his rings because he knew you liked it like that, the edge of the metals soothing your burning cunt.

you cried out his name, fingers clutching the sheets as a way to anchor yourself against donghyuck’s viscous attacks. the spontaneous addition of his tongue only intensified your pleasure, and he worked hard to make sure your body stayed planted on his mattress.

the truth was, sungchan was too soft when it came to having sex with you. he was always too concerned with not hurting you, taking things excruciatingly slow as he constantly checked up on you, asking if you were okay, pressing soft kisses all over your body.

he was the complete opposite to hyuck who so violently used your body like it was nothing more than a ragdoll to him, bending and moulding you to his liking, throwing you around and treating you like nothing.

even now, you shudder as he adds another finger licking and sucking on your cunt as if starved, making your toes curl and your fingers card through his hair.

it’s embarrassing how fast you feel yourself approach the edge, the tell tale sales making themself more apparent as you moan pathetically, your senses on overdrive.

“you wanna cum?”

“please —fuck— please please please. i’ve —shit — been such a good, such a good girl.”

“good girls don’t fuck their exes while their boyfriends wait at home. you’re not a good girl, you’re a cock drunk whore,” you clench around his fingers at his harsh words, another pathetic moan escaping your lips.

“yours—shit— your whore.”

the grin that breaks out in hyuck’s face is so wide yet so delicious as he adds a third finger, your whines only spurring him on as he uses his thumb to trace circles on your clit.

one particular thrust has your head thrown back against the pillows, your hands instinctively reaching out to his wrist, the pleasure becoming unbearable.

“that’s the spot, isn’t it baby?”

“oh hyuck– fuck it feels so so good.”

you’re incoherent, the only thing on your mind is chasing the delicious orgasm burning in your lower stomach. thoughts of sungchan have been pushed so far back in your mind, your own selfish release tainting you.

“yes– yes– yes,” you’re chanting, your words slurring as you buck your hips to the pace of hyuck’s feelings that piston in and out of your dripping core, legs already shaking uncontrollably until you scream out his name, gushing all over his fingers as your thighs trap his hand.

“look at all this mess you made slut,” he doesn’t seem to care much about your sensitivity of having just orgasmed, collecting your juices with his fingers, spreading them all around your lower body, as if he were painting on a canvas.

“i’m not even close to being done with you,” he tells you once he’s done, tugging his shirt off with one hand, hastily reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants as he discards of them somewhere near the foot of his bed.

It had only been two weeks since hyuck had last been inside you, but staring at the heavy bulge protruding through his boxers, you knew the stretch would burn all the same.

as he grabs a hold of your ankles in his hands, you can’t help the eagerness spread so obviously on your feautures- biting down on your lip as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

like a habit your hands hold onto his thighs, your eyes trained on his cock as he holds the base of it, so dangerously close to your welcoming, wet pussy.

as much as he ridiculed you—mocked you for being the desperate little thing you were, so consumed by lust and your filthy cravings that you discarded every shred of dignity—there was a flicker of something untamed beneath his carefully crafted exterior.

hyuck prided himself on being detached, the puppet master pulling your strings for his amusement, but even he couldn’t entirely deny the rush that coursed through him as he looked down at you now. the sight of you, flushed and trembling, your ruin written all over your tear-streaked face, did something to him. something primal.

you were his creation. his masterpiece. every tremor in your limbs, every shaky breath, every ounce of humiliation and need—you wore it like a brand, and he was the one who burned it into you.

and that knowledge? it fed something dark inside him, a satisfaction so raw it was almost animalistic.

be tilted his head, the smirk on his lips widening as his eyes roamed over you again, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

“look at you,” he drawled, voice dripping with derision. “you don’t even know how filthy you look right now, do you?”

your lips parted to respond, but no sound came out, just a shaky exhale that betrayed every effort to keep yourself composed.

he chuckled, low and cold, the sound curling around you like a chain and you feel a shudder wracking through you at his words.

“that’s right,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his smirk twisting into something cruel. “you’re mine. no grace, no dignity, no self-respect—just a pretty little mess for me to destroy over and over again.”

“you ready for me princess?”

you nod, heart leaping out of your chest in anticipation, throbbing as the tip taps on your clit twice.

as he pushes in you can’t help but screw your eyes close, the feeling euphoric as he sinks in. your legs automatically come around his waist and his hands reach up to cup your breast, squeezing them between his palms, his thumb rubbing over your sensitive bud.

but he knows how you really like it, and so both hands dance up your body till they stop at your neck. he squeezes, hard enough at first to knock the wind out of you, delighting in the way your moans now come out in breathless squeals as he drives himself impossibly deeper into you.

He reached out, fingers grazing your jawline before gripping your chin, forcing your head up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His touch was firm but cold, an unyielding reminder of who held all the power here.

“i could tell you to walk out that door right now,” he said, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip, “and we both know you wouldn’t make it five steps. you’d be back before you even reached the elevator.”

you whimpered, the sound pitiful, but it only made his grin widen, his amusement at your weakness as sharp as a blade, revelling in the way you were falling undone on his cock.

“say it,” he demanded, voice low and commanding. “tell me why you’re here. why you keep sneaking off from your boyfriend.”

“b-because i— fuck” you stammered, your words catching in your throat as tears pricked at your eyes again, feeling him so deep inside of you that you were sure he would leave a mark, the tip kissing your cervix so deliciously.

“because you need me,” he finished for you, his tone dripping with mockery. “say it, angel. i want to hear you admit it.”

your breath hitched, shame warring with the unbearable heat pooling in your stomach and the way he lifts your legs and lazily throws them over your shoulders.

“i- i need, i need you,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached your own ears, any morsel of strength dissipating.

“of course you do,” he murmured, the satisfaction in his voice undeniable. “you need me to tell you what to do. yo remind you what you are.”

“he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your waist as his nails dug into the plump flesh, eliciting a hiss from your lips at the cocktail of pleasure and pain.

“a toy,” he continued, his voice a velvet whip. “something for me to use when i’m bored. isn’t that right?”

you swallowed hard, tears slipping down your cheeks as the last vestiges of your pride crumbled beneath his words.

“yes,” you choked out, your voice raw and broken.

“i’m your stupid toy. stupid slut, stupid toy,” your words are garbled, hardly making sense as he kisses up your neck, feeling dizzy as his hair tickled your skin, the sweet smell of his cologne mixed with sweat invading your senses.

he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

“sweet angel,” he said, the praise cutting as it was rewarding. his thumb swiped at a stray tear, his smirk softening into something even more chilling.

“now let’s see if you’re as obedient as you claim to be.”

the night stretched painfully as hyuck pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, cruelly making you keep score, and rewarding you with a harsh slap to the cheek if you were wrong.

you were writhing in his hold, your hands feebly pushing against his pelvis as you reached the climax yet again, swallowing shallowly as you will yourself to manually breathe.

“good slut, there you go. how many was that?” he makes no effort to stop to help you catch your breath and your eyes gloss over, and your mouth lolls open, the feeling of being filled so well too much for your brain to handle.

a stinging pain accompanies your right cheek as punishment for not answering hyuck’s previous question and he flips you over on your stomach, plunging into you without warning.

“dumb sluts so fucked out she can’t even use her fucking mouth,” he enunciates every word with each thrust, your thighs quivering as you bury your head into the sheets.

you had no more intelligible answers to any of hyuck’s words, brain turned to mush as the sound of skin slapping together becomes overbearing.

“too – fuck – too much – can’t– fuck please hyuck,” you whine, tears spilling from your eyes as you try to find strength to speak.

“what was that? you want more’” he’s cruel in the way he lifts you up by your neck till your body is plush against his own, the new angle only making your eyes roll back even further.

“i don’t give a fuck about how you feel. i’ll be finished when i decide i’m done with you, so be a good cum slut and take it all.”

he presses a kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you, fucking you further into the mattress, your whole body quivering as your face screws tight.

it feels like you could snap at any moment, your body so frail and limp, as the only thing that keeps you from collapsing in a heap on hyuck’s bed is the firm grip he has on your hips.

“fuck.. pussy’s sucking me in so deep, it’s practically made for me,” he groans, the restraint he had been practicing for the last half hour withering, his face screwing at the feeling of your walls hugging his cock unbearably tight, like it didn’t want to let go.

he wanted to push you even further, to keep going until you teetered on the edge of life and death, but he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

he lifts one of your legs up, jackhammering into you with as much force as he could gather, using his strength to keep you in place as he continued to fuck into you.

“fucking take it, useless slut. that’s all you’re good for,” his chest rises and falls, dick twitching at the sight of your head cocked to the side, eyes glimmering from all of your tears as you try to push him away, your body seizing.

“move that fucking hand and take it,” he swats your hand away with ease, deepening your arch as you let out a sharp gasp before your body is convulsing again, your fourth orgasm of the night washing over you with such intensity that hyuck had to hold you up by the waist to stop you from collapsing.

it was hard to keep you in one place as he fucked you through your orgasm, but he’s bigger and stronger than you as he tightens his grip on your body, racing towards his own release.

“gonna fill your pussy till it’s dripping down your thighs. hope that – shit – hope your fucking boyfriend finds out how much of a whore you are.”

his thrusts get choppier as he loses himself to the feral urge to fill you up, to paint your insides pearly white and let the world know who had the ability to ruin you like this.

“yes please – need it – need it please – need it so bad,” a heavy groan rips through donghyuck at your words, thrusting into you a couple more times, pushing himself impossibly deeper inside of you as he pours hot spurts of cum inside of you, overstimulating himself so that it reaches deep before he lets go of you as you fall into a heap on his sheets.

the room felt oppressively quiet now, save for the sound of donghyuck’s soft footsteps as he moved away from the bed. he didn’t look at you, didn’t speak. his attention was already somewhere else, his movements casual, indifferent, like nothing had just happened.

you lay there, sprawled across his sheets, the aftermath of it all still clinging to your skin. your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but the hollowness in the pit of your stomach made it impossible to feel grounded.

you turned your head, watching as he crossed the room without a backward glance, already flipping the power button on his game console, simply throwing a towel in your direction with an infuriating amount of carelessness.

the screen illuminated the corner of the dark room, and you could hear the familiar chime of the startup music as he slid onto the chair, controller in hand, as though this was just another ordinary evening for him.

for you, though, the silence pressed down harder. the ache in your chest began to mingle with something sharper, something you were too scared to name.

your phone buzzed from the nightstand beside you, pulling you out of your haze. the sound felt jarring in the stillness. turning your head, you reached for it with trembling fingers, watching the screen light up, and the name at the top of the message.

sungchan.

i miss you. let me know when you’re home safe, okay?

the words reverberated in your chest, soft and full of kindness, the exact opposite of everything donghyuck was.

sungchan was stable, predictable, safe—the type of person who held doors open and kissed you goodnight like it was second nature. but here you were, sprawled out in another man’s bed, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your skin.

you turned your head toward donghyuck, searching for something in him. something human. something that might tether you to the idea that this meant more than it did. but there was nothing—not even a flicker of acknowledgment as he barked a low curse at his game, his focus unwavering.

and yet, despite his cruelty, despite the hollowness he left in his wake, you felt yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. it wasn’t love, and it wasn’t even lust—it was the gravitational pull of your own self-destruction.

the bed creaked as you sat up, the cool air biting against your bare skin. your phone buzzed again, its screen lighting up the darkened room. sungchan’s name flashed across it once more, and the guilt twisted like a knife in your chest.

this was wrong.

you knew it was wrong.

but as much as you wanted to gather your things, to walk out of this apartment and leave donghyuck behind for good, you knew you wouldn’t.

“you’re thinking too loud,” donghyuck muttered, his voice cold and detached as his fingers moved deftly over the controller. he didn’t even look at you.

“i should go,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

this time, he glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow in mock amusement. “then go,” he said simply, his tone devoid of care, as if your presence—or absence—meant nothing to him.

your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill again. you gripped the edge of the sheets, your knuckles white, your mind warring with itself. every rational part of you screamed to leave, to call sungchan, to beg for forgiveness.

but the irrational part of you—the part that craved donghyuck’s indifference, his cruelty, the way he stripped you down to your rawest form—kept you rooted in place. because for all the emptiness he left behind, donghyuck made you feel something.

the shame, the desire, the heartbreak—it was all consuming, chaotic, alive. and as much as it hurt, it was better than the numbness you felt everywhere else.

your phone buzzed again, the sound cutting through the air like a razor. sungchan was waiting. he always was. and yet, you turned your gaze back to donghyuck, who had already dismissed you, his attention back on his game.

you would stay.

you always stayed.

and as you sank back into the mattress, staring up at the ceiling with tears pooling in your eyes, the frailty of your willpower sank in like a stone. you hated yourself for it, hated how weak you were, hated how easily he broke you.

but deep down, you knew you’d come back again.

you always did.

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saltnsugarbear · 6 months ago

Note

congrats on 200! love your writing <3

i'd like to request “Oh God, yes, just like that. Keep— keep going.” with carmy pls

im so fucking insane over this

word count: 0.6k

content warnings: MDNI!!! pervy roommate Carmy, stolen underwear, getting off with that underwear, pillow humping, sort of voyeurism?? maybe??, reader is having sex but like across the hall behind closed doors so

side note: this came to me in a flash I wrote this in like an hour holy shit

He didn't mean to get a hold of your underwear. Carmy was doing his laundry, folding clothes and hanging them and it just fall out.

He remembers it very clearly. When he was putting a hoodie on a hangar and a small piece of fabric fell out. Imagine his embarrassment when the fabric was a pair of black panties covered in little cherries. God, he can still feel the warmth from how flushed his face got, cheeks and ears probably bright pink.

And the problem is Carmy can't just sneak into your room to put it back. He can't because whenever he is home, you're home. You're asleep when he's leaving for work and you're up when he's getting back from The Beef, there's never a good time to put it back.

So Carmy just hid it under his bed, letting it sit in the dark where he could forget about it.

And he did forget about it. For a while.

Until tonight.

And it's not your fault, truly not your fault, that the walls are thin. It's not your fault that Carmy can hear you through the walls. And it's certainly not your fault how his body is reacting or the fantasies that are running around his head.

At first he thought he could get away from it, distract himself with dishes and food over the sounds your making across the hall. Keep his mind off the stirring in his boxers by any means.

But it got to be too much at your first cry of frustration. The quiet pleading that came after, your sobbing and begging to come.

Carmy's hand flew to his erection almost immediately, rutting up into his palm when he makes contact. He tries to pace his hand movements in time with your moaning, but it's not enough.

Something in him remembers. He doesn't know what part but Carmy is rolling over quickly, sticking his hand under his bed and patting around until he makes contact with fabric. He wraps his fingers in the material and brings it out from under as he shoves off his boxers.

The idea of wrapping your underwear around his cock isn't enough. He needs something solid, something underneath him.

He's moving automatically as he grabs his pillow and lays your underwear over the side. Carmy lays one arm above his head and one in front of his face, perfect placing just incase he has to quiet himself. Positioning himself is easy, keeping one leg tucked up as he pushes his hips up against the pillow.

The pressure of pushing himself against the fabric is maddening, causing him to grind into it. He slowly finds the rhythm of your moans and applies it to his grinding. He's surprised by how fast it is, whining at the rough and quick drag of the fabric under his cock.

It doesn't even register to him that he's being a little loud, his own quieter moans being masked by yours across the hall. He presses his muttering into the fabric, almost trying to melt into the mattress.

"Oh, yes, just like that," Carmy mutters into the mattress, bucking his hips up against his pillow. "Keep- Keep going.."

His words get more slurred the quicker he grinds his hips. Soon he's nothing but a whining, moaning mess against his sheets. And he's hoping to God that you or the person you've brought over can't hear him.

"Fuck- fuck- shit.." Carmy mutters when he feels the band in his stomach snap. He bites the fabric under him to muffle his whines, stomach clenching at the warm spurts of cum against his skin.

His breathing settles as his hips twitch at the slight overstimulation from him grinding. Carmy huffs as he lets go of the fabric in his mouth, laying back against the bed as he comes down.

He groans when it hits him. The reality of it all. Carmy shoves his pillow off the bed before rolling back don't his stomach, covering his eyes with his arm.

He's going to have to wash his sheets.

#saltnsugarbear #too much salt (18+)#200 grains of salt [ 200 followers celebration ]#cloak and dagger of it all [ anon ]#carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear fanfiction #the bear

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solsticehymns · 2 months ago

Text

LUNCH: drabble

evan rosier x f!reader / pure smut / oral f receiving / overstimulation

Baby, I think you were made for me / Somebody write down the recipe / Been tryin' hard not to overeat / You're just so sweet

warnings: explicit 18+ minors dni!! names used: sweetheart, baby, pretty girl (no y/n). cw: face-sitting, overstimulation, orgasm control, fingering, slight dom/sub dynamic, slight degradation (pathetic, ruined), slight praise kink, tears/crying, rough handling, feral behavior in general. reader is literally sobbing from overstimulation so beware!! lmk if i need to add more! 😭😇

summary: You’re long past your limit. He doesn’t care. He just wants more. (essentially porn w/o plot lmao)

a/n: idek if there's a large audience for evan rosier smut? but i did it. this came to me like a vision as well, a prophecy if you wiil, i foretold that he would be a MUNCH and this is the result. lolol let me know if you like it!! <33 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1060

It usually begins with a glance—a flicker of mischief beneath half-lowered lashes—and then he reclines, inviting, like he was made to worship you this way.

And maybe he was.

You’ve lost track of how many times he’s made you cum tonight. By now, it should feel excessive. Overwhelming. Your body is trembling, nerves strung tight and humming, every breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

But he’s still there—flat on his back, arms locked around your thighs, face buried between your legs like a man possessed.

You’re straddling his face, bracing yourself on the headboard, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, thighs quaking. If you looked down, you could see him. You could meet his eyes, see just how unhinged he looks beneath you—but you don’t dare. You can barely hold yourself up. Everything aches in that sweet, stretched-out kind of way. You’re dazed, glassy-eyed, and the wet, hot drag of his tongue feels like both heaven and hell.

He groans under you—deep and wrecked—and the sound punches straight through your core. You let out a choked whimper, hips twitching without your initiative.

“God, sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your cunt, “you taste unreal. Like sin... and sugar. It’s driving me absolutely mad.”

You try to pull away, but it’s feeble. Your muscles don’t obey. You’re a mess of overstimulation and slack limbs.

He just holds you tighter.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit. “You don’t get to run now. Not when you’re soaked like this. Not when your legs are shaking so damn pretty for me.”

Your head tips back, you can’t help it. Your mouth parts on a breathy moan, and you don’t even hear yourself, how lewd you must sound.

He presses his face in deeper, nuzzling like he can’t get enough, like he’d live here forever if you let him. He groans again, filthy and low, and flattens his tongue over your clit in a wide, unrelenting stroke.

You cry out. The sound claws out of you, involuntary, like the rest of your body’s given up pretending you’re not completely undone.

He doesn’t stop. He won’t. Perhaps he can't.

His tongue moves with maddening purpose now: slow circles, quick flicks, pressure that makes your toes curl. Somehow methodical and ravenous all at once. As if he knows you inside and out, memorized every little tell.

You’re reeling. Completely blank. Nothing but static and sensation.

Your hips grind down against his mouth because you have to, because it feels too good not to. Reaching down for something to ground you, your fingers find his hair, tugging, needing an anchor to hold onto.

His jaw tenses under your thighs, unrelenting. He doesn’t flinch when your legs squeeze around his head.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, voice ragged, breath hot and heavy. “Use me. Grind down if you want. Ride my face. I can take it.”

You try to lift off again, weak and whining, but he drags you back down with a snarl, fingers certainly digging bruises into the tender flesh of your thighs.

“No. You stay right fucking there.”

Another moan rumbles through him, and it hits you right where you need it. Your legs twitch uncontrollably, your fingers clench, your mouth drops open in a helpless wail.

He’s everywhere. Tongue dragging, flicking, sucking your clit like he wants to swallow your soul. Hands gripping your ass, holding you steady when all you want to do is collapse.

“Jesus—Evan—” you gasp, voice high and ragged.

And then—his fingers. Two of them, slipping inside your leaking hole without warning, without resistance, without friction.

You can’t think, can’t speak, can't bother to try. You just moan—a long, warbling sound—as your body lifts, arches, clenches.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters, mouth still working your clit, fingers stroking deep. “Clenching like you want to keep me here forever.”

You make a sound that could be his name or just another sob. You don’t even know anymore.

He smiles against you—boyish, smug, feral.

His fingers thrust harder. Curl just right. His mouth stays latched like he’s addicted, sucking you down like you're his salvation.

You’re trembling now, everything white-hot and aching. You try to tell him something, anything, but it all comes out garbled and useless.

“E-Evan—please—can’t—”

He growls again, deeper, rougher. Your plea has only made him hungrier.

“Yes, you fucking can, pretty girl. Give it to me. Again. Right now.”

And you do. You break. His fingers press up into that spongy spot against your back wall, and you cum so hard you can’t breathe. Your body locks up, shudders, collapses forward. You sob his name into the pillows, too far gone to feel anything but him.

But Evan still doesn’t stop.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice thick with reverence, his fingers still working you ruthlessly. “You’re not done. Not until I say so.”

You’re wrecked. Shaking and sniffling, too far gone to hold yourself up, too fucked out to even try. Your thighs quake violently around his head, your whole body caught in the throes of something pathetic and unstoppable. And still—his fingers don’t stop moving.

He’s lost in it now—face flushed, eyes wild, mouth still hovering so close you can feel every breath on your skin. His hand curls against your cunt like it belongs there, and the angle of his fingers turns sharp, punishing.

“C’mon, baby,” he growls. “Give me another. I know there’s more in you.”

You’re crying now. Real tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, jaw slack, body twitching from the overstimulation. You try to say his name but it dissolves into another broken sob.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding damn near worshipful. “You’re so pretty like this. All ruined for me.”

He doesn’t ease up. Not even a little. His fingers stay relentless. He mouths at your inner thigh, teeth grazing, tongue trailing, eyes locked on your wrecked face like he wants to burn the image into memory.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he says again, lower now, darker.

You try to nod, but in all honesty, you can't remember. Maybe you did. Maybe you didn't. All you know anymore is him.

He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes—his chin, lips, and nose slicked, his gaze blazing, pupils blown wide.

“Then fucking take it.”

☀️🌻 masterlist

any feedback is much appreciated!! <33

#the marauders era #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #hp marauders #evan rosier #evan rosier x f!reader #evan rosier smut #evan rosier x reader #evan rosier headcanon #the slytherin skittles #slytherin skittles #evan rosier hc #evan rosier fic #evan rosier fanfic

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dinoace2 · 11 months ago

Text

For @hg-aneh , this comic they made :]

Bit of a different take, this time, what if it wasn't just that he didn't talk, but he couldn't?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a shitty day.

All the days had been shitty.

Aziraphale had lost count how many there had been so far, and rain doesn't exist in Heaven. But clouds massing over Soho suggested that the newest thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one.

Earlier...

"No, no, please, you can't do this!" Aziraphale thrashed about, trying to loose the grip of the Powers who held onto each of his arms. One on either side, holding tight to ensure he couldn't move.

Uriel sneered at him, their eyes flaring with anger. "I already told you once, Aziraphale. You ask too many questions. Supreme Archangel or not, there still remain standards that must be met. Lines that cannot be crossed."

Aziraphale frowned. "It still seems quite reasonable to me to demand why! The very idea of creating Humanity, just to destroy it, it's...well, it's senseless! Sure, they've made mistakes, but they don't deserve utter annihilation for it! And they definitely don't deserve it if the only reason is 'the Almighty has grown bored of Her little social experiment'! That logic is, quite frankly, nothing short of childish and ridic- !"

One of the other angels cut him off with a knee to the stomach. He winced, letting out a huff of air as he sank to his knees.

"Thats enough!" Michael frowned. "I'm not sure what the Metatron saw in you before, but I'm glad He finally came to His senses." She leaned down, inches from his face. "I've half a mind to strike you down where you stand, traitor."

"S-surely," Aziraphale whispered, his voice hoarse. "Surely, this can't be what She wants. This can't be Her will."

“You don't have the right to suggest what She wants.” Michael scowled. “such blasphemy begs execution.”

“I think you and I both know what happened the last time you tried.” Aziraphale managed a smirk.

“We're well aware, thank you.” She huffed. “we had to get creative this time around, I hate to say.” She waved a hand. “Uriel!”

She stepped aside as the other archangel approached, some sort of weapon in hand. They raised their arm to strike, and Aziraphale flinched, his eyes shut tight.

…

He paused. Wasn't something supposed to happen? He opened his eyes, only to find Uriel already putting their weapon away.

What happ- he paused. His mouth had opened, his lips formed the words, but…he didn't say anything. No sound came out.

He tried again, getting the same result. Michael chuckled. “A fitting consequence for the angel who talked too much, no?” she waved to the angels on either side of him. “You know what to do.”

Aziraphale struggled in their grasp as they dragged him away, far past the point of no return.

~~~

It burns...

It's so cold, but it burns...

Aziraphale wasn't sure how long he'd been falling.

He felt infernal wind flying around him, whipping in his hair and tearing through his feathers. It was completely dark, he couldn't see anything. The only reason he knew which way was down was because thats the direction he was going.

Hellfire lashed at him as he Fell, flicking at his clothes, his skin, his wings. Every burst of flame stung with a flash of icy, searing pain that burned deep into his soul.

He wanted to cry out, to scream, to call for something, anything, but when his mouth opened he was still trapped in the same empty, maddening silence as if he had done nothing at all.

He wondered if this was how Crowley felt when he Fell; freezing, burning, hurting...alone. Thinking through everything that led him here. Wondering if he did the right thing. Wondering if there was anything else he should have done, anything else he could have done, to possibly have changed what he now faced.

Crowley...

What would he say, when he saw Aziraphale like this? What would he do? Would he even do anything? Would he glare down at him? Say 'I told you so'? Grin and laugh? Or maybe he'd just walk away, not even dignifying a response. Aziraphale wouldn't even blame him for that, considering how he left things. Whatever Crowley decided to do, it was definitely going to be deserved.

He put a hand to his throat, realizing that, whatever happened, he wouldn't be able to say anything. Wouldn't be able to explain himself, or say anything that he wanted to, or... he paused, then hugged himself. For the rest of eternity, no matter how much he may want to, no matter how hard he'd try, he would never be able to tell Crowley those three bloody words that he'd always wanted to say. Those three blasted words that had been on the tip of his tongue for millenia. Those three damned words that he should have said before.

But...even if he said them now...there was no guarantee (or, at this point, no chance) that Crowley would accept it, surely. Not after everything he did...after everything that happened.

He hugged himself, pulling his knees to his chest, and choked on a silent sob. Everything hurt, he felt confused and scared and ruined. All he felt he could do was fall, and wait for the crash.

~~~

Aziraphale's eyes opened. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what he was. He felt nothing at all. But at the same time he felt everything…and it all hurt. His lungs burned and his eyes stung. A cloud of ash lingered around him, smothering the nearby air and nearly making him choke.

He wanted to curl up, to cry, to never move again. He felt like he couldn't move, yet still that he had to. His face hardly moved, his expression limp and exhausted and miserable. In all fairness, that's exactly how he felt. Nothing.

He gathered what strength he had and pulled himself to sit up, looking around. His skin stung with burns and his eyes couldn't quite focus. His fingers curled in coarse, sharp, black sand beneath him, and waves lapped at his feet. A burnt smell came from the bubbling ‘water’. Sulfur…? It looked like some sort of…infernal beach.

He got to his feet, brushing the sand off his coat and beginning to walk. Hell's offices must not be far from here.

Sure enough, after walking for a while he made it to a dim-lit building, greenish light spilling out of the few windows. Heaven's basement, indeed.

When Aziraphale opened the doors, all went suddenly still and silent. All eyes fell on him. The cramped crowds parted as he walked past, perhaps out of recognition, perhaps out of fear. He stopped one demon on his way, asking for directions by simply pointing a finger up.

~~~

The clouds overhead were dense and dark, nearly blotting out the natural sunlight of the late afternoon. Thunder rolled in the distance, deep and low, a promise of the storm that was to come.

A distinct ding echoed in the empty Soho street corner, and a cloud of ash spilled out onto the sidewalk.

As if to gather what dignity he had left, Aziraphale straightened his coat, straightening the wrinkles in the fabric, and approached A.Z. Fell and Co. The first raindrops of the oncoming tempest splashed against the pavement.

He hesitated as he reached for the door. The bookshop was an embassy after all. Demons aren't allowed to pass without permission...would he even be able to go inside his own- well...not his anymore - home? His fingers clasped around the doorknob and gently turned it, breathing out a sigh of relief when nothing stopped him.

The familiar chime of the doorbell was almost comforting as he stepped inside, but relief was quick to be replaced by regret.

It was dark. The lights were all out, the shades all drawn. The shop looked untouched, and while ordinarily that would be a good thing, not like this. Everything was covered in a visible layer of dust. He swiped his finger on the till counter, carving a revealed line of clean wood beneath the soft gray film. Not just untouched, but abandoned.

You poor thing...wasn't Muriel supposed to look after you?

Among the stagnant, silent scenery, a mop of long red hair was draped across a table. The body slumped beneath it stirred at the sound of the doorbell. Golden eyes blinked slowly, adjusting to the shift in lighting.

Aziraphale stood still, saying nothing, doing nothing. What happened to you? How long was I gone? How long have you been alone? His mind raced with questions that he couldn't voice.

Once he noticed the figure in front of him, Crowley was quick to sit upright, eyes wide. "Oh..." Frantic emotions of all natures flashed across his expression as he tried to determine whether the sight before him was really and truly there.

"Oh!"

He got to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well! Look who bothered to show up!" A sharp grin took over his face as he sauntered up to the visitor. "The Supreme Asshat of Heaven, dirtying his clean little shoes to come and laugh at the pitiful, sad demon." His voice came out as a hiss, laced with bitter sarcasm and poorly-disguised sadness. Aziraphale didn't move, didn't respond. He couldn't.

I'm so sorry, dear…is that what you think ive been feeling? What I've been up to? Why would I ever mock you, I could never-

Crowley put his hands up and spoke in a mocking tone. “‘Ooh, poor Crowley, he must be feeling so pathetic, all alone’.” He grinned wider, his arms flat at his sides. “Well. The joke's on you. I'm better than ever on my own. Just me. A team of Myself.” He stepped forward once more, blinking away tears. “I don't need you!”

Aziraphale just looked at him, part of his mind wondering if this new form could cry.

Inches away from his face, Crowley nearly shouted, “So tell me, Angel, why did you come back?! Why are you here, Aziraphale?!”

With a shaky breath and a whoosh of feathers, Aziraphale answered his question. It…seemed the easiest way to communicate, considering the circumstances. Thunder cracked outside, a flash of light through the windows highlighting the jet-black wings from behind. He could do nothing but watch, as the color drained from Crowley's face.

“You….you-” he was still for a moment, quiet and shaky. His anger seemed to shift, still present but no longer directed at Aziraphale. “You idiot!” He launched forward and grabbed Aziraphale by his jacket’s lapels. “Why, Aziraphale?! Why did you leave?! Why did you go back?! Why?” He finally choked on a sob, collapsing against Aziraphale's chest. “Why, Angel…why…why…” He dissolved into broken cries, sinking to his knees as he begged for answers.

Oh, Crowley…

They sat in silence for a long while, Aziraphale unsure of what to do. He certainly couldn't say anything.

When Crowley's sobs slowed to soft whimpers, the angel stepped back. Crowley looked up at him, confusion in his gaze.

Aziraphale took a breath, then recited the simple, memorized steps in his head. Stepped forward with one hand up and the other on his hip, kicked his leg back and lifted his arms, spun around on one foot, and ended in a bow. You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right. He sunk down on the bow, propping himself on one knee and keeping his head low.

Crowley was silent, his jaw slack as he processed what just happened.

“...Angel-”

He reached up, gently holding Aziraphale's cheek with one hand. Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning into the demon's touch.

“...say something…please…” He whispered, leaning closer.

‘I can't,’ Aziraphale mouthed, trying to gesture to his neck. ‘I'm sorry.’

Crowley paused, nodding slightly. He seemed to understand. He pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “...Heaven took it from you…didn't they.” It was more of a statement than a question. When Aziraphale nodded, he sighed. “Those angels and their ‘poetic justice’, huh? They…they think they have the right to take everything…I get it. I've been there. Though I'm sure you know that already, heh.” He smiled weakly, and he felt a silent chuckle shake in Aziraphale's chest.

“...im glad you came back,” Crowley whispered. “I…im sorry how I acted…what I said, when you left…a-and…the…the kiss, i…im so sorry…I wish it had happened under better circumstances…or…maybe even just…never at all, I…I just…you…” his rambling trailed off, as Aziraphale cupped his face in both hands, gently lifting his chin.

The little space between them closed, their lips falling together as both demons desperately clung to one another, their only lifeline in an otherwise empty world. This wasn't like the last one. The last one was a plea to stay…this one was a promise.

Tears finally fell down Aziraphale's cheeks, stinging his skin as he pulled Crowley closer still. He pressed kisses to his lips, his cheek, along his jaw, anywhere he could reach. He mouthed what he couldn't say against Crowley's skin, three words over and over, whispered silently wherever he touched. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Crowley pulled away, if only to breathe for a moment. “Aziraphale…” He wiped at the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs.

He hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “my offer still stands, you know…our side…together. Just us…if- if you're interested, I mean. I…I know, it…sounds lonely…but…nothin’ wrong with being lonely together, is there?” He offered a weak smile.

Aziraphale smiled, a real, true smile for the first time since getting on that bloody elevator oh-so-long ago, nodding as he clung tightly to his other half.

Together. Our side. As long as we have each other.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! :]

#angst my beloved #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale good omens #aziraphale #good omens aziraphale #crowley good omens #crowley #good omens fic #good omens

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winxanity-ii · 5 months ago

Text

⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 08 Chapter 08 | serpents & shadows⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The world blurred around you as the two of you tore through the woods at breakneck speed. Branches clawed at your arms and legs, roots snagged at your boots, and the golden glow of Apollo's wrath pulsed ominously behind you.

Hermes moved like smoke, effortlessly darting through the chaos as if the forest bent itself to his will, while you struggled to keep up, panting and stumbling over the uneven ground.

"Are we almost—" you gasped, breathless, but Hermes cut you off with a bright, maddening laugh.

"Not yet!" he called over his shoulder, his voice frustratingly chipper. "What's the rush? We've got all night!"

All night, indeed. The hours stretched endlessly as you ran, the dark woods closing in around you, and every time you thought your legs might give out, Hermes would glance back, his golden eyes gleaming with unspoken amusement.

By the time the trees started thinning and the first rays of morning light broke through, painting the forest in muted golds and soft greens, your legs felt like they might give out. The weightless satchel slung over your shoulder was the only mercy, though it didn't stop your muscles from screaming in protest.

Finally, as you reached the edge of the woods where a narrow dirt path stretched out before you, Hermes came to an abrupt halt. You nearly crashed into him, stumbling to a stop with a strangled gasp.

"What... now?" you managed, hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

Hermes didn't answer right away. He stood perfectly still, his golden eyes scanning the horizon with an uncharacteristic seriousness. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he hummed low in his throat.

"Eventually, he'll catch up," Hermes said finally, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "Especially if we stay in the mortal plane."

Your stomach twisted at the implication. "So... what do we do?"

Hermes didn't respond immediately. His gaze turned inward, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood of his staff. His wings fluttered faintly, almost as if responding to his thoughts.

And then his eyes snapped to you, narrowing with sharp intensity.

"I wonder..." he muttered, his tone almost absent as he scratched his chin.

You bristled at this, biting your lip hard to swallow the sarcastic remark that nearly slipped out. Don't antagonize the god of thieves. Don't antagonize the god of thieves.

Hermes tilted his head, humming thoughtfully again before his expression shifted. His grin returned, wide and mischievous, and he clapped his hands together like he'd just solved a riddle. "Alright! Let's continue."

"...What?" you blurted, staring at him in disbelief as he turned and started walking down the winding dirt path ahead.

"Come on, little thief!" Hermes called over his shoulder, his tone light and teasing once more. "We've got places to be."

You groaned but followed, dragging your feet as exhaustion tugged at every step. "Mind telling me where we're going this time?"

"Patience," Hermes said, waving a hand as if brushing off the question. "I have a few ideas. Apollo can't watch everywhere at once, now can he?"

You frowned, your suspicion bubbling back to the surface despite your fatigue. "You mean you don't know yet."

Hermes snorted, his smirk visible even from behind. "Oh, I know plenty, little thief. The real question is, how lucky are you feeling today?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you glared at the back of his head. But you couldn't deny it—wherever Hermes was leading you, it was better than standing still.

Still, as the two of you trudged down the dirt path, the golden light of dawn casting long shadows around you, the weight of Apollo's anger lingered like a storm on the horizon.

You couldn't help but wonder what Hermes was planning—and whether you'd live long enough to find out. His steps were light and confident, his staff tapping the ground rhythmically as if the chaos around you didn't exist.

He led you through places you couldn't have imagined, taking shortcuts through mortal villages, vast divine realms, and strange in-between spaces where reality itself seemed to shift.

After what felt like hours of walking in silence, the forest began to change. The trees thinned and twisted unnaturally, their branches curling like fingers pointing the way. The golden warmth of morning faded, giving way to a strange, muted stillness.

The first stop was a mortal village, but something was wrong. Time stood still here. Villagers were frozen mid-step, their faces caught in expressions of joy, frustration, or confusion.

A woman balanced a basket on her hip, her other hand reaching for a door handle that would never turn.

A dog hovered mid-leap, its jaws stretched wide as if barking at something unseen.

"What is this place?" you whispered, your voice barely carrying in the eerie silence.

"Ah," Hermes said, grinning as he glanced over his shoulder. "Just a little detour. Time's on pause here, thanks to a hiccup in the mortal flow. Charming, isn't it?"

"Charming is not the word I'd use," you muttered, shivering as you stepped carefully around a frozen child, her hand outstretched toward a ball suspended midair.

Before you could question further, Hermes tugged you onward, and the village melted away, replaced by a vast canyon with walls that seemed alive.

The stone shifted subtly, rippling like water in a breeze. You swore you could see faces etched into the rock—faces that moved, their expressions flickering between sorrow and rage.

"Don't stare too long," Hermes warned, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "They don't like that."

You swallowed hard, tearing your gaze away as the canyon narrowed, its shifting walls brushing dangerously close to your shoulders. Great. Just great, add moody sentient rock walls to my growing list of things to avoid.

Hermes, of course, moved effortlessly through the space, his wings fluttering faintly as he glided ahead.

And then, as if the canyon had never existed, you stepped into a world where reality seemed to defy logic entirely.

The sky was a patchwork of colors that shifted with every blink—red to green to deep indigo. The people here were... different. Half-human, half-animal hybrids walked casually among one another, their fur, scales, and feathers gleaming under the strange, shifting light.

A woman with feline ears and a long tail passed by, balancing a stack of baskets on her head. Nearby, a man with wings sprouting from his back barked orders to a group of children with webbed hands and gills.

"Where are we?" you asked, your voice shaky as you tried to keep your focus on Hermes.

"Bestialis," Hermes said simply, not bothering to elaborate.

He moved through these realms with effortless grace, always a step ahead, always knowing exactly where to go. You, on the other hand, scrambled to keep up, your heart racing as the surreal landscapes shifted around you.

Hermes, naturally, found your struggles hilarious.

"Keep up, little thief!" he called, glancing back with a grin. "Or do you need me to carry you?"

"Don't tempt me," you grumbled, nearly tripping over a root that hadn't been there a second ago.

But as you moved, you began to notice a pattern. No matter where Hermes led you, Apollo's omens followed.

Golden flames flickered in the shadows, their light casting unnatural shapes against the ground.

Whispers echoed through the wind, soft and unintelligible but always carrying the same weight—a reminder of the god's wrath.

Animals with glowing eyes watched from the edges of your vision, their stares unblinking and unnerving.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

"What in Hades is going on?" you demanded after a particularly unsettling moment where a deer with golden tears streaking down its face appeared, only to vanish as you blinked.

"Oh," Hermes said, snapping his fingers as if he'd just remembered something trivial. "I forgot to tell you—Apollo's curses follow you until he's satisfied." He flashed you a wicked grin. "Have fun with that!"

You nearly tripped again, your voice rising in disbelief. "And you're just now telling me this?!"

"I figured you'd notice eventually," Hermes said with a shrug, his smirk maddeningly bright. "Besides, it's not all bad. Adds a bit of spice to the chase, doesn't it?"

"Are you helping me or making it worse!?"

Hermes tilted his head, tapping his chin theatrically. "Both, probably."

You glared at him, your fists clenched at your sides, but you didn't have time to argue. The golden flames flickered again, closer this time, and you pressed on.

Still, as you followed him through these strange, shifting places, you began to notice little things about Hermes.

He was always a step ahead—literally and figuratively—guiding you with an ease that bordered on instinct. But sometimes, when he thought you weren't looking, his grin faltered, replaced by something almost... thoughtful.

You caught him tensing once when Apollo's presence grew stronger, his fingers tightening subtly on his staff. And though he mocked you mercilessly, he was always quick to pull you out of harm's way, his sharp eyes scanning for dangers you didn't even notice.

He wouldn't admit it—not in a thousand years—but it almost seemed like he cared.

Almost.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Currently, the two of you were walking through a strange, surreal place—a space between worlds.

The air shimmered with a swirling mist that seemed alive, constantly shifting and morphing into tendrils of soft blues, vibrant pinks, and eerie silvers.

Echoes of laughter, faint and haunting, rippled through the air, as if the voices of long-forgotten wanderers were trapped in the folds of this in-between place.

The ground beneath your feet wasn't ground at all, not really. It looked solid but rippled slightly with each step, like walking across a shallow pond that refused to get you wet.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and something sweet you couldn't place, and every now and then, a flicker of light darted across the horizon—too fast and fleeting to catch.

"What is this place?" you asked, your voice hushed despite yourself.

"Well, aren't you just full of questions?" Hermes sarcastically smiled before grumbling under his breath, "You've got more questions than a sphinx on a slow day."

You snapped back without missing a beat, "Well, excuse me for wanting to know about the mythical nonsense that might kill me at any moment."

He stopped spinning his staff for a moment, giving you a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation before huffing a quiet laugh. "Fine. It's called The Seam—a sliver between here and there, where the rules... bend a little."

His casual tone didn't do much to ease your nerves, especially as the shimmering mist coiled closer, almost as if it were listening.

You hugged the satchel tighter to your side and muttered, "That's reassuring."

Hermes only grinned, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief as he strode ahead. "Don't worry. It's not the rules breaking you need to worry about. It's what's watching while they bend."

"Like I said, exactly as comforting as I expected." Your eyes scanned the ever-shifting mist.

As you walked, your attention caught on something ahead—a fissure in the ground that glowed faintly with an otherworldly light. You couldn't help but stop, peering down into it.

The crack wasn't just a break in the surface. It swirled.

Colors danced within it—deep reds, greens, and golds twisting together in hypnotic patterns.

The longer you stared, the more you realized you could hear faint voices emanating from it, soft and indistinct. They weren't loud enough to understand, but something about them tugged at your curiosity, drawing you closer.

Before you realized it, you were leaning over, your body tilting forward instinctively to hear the voices better.

The sound was strange, not quite words, but almost... a memory? You weren't sure, but you wanted to know—

Your foot slipped.

"Ah!" Your arms flailed wildly, grasping at empty air as you felt yourself tipping forward. Your heart plummeted, the swirling crack beneath you glowing brighter, its strange light stretching upward as if to meet you.

Before you could fall completely, a firm hand grabbed the back of your shirt, yanking you backward with a force that nearly sent you sprawling onto your rear.

"Whoa there!" Hermes' voice was bright, almost teasing, as he hauled you upright. "Careful! That's a crack in reality—you wouldn't want to fall in."

Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a split second, your foot had dangled over the edge, and you swore you'd felt the pull of whatever was inside that crack.

You shot a weak glare at Hermes, your lips trembling slightly as you tried to regain your composure.

"S-Shut up," you muttered, your voice shaky as you brushed yourself off and moved forward, desperate to put some distance between you and the fissure.

Hermes, of course, was grinning like this was all part of the plan, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement as he followed behind. "Really, little thief," he said, spinning his staff lazily. "If you keep stumbling like that, I might start charging for rescues."

You didn't dignify that with a response, keeping your gaze forward as you pressed on through the mist. Your heart was still racing, but you refused to let him see just how rattled you were.

Behind you, Hermes chuckled softly, the sound carrying through the strange air like a melody, warm and maddening all at once.

☆

After what felt like forever, the mist began to thin, revealing more solid ground beneath your feet. The ever-shifting colors around you faded into muted tones, though the whispers and faint echoes lingered like a dream you couldn't quite wake from.

You trudged along behind Hermes, the weightless satchel bouncing lightly at your side. Exhaustion weighed heavy on your limbs, but your curiosity and the sheer strangeness of this place kept your mind too restless to fully collapse.

As you walked, you noticed Hermes tapping his staff against the ground in a steady rhythm, his gaze distant as though he was deep in thought. The staff was always in motion—spinning, bouncing, or resting across his shoulders like an afterthought.

Then, you caught sight of Hermes' staff as it gave a sudden jolt, the twin serpents coiled around it seemingly shifting. You blinked, assuming it was a trick of the light until one of the serpents lifted its head and yawned.

"What the..." you breathed, stumbling back slightly as the second snake stirred as well, its scales shimmering faintly with golden hues. Both snakes unraveled slightly, the upper half of their slender forms lifting off the staff while the rest remained coiled tightly around the polished wood.

They were small, no thicker than your wrist; they moved with fluid grace, their heads darting about as if testing the air like excited hatchlings.

The bronze one on the left stretched upward, its forked tongue flicking out before it tilted its small head to look at you. "Ssshe'sss ssstaring at usss," it said, its voice high-pitched and childlike.

"Of courssse she's ssstaring at usss," the gold one on the right replied, its tone equally whiny but with a hint of smugness. "We're impressssive."

"Hermes!" you hissed, pointing at the creatures as one of them looped lazily through the air. "Your staff is alive!"

Hermes sighed dramatically. "Of course they're alive. Meet Aceso and Panacea." He waved a dismissive hand before glancing at the snakes out of the corner of his eye. "And will you two behave?"

Aceso—the bronze one—darted toward you, its forked tongue flicking out as it stared curiously. Its voice, high-pitched and almost childlike, echoed in your head. "Food? When do we get food?"

"Yesss!" chimed Panacea—the gold one—snaking around Hermes' hand. "You promisssed food! Where isss it?"

Hermes groaned, rubbing his temples as if the two's whining were giving him a migraine. "Yes, yes, I know what I said. Just... quiet down, would you? We're in the middle of something important."

"Important?" you repeated, incredulous, Aceso darted closer, wrapping itself loosely around your wrist. Its scales were warm against your skin, and its tiny golden eyes peered up at you with an almost unnerving amount of intelligence.

"Exciting isss more like it," Panacea giggled, unweaving from Hermes' staff before darting down to inspect your satchel.

"Oh, for the love of—" Hermes muttered, swatting lightly at Panacea. "They're not dangerous. Just dramatic." He thumps his staff against the ground once again, jostling the little reptiles. "I just got you two, and you're already driving me mad."

"You choossse usss!" Aceso protested, uncurling from around your wrist in a lazy loop. "You sssaid it'd be cool!"

"Yesss," Panacea added, slithering dramatically. "But it'sss not cool! All this walking and no food? Sssuch a disssappointment! Ssso lame!"

You stared, dumbfounded, at the two snakes as they continued their bizarre back-and-forth. "How...? Are they talking?!" you managed to ask, your voice rising an octave.

"Unfortunately," Hermes muttered, glaring at the snakes as they whined in unison. "Enchanted serpents have been a part of my staff since the old day, though let's just say they're not the originals. They're... fresh out of the egg, you might say."

"Fresh out of the egg?"

"They're still adjusting," Hermes said with a shrug.

"And we regret joining! This isss boring!"

"Yesss, boring! No food, no excitement—ugh!"

Hermes ignored them. "Which also means I haven't had time to teach them how to be useful."

"Ussseful?!" Aceso gasped, coiling in mock offense. "We are ussseful!"

"Yesss, like how we're alwaysss keeping you entertained," Panacea added smugly.

Hermes rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about regretting every decision that had led to this moment.

The snakes turned their attention back to you, their small, beady eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ssshe'sss funny-looking," Panacea whispered loudly, earning a scowl from you.

"Ssshe alssso sssmellsss weird," Aceso added, tilting its head.

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

The indignation flared hotter because it wasn't just an insult—it was coming from them. Your eyes flicked to Aceso, who had just been coiled around your wrist not a moment ago, nuzzling you like a newfound best friend. And now? It darted through the air as if it hadn't practically purred at your touch.

Hermes snorted, clearly amused despite himself. "Oh, don't mind them. They're still learning manners... or the lack thereof."

Fake, you thought bitterly. Completely fake. Aceso, with its high-pitched whining and dramatic coils, was the worst offender. It had been practically singing your praises moments ago, and now it was sniffing at you like a suspicious stranger.

Suddenly, an idea struck you then—one that reminded you of an old circus performer you'd watched as a child. He had been a snake charmer, soothing his creatures with oils and whispered words.

Digging into your satchel, you pulled out a small vial of oil you kept for your dry skin—and occasionally slipping out of ropes when you got caught. You poured a bit onto your fingers, rubbing them together before holding them out toward the snakes.

The snakes paused mid-squabble, their forked tongues flicking out curiously.

"What'sss that?"

"It sssmellsss nice."

Slowly, Aceso slithered back toward your hand, its tiny scales glinting faintly in the fading mist. You held still, your heart racing as the snake's small head dipped forward to sniff the oil; its tiny body shuddered before it let out a delighted hiss, nuzzling your fingers like an overexcited puppy. "It'sss ssslippery."

Panacea darted over, sniffing at the oil on your fingers before letting out a similarly pleased hiss. "I like thisss one!"

"Me too! You're better than him!" Aceso pointed its small head toward Hermes, who rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Traitors. The lot of you." Hermes muttered, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You smirked, stroking the Panacea as it curled closer. "Maybe they just needed someone with a better touch," you said smugly.

"They needed someone who spoils them," Hermes corrected, shaking his head. "You've created a problem for yourself, little thief, because that"—he pointed to the two snakes hissing in happiness—"is something I refuse to make part of my daily routine. I'm afraid they'll never leave you alone now."

The snakes hissed softly, clearly satisfied, as they returned to coiling themselves partially around the staff. The upper halves of their bodies remained free, however, darting occasionally to inspect you with curiosity.

As you continued walking, the serpents' warmth lingered on your skin, and for a brief moment, the strange, shifting mist around you seemed less oppressive. The laughter in the distance grew faint, fading into soft whispers before vanishing entirely.

You wouldn't admit it—not even to yourself—but there was something oddly comforting about the snakes' playful antics and the constant presence of Hermes, smug as he was.

A/N: okay, confession time: I recently rewatched Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief (don't judge me; nostalgia hit hard 😩), and I couldn't resist adding Hermes' iconic staff snakes! Aceso and Panacea just slid right into this story like they've been waiting for their moment in the spotlight. I mean, how could I not? two sassy little snake gremlins that talk, complain, and have their own personalities? Perfect.

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sugar-omi · 2 years ago

Text

I THINK I FINALLY GOT IT TO WORK.... jfc anywayz this is nasty n i love it. so fellow monster freaks, this is for you my loves!!!! <333

DAY FOUR — MONSTER FUCKING

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : NSFW, fem/afab reader, dub-con just bc y'all are so outta it, (mentioned/implied) dom/sub space, mermaid!cove x human!reader, soft to mean dom cove, biting, scratching, stomach bulging, knotting ment, ignore the kinda scary mer pregnancy bit okay

synopsis : cove finally lets you spend his heat with him, and your mermaid boyfriend is so much different than you had thought...

maybe you should have listened to cove when he said humans couldn't handle a mermaids heat. at least not without fighting for their life.

mermaids are naturally rough during their heats, biting and fighting for dominance over the other.. not to mention the sheer size of them.

cove is bigger than the average merman, "standing" at 12 feet tall.

which is something you should have factored in along with the sharp teeth and claws. because now, you're in a isolated underwater cove, with a horny, giant mermaid who is currently rearranging your guts.

"cove-!" you cry, pushing against his chest. it's fruitless, and you're just asking for more assertiveness, more pain

"stay still." cove growls, his sharp eyes striking through you, urging you to stay still and take it. you whine, your eyes rolling back. you know cove is trying to be gentle, but his mind is clouded.

"i-i can't take more!" you whimper. even though he's proportional for a merman of his size, it's too much for you. you couldn't possibly take all of his dick. "it won't fit-" you drawl, the words straining through gritted teeth.

cove kisses your cheek, licking your tears. "it's okay, it's okay..." he comforts, panting from the effort to control himself. "you can take it... i've prepared you for this.."

you whine when he moves again, the prominent ridges on the underside of his dick stretching you open.

he really did try to prepare you, gifting you a toy roughly the size of his dick and some smaller ones to work up to his size. cove even ate you out beforehand, his fingers slowly stretching you open and making sure you would come out as unscathed as possible.

cove kisses you, swallowing your whines and moans and trading it for his long tapered tongue.

you kiss back, letting cove consume your senses and take away all your burdens.

bitten, bruised, and sore, it's so worth it. to be connected with cove on this level.. it's maddening.

"are.. you okay?" cove pants into your ear, his fingers flexing around your waist as he tries to keep restraint.

you swallow, drool pooling in your mouth. "yes, yes, please move…"

cove fixes his grip on your body to move you the way he wants, his hands are so big they easily wrap around your waist and the heat coming from cove makes you feel like you're burning…

"ah-!" you drape yourself over cove. wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. he's moving your body so easily..

you know you're much smaller than cove, so his strength shouldn't be a surprise. but the way he's moving your body up and down on his cock like you're his personal cock sleeve drives you crazy.

"covee~" you drawl, your eyes rolling back. fuck you're losing your mind.

every part of your body and mind is consumed with pleasure, any thoughts you have melt and reform to think about nothing but cove and his dick.

cove's nails dig into your skin, pearls of blood coming to the surface and washing away with the movements of your hips.

the scratches should hurt, cove's claws aren't for decoration afterall, but it seems that medicine cove gave you helps with the pain you are sure to endure during his heat.

cove groans, "fuck.. you're so tight…"

you pang, blinking away your fucked out haze. "you're… you're just too- ohh fuck- too big!"

cove's laugh is cut off by your twitching cunt tightening around him, "jesus christ, y/n… stop tightening up.." cove growls.

you whine, dragging your nails down cove's scaled shoulders. "i'm-i'm trying.." you whine, "it feels so good."

cove drags his teeth over the exposed column of your throat. his lips trail down to your shoulder, and with much care that most mermaids wouldn't afford, he bites down hard enough to leave evidence of his teeth, and he runs his tongue over it soothingly.

you huff, squirming in cove's hold. "please, please cove! faster!"

cove peeks at you, stopping his assault on your neck and collarbone. "...can you handle it?"

you huff irritably, rolling your eyes. "i'm taking your dick right now aren't i? i'm not going to break."

cove glares, "it took you a week to get up to the toy that was only 2nd to my true size, you shook and cried that you couldn't take it."

his voice is booming, and maybe it should scare you, but something about cove reminding you how you pathetically ran to him to help you with the toy… it turns you on.

"you've trained your pathetic human cunt to take my dick and you still cried that it wouldn't fit." cove stares down at you, his height and gaze making you still and a fire is burning in your stomach.

"if i give you more than you can take, you'll break. aren't you worried about me hurting you?" cove inquires and his gaze is a mix of intrigue and confusion at your eager negative shake of your head.

"as if, you can't hurt a fly." you're testing him, he's already holding back for you and yet you can't help but want to push him over the edge…

cove growls, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest and his gills flare.

he doesn't say anything else, you've said enough after all and if it's more you want, it's more you get.

cove hugs you, one arm around your back and the other under your butt, and uses the power of his lower body to thrust up into you.

you yell, your nails scratching down his scales and to his back, surely scratching off skin if cove's hiss is anything to go by.

with the change of pace, the last couple inches of cove's dick forces itself into you. you can't even catch your breath since with every rearing of his hips, the knot at the base of his dick pop in-and-out of you.

"cove!" you slap his shoulder, shaking at the stimulation.

cove nips at your shoulder and chest, leaving small marks where he pleases. "you wanted more. don't blame me if you end up becoming my pathetic cock sleeve."

you whine, drool slipping past the corner of your lips.

he's really fucking you dumb, leaving you no choice but to think about nothing but his dick.

his fat tip keeps bumping against your cervix, hitting that lovely spot between your womb and your gummy walls.

"ah! ohh fuck!" you cry, cove has taken your nipple in his mouth, swirling his long tongue around the bud and teasing it with his teeth, your other breast in his hands, rolling the bud between his fingers.

you whimper and moan, shaking your hips in return. the sensation is so good, especially since he's keeping you from running with his arm around your waist, forcing you to take the pleasure he's giving you.

as if you would want to run anyway. you've become way too addicted to this now.

sure you and cove have been intimate before, but this is the most you've ever taken of his ridiculously large mer dick and this is the roughest he's ever been with you.

usually he’s the one holding your hips to keep you from sinking any further on his length. but now he's fucking you with reckless abandon, giving into your pleas after all this time…

it doesn't take much to succumb to the pleasure that you've been craving this whole time.

“cove!” you cry, your legs shaking.”i’m gonna, i’m gonna make a mess!”

cove growls, picking up pace, purposefully angling his tip to slam against your g-spot.

a couple solid thrusts is all it takes to have you shaking, your legs wrapped around cove as you squirt.

you're seeing white, your legs shaking and toes curling. you can barely process the groan that comes deep from cove's throat because of your convulsing cunt, you're wrapped so tightly around him that his cock drags against your walls when he tries to pull back.

you whine and shake, feeling sensitive after such an intention orgasm.

"cove…" you weakly call, pulling yourself up by his shoulders to try and get off his dick, that spongy spot inside your walls too tender from the abuse.

"don't pull away from me.." cove grunts, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter.

you pant, blinking and trying to keep consciousness.

you barely register that you're slipping into sub space, you've completely surrendered yourself to cove and obediently swallow the pearls he presses to your lips.

"mm, what.. what was that?" you ask, swallowing several times at the after taste. you know one of them was for breathing underwater, but you've never seen the other before..

"it's a contraceptive."

in this position you feel really small to cove, his body leaning over yours, completely trapping you between him and his nest.

combine that with his feral grin and sharp eyes… you're stuck and absolutely hypnotized.

"merfolk are very fertile, remember?" cove leans down to whisper in your ear. his voice deep and it penetrates your soul.

"we have a lot left to do before i impregnate you with my seed."

you shiver, looking at him with wide eyes. the thought doesn't terrify you, although maybe it should with what you know…

most humans don't survive it. and that's typically because they're not mated… something about DNA and special pheromones to relax and aid you in pregnancy and birth.

cove kisses your cheek, grinding his the tip of his dick near your womb. "don't worry… i know hoe to make it easier, don't be scared."

you nod mindlessly, trusting him.

"fuck!" you curse, the power of cove's thrust nearly burying you in his nest.

you cling onto his shoulders for dear life, your leg kicking out, allowing him to go even deeper.

"cove!"

"shhh, it's okay. just a bit more.." cove soothes, "i'm gonna cum soon…"

he groans, removing himself from your thoroughly marred neck to hold your legs and spreading them open, allowing him to piston into your weeping cunt.

you howl, throwing your head back and fisting the organized mess of blankets and materials of cove's nest, arching your back.

the movement just forces his dick deeper inside you, making you whine loudly.

you flip over, although not without much shaking, whimpering, and cove's nails digging into your skin.

although now that you've made it onto your stomach, weakly trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure, cove tugs your hips back and easily manhandled you.

he presses you against his chest with his hand, the other on your stomach, which he brings something interesting to your attention…

"fuck.. you see that?"

it takes you a minute to respond, too long because cove grabs you by your chin and tilts your head down, and shows you your stomach.

you moan lowly at the sight.

with every deep thrust you can see cove's dick protrude from your stomach, popping up right below your belly button.

cove lifts your head back up, his hand under your jaw, and he can't help but laugh at the tears running down your face.

"look at you, you've become a brainless slut."

you moan at cove's degrading comment. fuck you didn't think he had it in you but he does and you are losing it.

"maybe i'll keep you to myself forever. merfolk already have a bad reputation because of sirens.." cove growls in your ear, "wanna be my cute lil' cock sleeve, y/n?"

all you can do is beg and squirm for more.

"please.." you whimper, feeling cove's knot catching on your entrance. you want to be filled, you need him to cum inside..

cove laughs at your plea and kisses your lips, grinning a sharp toothed, wolfish smirk. "good girl, i'll take care of you…"

#sugar omi kinktober #sugar-omi kinktober #kinktober #olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #smut #cove holden smut #our life cove #cove holden x mc #cove holden x reader smut #our life smut

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