#I was like I should take a break from drawing faces let me draw A STARSHIP

[nightxcreature]

Sore Loser

Summary: Team Freewill has a game night

Pairing: None

Warnings: None

A/N: I have had the worst week. We had the flu and once we got over it, one of our best friends suddenly passed this weekend, and it just does not feel like Christmas for me At. All. We used to have game nights all the time with our friend and Uno was one of our favorites, so I wanted to put out something silly and fun, and this is the best I could do. Not edited, Written in roughly 10 minutes. I’m so sorry for being MIA, I’m truly trying to get back into a healthy mindset. Writing always makes me feel better but motivation has obviously gone out the window. What I wouldn’t give to be playing Uno in the bunker with these guys instead of living this nightmare.

Please do not steal my work, you don’t have permission and that’s real uncool. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated though, My Dudes. 🤙🏼

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“Kiss. My. Ass.” I bite across the table as I lay down one of the last cards in my hand. My eyes narrow in his direction and I send a sly smirk as I flip him off and say, “Uno.”

His green eyes narrow on my hand and the single card between my fingers. He glances worried down at his own hand and nods before steeling his features to rake his gaze back up to mine and take a slow sip from the bottle in front of him.

Castiel places a red 3 on top of mine, nervously glancing between myself and our friend. I can tell he’s unsure about playing another round with us when Sam lays a blue 3 on top of his red and Dean lets out a loud “Son of Bitch!”.

I send a vicious smile across the table, prematurely celebrating my win when Dean peeks over at Jacks hand. They lock eyes for a moment, seeming to be speaking telepathically when Dean’s own grin suddenly matches mine. He slowly pulls a single card out of his hand laying it down and giving Jack a solemn look, “Draw Four, Buddy.” Jack shakes his head, a pitying glance sent my way when pulls a ‘Draw Four’ card from his own hand, “I’m so sorry.” He mumbles as he lays it on the discard pile.

“You can’t stack cards!” I yell, “Since when do we stack cards?!”

Sam shrugs, a grimace crossing his face, “You stacked cards last round.”

“Yeah, well that was last round. We didn’t talk about it this round and-.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Sweetheart.” Dean cuts me off, the smirk never leaving his lips as he nods toward the pile, “Draw Eight.”

I stare open-mouthed down at the cards on the table, red filling my vision. I barely hear Sam speaking when I yank the cards up from the table and sling them across the room. Dean’s loud cackle echoes through the library and Sam slips his hand over to pull my drink to his side of the table before I can throw it at the older Winchester.

“I think you misunderstood what to do,.” Castiel’s monotone breaks me from rage and I turn to face him, taking several deep breaths as I do, “Here, let me help.” He says quickly and suddenly the cards are back on the table exactly as they were and Cas is counting out eight cards to add to my hand, “Here.” He says, holding them out to me with the most innocent of expressions, “That should be right.”

I stare blank faced at the angel before deciding against squaring up with God’s literal shield. I jerk the cards from his grasp and slouch back down in my seat to glare at Dean, whose shit eating grin couldn’t grow any bigger, “Your move.” He calls across the table smugly.

The game goes on well into the night, ending tragically with my drink in Dean’s face, his chair across the room, the table flipped, and both of us banned from playing Uno in ‘Sam’s Library’ ever again.

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Taglist: @lmhf1 @k-slla @whimsyfinny @aylacavebear @enigmalynne

@envysarchive @daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

@xinsonyax

[supertaliart]

Skywalker Siblings Part 3

First Previous

[heartswithinreach]

your post about sylus essentially conditioning the reader to sit on his lap hasjsakddf that was so perfect and in character 😭 i love it sm its given me so much brain rot - how bout this:

can i request the lads boys reaction to the reader randomly asking to be carried/picked up in the middle of walking? for no other reason just to see how'd they react lol

LaDS casually carrying MC

Xavier

The most casual. He just smiles at you and asks, "Bridal or piggyback?" in the same tone as if he's asking what you want to eat.

And he's not just playing along. He means it. He wants to be the one you lean on — metaphorically and literally.

You can try and backtrack but then you'll get those eyes. The bluest puppy dog eyes that can break the strongest of wills. "Are you sure? We still have a few blocks to go to the café, I don’t want you to get tired..."

You feel like you're holding out on him by not letting him carry you. The mind tricks this man is capable of to get what he wants are ridiculous.

You fold embarrassingly fast and Xavier is happy as can be with you on his back, your arms and legs around him like a full-body embrace. He can see the tactical advantage to carrying you like this during missions, too.

Rafayel

"You want me to carry you?“ Rafayel scoffs. “What if I pulled a muscle in my arm and couldn't draw for a week? No thank you!"

He refuses until you ask if it's not that he doesn't want to carry you, but that he can't.

Now you've wounded his pride. He might not be the God of the Sea anymore, but he can't let this go unanswered! Rafayel will be on you relentlessly to let him pick you up, no matter how long it takes.

"Whoa, be careful, cutie! There's no telling how deep these puddles are from all the rain — you're super lucky your boyfriend is here to carry you to safety."

When you finally break and let him do it just so he can prove a point, he realizes he likes this way more than he thought he would. You're like his adorable little prisoner and the only way you're getting out is in praise and smooches. This will become a regular thing, I fear.

Zayne

“I told you to wear more comfortable shoes.”

Zayne inwardly grins at how quickly you deflate at his blunt response. It's adorable.

But Zayne has a hard time denying you something so innocent as wanting to be close to him. So he guides your arm to wrap around his shoulders and picks you up with a strength that always takes you by surprise.

He waits for you to settle comfortably in his arms before he starts walking. He's aware of the disapproving stares from the people around you and not too long ago, he would've been one of them. How quickly his perspective has changed because of you.

Zayne is brought out of his thoughts when he feels you peck his cheek and now you get that oh so familiar look of gentle reproach from him. "I am working on being more affectionate but I'm not there yet, MC. Now, behave or your ride will end early."

Sylus

Sylus is so caught off guard that, for once, you can see his entire thought process play out through his expressions.

Surprise at your request, suspicion you're just toying with him, the realization you're being somewhat serious, and then the most gratified look you've ever seen on his stupid smug face.

Now you’re speaking his language. So delighted you’re finally catching on, he just picks you up and continues on his way without breaking his stride.

However, you didn't specify how he should carry you. So you're draped over Sylus's shoulder and to keep you there, his hand is dangerously high up on your thigh for being in public. The smack on your ass is so inevitable, you can feel it like it's already happened.

"You just said you were tired, now you want me to put you down? You need to learn to make up your mind, kitten. I'll just carry you until you're sure of what you want."

[nekomanager]

WHO'S GONNA FUCK YOU LIKE ME ♡

KUROO, BOKUTO, OIKAWA when you told them you wanna break up and they make you regret it

{mdni! 18+} deep penetration, overstimulation, dacryphilia, edging, slight orgsm denial, creampie, breeding kink

KUROO TETSUROU

Your face is buried into the pillow while your body shakes, about to reach the peak of pleasure until he draws his cock out of you.

“Mhmm…” you whine in complain as you rub your ass desperately against his cock.

Tetsurou leans down with his body pressing against your back. He cups your face, squeezing your cheeks a little forcefully, and whispers against your ear with a hint of annoyance, “I thought you don’t want me anymore.”

“Noo…No! Please…” you plead in the verge if tears. The ache of wanting to be penetrated by him is too difficult to bear. “Tetsu, please…”

“Didn’t you just say you wanna break up, huh?” The tip of his cock starts teasing you torturously as he rubs it against the lips of your pussy. “Too bad, the only thing that will break tonight…is you—”

Your eyes cross when he sharply shoves his steel hard cock with full force. It blazes so rough that it has you cumming and writhing beneath him. But Tetsurou is relentless. He fucks you so violently deep from behind, making his point clear by drilling into your pussy and into your head why you should never ever think of breaking up ever again.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart?”

“You…I want you!” Your head spins with the overwhelming pleasure. The orgasm comes rushing in over and over again.

He’s breaking you apart, railing you hard, making you regret spouting off that childish threat just because you are arguing over something so petty.

“Louder, Y/N! Say it louder!” he demands in a grunt, taking your wrists and using them as lever. Your bodies collide hard against each other, skins slapping and turning red.

“Tetsu! I want you, Tetsu!” you cry as tears of immense pleasure trickle down your cheeks. “Only you…ahhh!” You’re pathetic so pathetic to even think of breaking up with this man when you can’t even imagine a life without him, his cock, his touch, his love, his very being.

“Ugh- I’m coming hnggh-“ Tetsurou grunts as your bodies fell onto the bed. He laces your fingers with his so tightly and tenderly squeezes your hand while he spills all of him inside you.

He protectively cages you in his arms and hides his face in the nook of your neck. His embrace demonstrates how he refuses to let you go.

“Now, don’t you ever scare me like that again, okay?” he says before planting a soft kiss on your temple.

BOKUTO KOUTARO

“Hey, is this not enough? Am I not lovin’ you enough?” he asks while his fingers inside your pussy are doing all the work. “Are you really gonna break up with me?”

“I’m sorry…I didn’t- I didn’t mean— aaaah…” you moan, your back arching as he hooks his fingers and pumps even stronger.

“Maybe…this will change your mind…”

You pant when he removes his fingers only to be replaced by his huge cock. Your eyes widen as you take in his size. Up until now, your walls stretch to make him fit. His monstrous dick is enough to send you into a little orgasm.

You lightly shake as he begins moving his hips. You could feel your pussy stretch each and everytime he thrusts.

Your moans unstoppable and it encourages him to dig even deeper into you. “Baby, baby, can you feel it now, baby? Would you still leave me?”

“I won’t I! Ahhh haah…” You can’t even find the strength in yourself to respond.

“Y/N, baby!” He pushes your thighs down and puts himself in a squatting position.

“Ahhh haaah…Bokkun! Bokkun!”

He’s now plunging so deep into your womb your mouth opens wide at the blazing sensation building at the pit of your stomach.

“Are you still- ugh- gonna break up with me?”

“No! No! I can’t haah I can’t!” How can you when he’s rearranging your guts so rabidly your insides are taking the shape of his huge cock. Your pussy now knows him and only him alone you’re getting crazy with your mind thinking just him and how you don’t like him to stop fucking you like this.

“Fuck- I’m coming, baby! I’m comingh–“

You wrap your arms around him and seal your orgasms with a kiss. You felt his dick milk spill into you, warming up your tummy you’ll probably get pregnant with this. Your bodies relax around each other as you come down from your high.

“Are you…are you alright?” He tilts his head up to look at you. His eyes get a little teary. “Sorry, I got carried away. I really thought you’re gonna leave me.”

“No, I’m not, Bokkun. I won’t leave you,” you say, carressing the side of his face. “I have to say sorry too. I didn’t really mean what I said.”

He sniffs a little. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

You place a hand over your tummy. “No, but it was too deep we might end up having a baby.”

His eyes sparkle, renewing his spirit. “You mean we…We can have a baby? T-Then we can try again to make sure!”

“B-Bokkun!” you call but he’s already slipping a finger in your pussy checking if you’re well-lubricated to accept him. He gets hard again after finding out that your pussy is still stuffed with his cum.

“No more talks of breaking up, Y/N. Let’s make a baby instead.” And you both moan as he slips the tip right in and sinks so comfortably in you, gradually pushing his entire length in. His vigor is replenished with a new agenda in mind.

OIKAWA TOORU

“You seem to be taking my cock so well for someone who wants to break up,” Tooru says while you ride him so good your body slams against his everytime you take the entirety of him deep.

“Tooru! Tooru!” you moan and moan as he watches you with clenched jaw. You just don’t know how he wants to dick you so good you’ll your mind, but you have been quite a bad girl and he’s pouting a little. Now, he wants to remind you how much love him and his cock that breaking up with him is a

“You want…you want it don’t you?” he teases, holding himself back with the best if his ability, not moving his hips and letting take the rein yourself.

“Yes! Yes, please! Baby…” you beg as you place both hands atop his chest and slam your oussy hard against his cock. Oh, you wanna cum you wanna cum so desperately around him by his huge fat cock. “Please, Tooru, please.”

“That’s right…that’s right,” he hisses through his teeth. “Beg me s’more. Grovel, beg me some more.”

“Please, please, please, please,” you plead with every slap of your cunt against him. “I- I won’t! I… never…I won’t break up with you.” Your walls clamp him down in one final despair and that’s all it will take to lose his cool.

“Good girl.” His voice is rough and almost constrained. His hands smooth over your ass, massaging you teasingly. “Now, I’ll make sure you won’t forget about it.” He grabs the cheeks so tight and starts jerking upwards his member relentlessly hitting your cervix.

Your teeth grit against each other as you feel your head going numb. It is too pleasurable that it aches a bit, regardless you just keep in wanting and wanting more of it still.

Feeling his own orgasm rushing in, Tooru wraps his arms around you with unyielding strength. One of his hands cups the back of your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

He bends his knees with the balls of his feet flat on the bed, pushing his hips up as he rails you ferociously. Your lips quiver with tears brimming your eyes, making you whimper. The pleasure overcomes you and his cock grazes your walls with stinging heat. You’re losing your mind. It's drawing a blank. Vision blacking out as tour temples go numb yet your pussy feels the sore satisfaction.

“Aaah! Tooru! Tooru, baby… I! I!” The tremors over power your drool dribble down your chin as you moan. You came with pleasure washing over you, your body almost flailing it’s a relief he has you in a tight grip.

He chases his own release doubling his speed which sends you to another orgasm that has you both moaning and screaming each other’s names.

You shift your head to rest on his chest. Gently, he brushes the back of your head while both summer down.

“Babe…Tooru…” you mumble.

“Hmmm?”

“Do you still believe that I can leave you?”

You feel his chest vibrate as he laughs. “Not really. After all, you might not even walk straight tomorrow.”

@pixelcafe-network

[moonstruckme]

request: was thinking about that one video that’s like “my wife, she’ll get upset if she sees you touching me like that on my chest” “i am your wife” and then the heart monitor starts going crazy and that put a doctor remus idea in my head after r gets out of surgery/is on anesthesia for something or other

Thanks for requesting!

cw: hospital, mention of surgery

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 855 words

Lots of people would probably be happy to have their significant other visit them at work, but as it turns out, Remus really doesn’t like it. He’s used to seeing patients post-op, and yet somehow when it’s you it feels sad, all those tubes and wires connected to his girl. The fluorescent lighting turns your complexion wan and the wary frown on your lips as a nurse checks your vitals makes Remus’ heart feel like a bruise. 

It helps some when you notice his entry and they stretch into a dopey smile instead. 

“Hi, dove.” His voice is soft and smitten, an automatic reaction to seeing you that he’s already heard the new residents commenting on in the break room. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay.” You tug at the sheets on your bed. Ball them in your fists like you might be nervous. “My stomach hurts a little.” 

“That’s normal,” Remus assures you, even as his stomach dips in sympathy. He sits on the edge of your bed, taking your hand and beginning to draw tight circles into the inside of your wrist. “If it starts to hurt worse, or badly at all, you should let me know, alright?” 

“Okay.” Your voice has quieted slightly, your eyes following the motion of his thumb on your skin. You glance at the nurse as though checking if she sees. Remus feels his lips tip up bemusedly. 

“Everything alright?” he asks the nurse.

She smiles at the both of you, passing him a clipboard. “She’s stable, ready to move when you’d like.” 

“Thanks,” he says, reading over your vitals quickly after she leaves. He sets the clipboard down and gives your hand a squeeze. If your heart monitor gives a quick beep, he pretends not to notice. “You’re all set, lovely girl. We’ll get you to your own room in just a bit.” 

You nod, not seeming to hear him. You look to be gnawing on the inside of your lip. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Remus says gently, thumbing it free. Your eyes widen, and he drops his thumb to your chin, looking you in the eyes. “Is something the matter?”

You rub your lips together hesitantly. It’s normal to have a small fever after surgery, but your face feels suspiciously warm. “I just, um, I have a boyfriend.” 

Remus feels his face split into an irrepressible grin. He’d been wondering how the anesthesia would affect you. “Yeah, dove,” he agrees, delighted, “I know you do.” 

“I don’t…” Your eyes dart to where his thumb still rests on your chin, your shoulders gravitating towards your ears. “I think it would upset him if he knew you were touching me like this.” 

Truly, this could not be any better. Remus wishes he’d brought a video camera like James wanted him to. “I am your boyfriend, sweetheart.” 

Your expression freezes in place, but your heart monitor starts beeping loudly. Your eyes dart to it, alarm and embarrassment worsening, and Remus laughs, dropping his hand from your chin in favor of rubbing your shoulder until both you and the machine calm down. 

“You?” you ask. You appear nothing short of flabbergasted. 

“Yes.” He brings your hand to his smiling lips, kissing your knuckles as if to prove it. “Why, are you surprised?” 

“You’re serious,” you check. Remus has the opportunity to make a joke here, but he worries it’d only confuse you more. 

“I am,” he says. 

“But you’re so handsome.”

Another laugh startles out of him. “And what do you think you are? Of course,” he gives your knuckles another brief peck just to see your eyes flare again, “I would love you no matter how you looked, but you’re a far cry from hideous yourself.” 

You look taken aback by this news as well. Remus is half tempted to find you a mirror. 

Then you ask, voice soft as down feathers, “You love me?” 

Something in Remus’ chest goes all warm and mushy. “I do,” he says sincerely. “I love you so much, sweetheart, sometimes I don’t know what to do with it all.” 

You smile until your eyelashes kiss, and he can’t resist cupping your face again, smoothing his thumb along the skin of your cheek. 

“So that’s why you’re here?” you ask. 

“Well,” he hesitates, “yes, but I’m also here because I work here.” 

Your eyebrows raise. Your gaze dips to his white coat as if remembering it for the first time in a while. “Oh. You’re a doctor and my boyfriend?” 

“That’s right.” He squints at you amusedly. “Did you think I just snuck in here in a white coat so I could see you?” 

“My boyfriend is a doctor.” You don’t seem to be talking to anyone in particular, perhaps just asking the universe for confirmation. 

Remus decides to get back to business. “Right again, dove. I think it’s about time we get you to your room, yeah? Anything else I can do for you, anything you need?” 

“Nope.” You lay your head back on the pillow, looking somehow more dazed than when he’d come in. “I think I’m set. Like, probably for life.”

[thef1diary]

Piano Punishment | C. Leclerc

Summary: You feel neglected by Charles due to his busy schedule, so you ask him to play the piano for you to regain his attention. Things take a turn when you spread your legs right in front of him with only one rule: he must play without a single mistake.

Part 2: edged

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, masturbation, oral (fem receiving), fingering, overstimulation, spanking (like twice), things that should not be done on a piano.

wc: 2.4k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The summer sun filters through the lace curtains, casting intricate patterns of light and shadows across the room. You're standing by the window, feeling the heat of the day mixed with a simmering irritation. Charles had been distant lately, not entirely by choice. His time had been consumed by the relentless demands of being a Formula One driver. Now that summer break began, his focus had shifted to the excitement surrounding his new ice cream brand. Meetings, phone calls, and endless travel have left little room for the intimacy you once shared.

Determined to change that, you head to the bedroom, opening your wardrobe. You sift through your clothes, selecting a simple summer dress that clings to your curves in all the right places. It seemed normal, appropriate according to the weather, but it was just a part of your plan. You forego underwear, adding a tantalizing element only you were aware of.

You glance at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the dress and letting your hair fall loosely around your shoulders. Satisfied with your appearance, you left the bedroom, your mind set on drawing Charles away from his duties.

You find him in his study, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen, engrossed in some unknown task. You walk in quietly, your presence a gentle intrusion into his self-imposed isolation.

"Charles," you say, your voice soft but insistent. "I want you to play the piano for me."

He looks up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as he notices you standing there. His eyes take in your outfit, lingering on the way the simple summer dress hugged your curves. For a moment, he looked impressed, even a bit captivated, but then his expression shifted, a mixture of regret due to his duties.

"I've got so much work to do, mon amour," he stated, glancing back at his laptop, the weight of his responsibilities evident in his voice. "I really can't take a break right now."

You step closer, your fingers lightly grazing his arm, drawing his attention back to you. "Just one song," you coax, your tone leaving little room for refusal. "For me?"

He sighed, conflicted, but the look in your eyes and the subtle allure of your outfit began to sway him. With a reluctant nod, he closed the laptop and stood, following you to the living room. His piano stood majestically in the center, a reminder of the times when music flowed freely between you, of the mornings he woke you with melodies he created.

He sat on the bench, leaving enough room for you beside him, glancing up at you with a dimpled smile. However, you don't sit beside him as he expected. Instead, you climb on top of the piano, facing him with your legs dangling just above the keys. He raised his eyebrows in question but you only smiled in return.

"Play something beautiful," you whisper, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

Charles started to play, his fingers dancing across the keys with practiced ease. The melody was filled with the kind of emotion that only he could bring to life. As the music fills the room, you shifted slightly, spreading your legs just enough to give him a glimpse of your bare skin beneath your dress.

His fingers faltered, and he stops playing abruptly, his hands instinctively reaching out to grab your legs. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and desire.

You pull your legs back, out of his grasp and lean forward, your expression turning serious. "I waited for you for days," you spoke, your voice edged with frustration. "You never came, you were always too busy. So now your punishment is that you don't get me, even if I'm right in front of you."

He looks up at you, the realization of your words sinking in. There's a flicker of guilt in his eyes, mingling with the desire and frustration. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his hands falling back to his sides. "I didn't realize—"

"You didn't," you cut him off, your tone firm. "But now you do. So if you want me, you have to earn it. Play the song, baby, without mistakes."

Charles took a deep breath, his fingers returning to the keys. The music starts again, this time with a new intensity, a determination to meet your challenge. You sit back casually, spreading your legs just enough to reveal that you're not wearing anything underneath your dress.

He catches a glimpse and his fingers falter, a note going sour as he looks up at you, eyes wide with surprise and a flash of desire. His hands momentarily freeze over the keys.

"Focus, Charles," you say, lifting your hips up to scrunch the dress up to your waist, giving him a full view bare legs. His gaze shifts from being locked onto your eyes down to your exposed pussy as you spread your legs again. "No mistakes."

He swallows hard, his voice barely a whisper as he mumbles under his breath, "I want to touch you."

You shake your head slowly, a sly smile playing on your lips. "Earn it then," you murmur.

His fingers moved gracefully to press the keys but you could see the tension in his posture based on the way his eyes kept flicking up to you, struggling to stay on task.

The melody continues, though it's punctuated by occasional hesitation as he tries to concentrate. You decide to up the ante. You bring your fingers up to your mouth, wetting them with your tongue before slowly trailing your hand down to your clit, teasing it lightly. You moan softly, the sound mingling with the music, causing his fingers to falter momentarily. His eyes widen, darkening with desire, but he forces himself to keep playing, his jaw clenched with the effort.

You watch him intently, your movements becoming more deliberate. Your fingers slide down, dipping into your wetness, smearing it over your pussy before inserting two inside. You began to slowly thrust them in and out, your back arching slightly with the pleasure. The sight of you, combined with the sensual sounds you made, is almost too much for him.

Charles' eyes keep flicking back to you, his focus slipping more with every passing second. You can see the raw desire in his gaze, the way he watches your every move, almost hypnotized. He struggles to maintain the melody, but you can tell he's on the brink of losing control.

"Keep playing, baby," you whisper, your voice sultry and commanding. "No mistakes."

His playing grows more erratic, his fingers dancing across the keys dangerously yet he still manages to press every note correctly. You moan louder as you thrust your fingers deeper, and when you lock your eyes with him, your expression is one of pure seduction.

"Do you like watching me, Charles?" you purr, your voice thick with arousal. "Does it make you want me even more?"

He nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving you. You can see the struggle in his expression, the way he's fighting to keep playing despite the overwhelming distraction.

"Good," you continue, your fingers moving faster. "Because that's all you're gonna get until you finish the song perfectly."

His breathing becomes ragged, his fingers slipping more frequently on the keys but he manages to catch himself before making a mistake. He knows he can't afford to start over; his patience wearing thin, and his cock is straining almost painfully against his pants.

Determined, he pours every ounce of focus into the final notes, his eyes flicking between the keys and your fingers moving rhythmically. The tension in the room is electric, your moans growing louder, each one pushing him closer to the edge of his control.

As he nears the end of the piece, you can feel your orgasm building, your body trembling with anticipation. The last few notes ring out, perfectly played, just as your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you gasping and shuddering in pleasure.

As soon as his fingers left the piano keys, he wrapped one hand around your wrist, bringing your cum-coated fingers to his lips. He licks them clean, his gaze locked onto yours with a fierce intensity. He moans at your distinct taste, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine since you knew the skill he had with his tongue.

"You have no idea how much I missed this," he murmured, voice thick with desire.

Without waiting for a response, Charles lowered his head between your spread legs, his mouth finding your clit with unerring precision. His tongue worked expertly, flicking and swirling, as his fingers entered your wetness, thrusting in time with the rhythm he set.

The pleasure built rapidly, your body responding eagerly to his touch. "Charles," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on. The room was filled with the sounds of your breathless gasps and soft cries of pleasure.

His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open and at his mercy as he drove you relentlessly towards another orgasm.

"I want to feel you cum on my fingers," he mumbled against your sensitive clit, the vibrations of his voice sending you spiralling closer to the edge.

You could feel the tension coiling in your core, your body trembling as the waves of pleasure built higher and higher. "Charles, 'm so close," you panted, your voice breaking with need.

He intensified his efforts, his tongue and fingers moving with a coordinated accuracy that only heightened your pleasure. With a final, desperate cry, you shattered as your orgasm crashed over you in powerful waves.

Before you could catch your breath, Charles scooped you up, his strength lifting you effortlessly from the piano. He threw you over his shoulder, carrying you towards the bedroom with a determined stride.

"Charles!" you exclaimed when his palm landed on your ass, a mix of surprise and arousal in your voice.

He smirked, giving you another playful smack. "You think you can tease me like that and not face the consequences?" he asked, his voice low and dripping with desire. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, much less punish me for not giving you enough attention."

The anticipation and excitement made your heart race as he carried you into the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, his eyes dark with need as he quickly shed his clothes, revealing his hard, muscled body. He moved with purpose, his hands and mouth exploring your body with a renewed fervour once he stripped your dress off.

"You've had my attention all along," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot as he trailed kisses down your neck. "But today, mon bébé, you have all of me."

His words sent a shiver through your body, down to your pussy, clenching around nothing but air. He positioned himself between your legs, his body pressing against yours, his cock hard and leaking precum. With a deep, intense kiss on your lips, he entered you slowly, making sure you felt every inch. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intimacy.

He set a demanding pace, each thrust powerful and deliberate. His hands gripped onto your hips, holding you in place while the intensity of his movements left you breathless.

"I missed this so much," he panted, his eyes never leaving yours. "I missed you."

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you met his rhythm, your body moving in perfect harmony with his. "Charles," you moaned, your voice breaking with pleasure. "Don't stop."

He didn't. He continued to thrust into you with a relentless passion, his hands roaming your body, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting it. The room was filled with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, each moan and gasp driving you both closer to the edge.

"I'm going to make you cum again," he promised, his voice thick with desire. "And again. Until you can't take any more."

His words, combined with the intensity of his thrusts, pushed you over the edge. You cried out his name, your body convulsing with pleasure as your orgasm ripped through you. Charles didn't slow down; he continued to drive into you, prolonging your climax, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you thought you couldn't take any more, he shifted, changing the angle slightly, and began to move with even greater urgency. The sensation was too much, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. Another orgasm built quickly, your cries of pleasure filling the room as he brought you to the peak again.

He didn't stop until you were both completely spent, your body trembling and boneless beneath him. Only then, did he slow down, his movements becoming gentle, almost tender as he brought you down from the heights of your pleasure.

Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as his cum leaked out of your pussy. You both laid there, panting and content, the warmth of his body comforting against yours.

After a few moments of blissful silence, you looked at him with a playful glint in your eyes. "I guess the punishment worked, huh?" you teased, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Charles chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "It did, but do something like that again and I just might have to punish you."

Intrigued, you raised your eyebrows and straddled him. "Oh yeah? What would you do?"

"For one..." he trailed off, dragging his fingertips down your body. "I won't let you cum for days," he stated as his fingers made contact with your dripping pussy, making you twitch due to sensitivity.

"Might keep you on edge, touch you, and just when you feel like I'll let you cum, I'll rip it away," he added, his gaze focusing on his fingers pressing into you, pushing his cum back into your pussy.

You rolled your eyes at the sensation and his words, resting your head against his shoulder. "I don't know if I want you to do that or not," you mumbled truthfully. The idea was enticing, but knowing Charles, he would tease you until you lost your mind.

You could feel him chuckle underneath you. "It's entirely up to you."

Placing his fingers underneath your chin, he tilted your face towards him. "Behave, and it won't happen. Act out, and I swear, this was the last orgasm you'll experience for a long, long time."

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @nikfigueiredo @jointhehunt67 @sya-skies @charlesleclercsonlywife @dreamingonbed @wonnou @heylookwhoitis @67-angelofthelordme-67 @saachiep

[thehorrorgirlstyles]

Make you Scream

Billy Loomis x reader

Summary: You find out your boyfriend is Ghostface, which should scare you, instead it turns you on even more.

Warnings: Blood, Violence, sexual content, 18+ themes, swearing, foreplay, knife-play, mature themes, sex, reader is in denial

________________________________________________

"It's gotta be him right, I mean in a horror movie, it's always the person closet to you that turns out to be a fucking killer, I'm telling you man" Randy says to you as you both walk down the hallway of your school.

"Randy for the last time, Billy... who is my boyfriend as you know, is not a fucking killer.. trust me I know him better than anyone else... and besides if he was Ghostface I don't think he would be able to hide it from me" You reply, holding you books closer to your chest.

It's been a week since news of Casey and Steve's murders and Randy won't stop coming up with ideas on who the mystery killer is. First he pointed fingers at you because you never liked the girl, which he claims is a perfect motive. You don't like half the people at your school, but they're all still alive, so his reasoning is invalid. Now, he's claiming it's your boyfriend, which you think is ridiculous, I mean why is he naming all the people in your friend group for starters, you guys are friends for crying out loud.

"I don't know man Billy is pretty scary looking" He says opening the door to the library.

You walk in and drop the books off, "Well I think he looks sexy"

"Gross"

"Can we stop talking about Ghostface now, you know Stu is hosting a party tonight, you going?" You ask him.

"Yeah right, the killer will probably show up there, a bunch of drunk, not to mention high teens that probably won't notice if someone gets stabbed...but yeah I'll be there".

You roll your eyes at his dramatics.

------------------------------------------------------

After you left Randy, you went to grab a book you forgot in your locker. You decided to go now since everyone was in class and the halls would be empty.

You turn the corner and run straight into a hard figure. You look up to quickly apologize, but see no other than Ghostface himself. You gasp in shock and back away quickly, your heart starting to race.

Ghostface stares at you, mocking your movements. You see him pull out a knife from behind him. He looks at it and runs his fingers along the blade, toying with you. Quickly, you run past him and reach the stairs towards the main entrance of the school, but he's quicker. He grabs your arm, halting you from going down and pulls you backwards, your back meeting his chest. You try to break free, but he slices at your arm, the knife cutting into your shoulder. You scream out and fight against him.

He brings the knife up to your throat and pushes against it, cutting just enough to draw blood. You close your eyes, thinking this is your final moments and you curse yourself for not putting up more of a fight, but it never comes. He stays still, holding the knife against your throat, but not going deeper. You open your eyes and look up at him, but he's looking off to the side. What is he distracted by? You don't stay to think as you use this as a time to escape, you push at his arms and he lets go without putting up a fight. You didn't realize how easily he would let you go, as you were close to the edge of the stairs. You trip out of his arms and your foot skips a step, making you tumble down the stairs.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, your vision goes black and you can faintly make out two voices arguing.

--------------------------------------------------------

When you wake up, you feel your head pounding. You take in your surroundings and try to make sense of where you are. You look around the room and see your boyfriend sitting in a sit next to you, his face in his hands.

"Billy?" You rasp out.

He immediately looks up at you and rushes over to your side.

"Y/n, how are you feeling, are you okay?" He grabs your hand and goes to touch your hair.

"Yeah, I-I'm okay, are we at a hospital?" You ask leaning into his touch.

"You fell down the stairs, I found you and called the ambulance"

"Oh my God, I remember now..Billy the killer he was trying to kill me!.. He was at the school!"

He looks off to the side like he's angry at something, "I'm dealing with it, but uh- the doctor said you should be free to go tonight, your injuries where just minor, nothing serious, they think you weren't looking and tripped"

"That's goods, but the killer...wait what do you mean dealing with it?" You ask, confused by his response.

"Nothing, listen I have to go to Stu's party tonight, are you still up for it?" He ask, moving a stray hair behind your ear.

"Are you serious, I just told you I got attacked by the killer and you want to go to a party?" You look at him in disbelief.

"Trust me nothing's going to happen to you, I'll be by your side at all times... and you don't have to go, but the doctor said you'll be fine, I just really have to go Y/n"

You roll your eyes at him, "Fine, I'll go with you.. I need a drink anyways".

---------------------------------------------------------

After you got cleared from the hospital, you went home to change. Luckily you didn't break anything on the way down the stairs, getting away with the few marks left by Ghostface. Billy was adamant on going to this party, which makes no sense to you. Now that you think about it he didn't seem phased when you mentioned that a literal killer had you in his grasp ready to slice your throat. Weird.

"You look so hot Y/n... I heard what happened at school you okay?" Tatum says to you when she opens the door.

"Thanks, you too and yeah I'm okay it wasn't anything serious" You give her a hug and walk inside, your hands interlocked with Billy's.

"Hey I'm going to grab a drink, you want anything?" You shout to your boyfriend, over the loud music.

"No, I'm fine sweetheart, come straight to me after, don't want anyone slipping something into your drink".

"Ok, meet you by the front" You saying giving him a final kiss on the lips then leaving.

--------------------------------------------------

After you grabbed your drink, you walked back, frowning when you realize that Billy wasn't by the front.

Instead you see Randy by the door, drinking a beer, "Hey Randy, have you seen Billy?"

"I saw him go upstairs" He nods towards the stairs, continuing to drink his beer.

You go to walk upstairs, but he stops you, "Hey what happened at school?"

"What do you mean?...everyone heard that I fell down the stairs".

"Yeah..but like did you fall, or were you pushed?" He asks you, looking dead into your eyes.

You sigh, "It was Ghostface, he tried to kill me at the school, but something distracted him... He let go of me and I missed the step, when I woke up in the hospital Billy was there and he said it was better if I didn't tell the cops anything, that way Ghostface won't come after me anymore".

Randy scoffs, "Don't you see, it is so clearly him.. "don't tell the cops", that's complete bullshit, in what world would you not tell the cops a literal killer came after you?... and your stupid enough to agree with him, HELLO?!"

"Randy, enough with this Ghostface shit, I know you think it's Billy, but its not and if I was pushed down the stairs, it wouldn't be by him.. I do think it's a little weird he didn't seen phased by it, but I trust him.. he probably just didn't want to scare me into thinking Ghostface was going to come after me again and besides I'm pretty fine, just a few scratches".

"Whatever, you're either in serious denial or your a complete fucking idiot, I'm leaving.. call me later, if you're still alive be then" He grabs the door handle and walks out, slamming it shut.

You think that maybe Randy's right, even though he could have worded it nicer. I mean you were just in a hospital a few hours ago and now you're at a party?!

You brush off Randy's words and start to head upstairs. You pause when you get to the top, hearing hushed voices.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!..Why the hell would you go after Y/n.. when was that part of the plan?"

"You're going to kill Tatum, why can't I kill Y/n?"

"Uhh- maybe because Y/n is my girlfriend dumbass".

"Tatum is my girlfriend!"

"Yeah, but Tatum is just a means to an end, we actually want Y/n alive because I love her!"

"Whatever I'm going to go talk to Tatum before you kill her!"

Just as he stops talking, your phone starts to ring. Shit! You hurry up and try to turn it off seeing that it's Randy. This man has perfect timing.

"What the fuck was that?" Stu asks.

Before you can leave, a tall figure appears from around the corner. Billy stares at you, his facial expression unreadable. Your heart drops.

"Well What is it?" Stu asks.

He continues to stare at you for a minute before answering, "It's nothing, someone was probably at the bottom of the stairs".

You don't wait to hear Stu's reply and hurry down the stairs. WHAT THE FUCK?! Randy was right this whole time, Billy is ghostace? Stu is ghostface? THERE ARE TWO GHOSTFACE?!

"Y/n!" Someone calls your name.

You look behind you and see Billy standing by the stairs, he nods his head, wanting you to follow him upstairs. This is dumb right? You shouldn't go upstairs BY YOURSLEF with someone you know is a killer. You should call the police and turn both of them in.

You follow Billy upstairs. He leads you to one of the guest bedrooms, opening the door for you. You walk in first and he closes the door behind you, locking it.

You face him, waiting for him to speak. He smiles at you, shaking his head, "Why were you on the stairs?"

"I was looking for you".

"Hmmm, and you found me" He chuckles. "What did you hear?" he asks, walking closer to you.

You back up, your legs hitting the side of the bed, "Nothing".

"Mmmh, okay... Do I scare you?" He closes the gap between you.

"No".

He nods at your answer and he reaches behind himself, pulling a knife out of his pocket. He holds it up and quickly grabs you, applying pressure to your neck. You gasp at his quick movements.

"And what about now?" He says adding pressure, but not enough to actually hurt you.

"No".

"No? I don't make you scare sweetheart, even after you know what I have done, the people I've killed?"

"No".

You don't know why, but you're finding this to be extremly hot. Billy threatening you with a knife, but knowing that he would never hurt you. Maybe you're just sick in the head, after all your boyfriend is a murder, you shouldn't feel this way, but you do. Maybe it's because of all the dark romance books you have been reading or maybe it's because you love him too much that you can cast away his flaws. You should probably call the cops, but instead you rub your legs together, the friction does nothing to ease your aching cunt.

Billy catches the movement without his eyes, and groans when he sees what you're doing, "You're enjoying this?".. "You're more sick than I am, what a dirty whore you are" He chuckles out.

You moan, "Billy pleasee, I-I just need you".

"You want it baby?" he guides the knife over the top of your chest.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface".

His eyes darkenen in response as he halts his movement, looking at you. He grabs at you quickly and slices your top open with the knife, exposing your breast. The cold meets your chest, your nipples hardening. He looks down at your breast and moves his mouth to meet your bud. He licks and flicks at it with his tongue. He moves up to your neck and laps at it, leaving marks. You moan and wrap your arms around his neck, encouraging him to continue his bitting.

When he finishes attacking your neck, he picks you up and throws you on the bed. You gasp as your back meets the mattress. He gets on top of you and starts to undo his belt.

"Turn around and get on all fours" He tells you, slapping your cheek.

You listen to him and flip over on your stomach. After he gets his pants off, he flips your skirt over, exposing your bare cunt.

"You didn't wear anything underneath?" He asks in shock, but he quickly turns unfazed.

"Always prepared for me huh sweetheart" He pulls your legs closer to his hip and you can feel just how hard he is. He rubs his tip against your entrance, making you grow wetter by the second. Without warning he pushes his length past your folds. Making you scream out. You quickly adjust to his big size, the pain turning into pleasure.

He snaps his hips back and forth. Your whines egg him on as he continues to fuck into you ruthlessly not caring if you can take it. He doesn't let you gather your breath, each movement your face pushes more into the sheets. You cry out, but it's muffled by the sheets. He repeatedly hits your g-spot, making you cry out even more.

"Fuck, look at you making a mess on my cock, you're a fifthly little thing aren't you?" He pulls you up, your back meeting his chest, waiting for you to answer him.

"Only for you Billy~" You whine out, tears forming in your eyes from the pleasure.

He pushes you back down into the sheets, his movements continuing, "That's right baby, you're mine, my dirty slut, my pussy to fuck, my cunt to cum in".

You feel his dick twitch inside of you, knowing that he is close. You moan out his name, begging for him to fuck into you faster. He listens, his pace picking up. Your wet pussy hugs his dick, clenching around it tightly.

"Fuck, Y/n..I'm gonna cum, you feel so good... so wet for me baby"

You moan in response, as you feel yourself getting closer and closer. With one final snap of his hips you clench down on his cock, causing him to reach his climax too.

"Fuckk~" He pulls your body closer to him, making sure that his dick is fully inside you as far as it can go. You feel his cum painting your walls as he comes undone. He collapses on top of you, his dick twitching inside of you. When you both calm down from your highs, he flips you over, pulling your naked body on top of his.

After you both finish, you lay on the bed together. He holds you to his chest and strokes your hair. You look up at him and he grins at you. You reach up to meet his lips. He kisses you back immediately, humming into the kiss. After a while, you pull back and look up at him, meeting his eyes.

"Please don't kill Tatum, I like her".

He chuckles, "Whatever you want baby".

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[somejazzinthemorning]

snapshot.

Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: overuse of pet names because i'm a romantic, masturbation, mentions of sex. not beta-d so sorry for typos or mistakes ] - Word Count: 1K

you capture a candid photo of your boyfriend sleeping. little do you know, this innocent act sparks some ideas in his mind.

(i needed to do something after i saw him in boyfriend mode taking photos of his girl. hope this is a good way to make my comeback. soon i'll post about the little break I took. love you all. hope you enjoy) 🫶🏼

The morning sun pours its golden rays through the curtains. You wake up with its gentle kiss. The warm glow envelops you, seeming to prickling your naked skin. You find yourself nestled in its embrace, entangled in a sleepy haze, locked in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness.

You sigh as you open your eyes.

The gentle glow of the light dances around you, creating a peaceful ambiance that centers on the man lying next to you. Carlos. His head rests on the pillow; hair falling in disarray over his forehead.

Owning the image before you, your eyes don’t shy away from taking in the whole scene—the slightly parted lips, the shadow of his long eyebrows, the naked chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow breaths. There’s a serene vulnerability about him in that morning light, a beauty that begs to be immortalized.

And you know you can’t trust your mind for that. You can’t afford to have time tarnish it.

So you shift in bed and reach for the nightstand where your phone rests, and you aim the camera at Carlos. For a second, it seems a crime to so casually steal that image of beauty and serenity with something as mundane as a touch on a screen. Beauty like that deserves more effort.

Carlos stirs slightly, a fragment of a smile playing on his lips as he mumbles, with his eyes still closed,

“What are you doing?” There’s drowsiness in his voice, laced with a hint of amusement.

“Nothing,” you whisper softly. “You just looked so pretty.”

He smirks and runs his hands over his face. “I should feel violated,” he teases, extending his hands towards you, “My turn, now.”

Handing him the phone, you watch him. His gaze shifts to you with a different glint. You’re sitting on your knees in bed, the sheets around your legs, and nothing but your hair covering your chest. Reclining in bed, he points the camera at you. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your hands, the modesty you still hold translated into something similar to a pose.

Carlos lets out a soft groan. “No, no,” he protests, “you can’t hide those from me.”

“You want a photo of my boobs?”

“Sí, to have it as a keepsake in my wallet.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and giggle at the sight of him. The sleepy eyes. The messy hair. The ridiculously overly feminine case on your iPhone that looks absurdly small in his big hairy hands. And all of this bathed in the soft glow of morning light and the memories of last night when you loved each other to sleep... God, you feel so lucky to have found this man.

Tilting your head to the photo, a faint smile grazes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, disregarding the phone pointing at you.

“The hair,” he directs.

This time, without even noticing, you were already obeying. You sweep your hair back, leaving the strands to cascade down your back. The soft sound of the clicks locks this moment into eternity. Looking down, you see the streaks of light cutting through your chest, drawing parallel lines over your naked bosom. You pass your fingers over it. Click. You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the light. Click. Your arms stretch over your head, in a casual stretch like you've done any morning, without a camera aiming at you. Click.

When you look back at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

A mischievous twinkle awakens in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. Probably way more than you.

You let your fingers rest over your lips. Click. And then they hover over your jawline and your neck, which is still sore and probably painted with small hickeys. Click. Patiently, they glide over the curves of your chest with a fatherly touch, a tease enough to make your skin erupt into goosebumps. Before you dare to touch yourself, you look up.

“Do you like this?” His voice cuts the silence. And God, it’s so much deeper than before. “Tell me, love. Do you like having me here… watching you?” You nod. “Go ahead then. Play with them.”

You obey his command, gently pressing your fingertips against the buds on your chest and grazing over your nipples. Without realizing it, you squeeze your legs together. Carlos probably notices it because he moves in his place. When you look up, his hand is cradling his cock over the blanket. The power of his words and the sight of his hand on his cock are enough to make your breath hitch. You intensify your touch, tracing circles around your nipples, feeling them harden under your touch. Click. Your eyes never leave him as you continue to play with yourself, knowing you're putting on a show for him. The thought sends shivers down your spine and makes you wetter than before.

His hand doesn’t move too much, almost like he’s saving himself for you. You can see the tension building in him, the way his muscles are tense and his jaw clenched. It's a game of self-control, and you both know it.

"Spread your legs," he commands in a low voice. You obey without hesitation, spreading your legs wider and giving him a full view of your body. Click. "Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I want to be inside you."

The mattress shifts, and as you look in his direction, you can see him crawl towards you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race. Reaching for your chest, he kisses the spot your fingers are still pinching. He circles his tongue around your hard nipple, making you shiver, as if an electric current is flowing between the both of you. You arch into his touch, wanting more.

And then his teeth graze over your chest, ever so slightly, before he bites into it, making you gasp and whimper. The combination of pleasure and pain has you gripping the sheets tightly as he continues to tease and torment your sensitive nipples.

His hot breath is fanning over your face as he looks down at you, panting and begging for more. A smirk plays on his lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “Such a good girl,” he praises, before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his tongue is demanding and forceful, exploring every inch of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you desperately try to deepen the connection.

His fingers trail down from your chest to your stomach and then lower, slipping between your legs. The other hand keeps holding the phone, registering it. You take a couple of seconds to notice it, but you’re shaking. Burning.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growls, before abruptly pulling away from you and returning to his seat. Arousal is dripping down your thighs as you watch him recline against the headboard. “Go ahead. Touch yourself.”

The memory of his lips and teeth seem to feed your body and arousal. You’re burning. The feeling of the sun on your skin only feeds that feeling. A warm tingling spreads through your chest and down to your core. You slide your fingers down. And God, you’re truly wet. You didn’t realize how hot this little game had turned you. You push your knees further apart, which earns a satisfied groan from your boyfriend.

"Do you want a photo of that too?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, feeling the heat radiating off your body. Without losing eye contact with him, you slide your fingers down to your throbbing center, spreading your folds and teasing yourself with light touches. His eyes are dark and intense as he watches you pleasure yourself under his gaze.

"Fuck," he groans, snapping another photo of your hand between your legs. You moan at the sound of his voice. "I love watching you, baby. You look so pretty."

Carlos repositions the phone to make you be right at the center. It’s a masterpiece. Your body fits perfectly within the frame of the phone. Your skin taken by the streaks of light, golden sunshine gilding your naked body almost like blessing the pleasure you're implying on yourself. You’d later learn that you looked unreal in those photos—something pulled out of a painting, shadows and light in perfect harmony. But in that moment, you just felt needy and desperate.

"Can I move?" You ask, your voice shaking with need.

"You can do what the fuck you want, baby," Carlos replies, his eyes never leaving you as he slides out of bed. You feel a surge of confidence and power as you take his spot, spreading your legs wide.

Your fingers slide over your wet lips, teasing yourself with light touches. Carlos sits at the end of the bed, watching intently. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on your juices and they sparkle in the light.

Your eyes meet his, and he nods encouragingly. You let out a breathy moan as you start to move your fingers in circles over your clit. The pleasure builds quickly within you, and you hear Carlos let out a low growl.

You slide two fingers inside of yourself, the wetness making it easy for them to slip in. You let out a loud moan around your fingers, imagining they're Carlos' instead. The thought of him filling you up makes your walls clench around your fingers.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you want Carlos with you. "Carlos," you cry out his name, hoping he'll join in and take over where your fingers are currently working.

But he doesn't move from his spot at the end of the bed. He continues to watch you with dark eyes, his hand still hovering over his erection but not touching it.

You can see the longing in his gaze and it only fuels your desire further. You want him desperately, to be taken by him until all sense is lost.

You call out to him again, pleading for his presence and touch. You long for him. His hand tightens around his erection as he struggles to hold onto control. Your eyes lock with his, and he lets out a small laugh of helplessness.

"Use your words, baby," he grunts. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, come here."

"Not yet."

"Can I?... Please? Can I cum?"

"Yes. Go ahead. Give in for me."

You comply, arching your back and pushing your hips forward. Your fingers glide in and out of your body at a rapid pace, your breaths becoming shallow and erratic. Carlos' gaze never wavers from you, and the sound of his gentle moans fills the room.

Climax is imminent.

You can feel it building, a searing warmth spreading through your veins, threatening to consume you completely. You know you're on the edge, but you want to prolong this moment, revel in the pleasure of it all.

When you open your eyes, he's standing by your side. The camera is focused on your face, but his eyes? His eyes are fixed on yours. All his attention is on you.

"I'm—," you gasp, meeting his gaze, your voice barely audible. “I'm so close.”

“I know, my love,” he whispers. Click. “Let yourself go for me.”

As the words leave his lips, you feel yourself start to unravel. Your body trembles with ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers still working their magic on your slick folds. It hits you like a wave, stealing your breath and lifting you higher, as you cry out his name and arch your back, almost like being pulled towards him by an invisible force. The camera continues to click as your body convulses, capturing every bit of your ecstasy, your face twisting into a mix of pain and pleasure.

As you come down from your high, you're aware of Carlos moving around the room. The bed dips slightly, and then he's beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your sweat-damp skin.

“Can you take me now?,” your voice low. “Please?”

Had this one in my mind all day so I just needed to sit down and write it down before it would vanish. I know I've been MIA, but I see all the support you keep giving me. You're all incredible. Hope you enjoyed this one silly thing. As always, all feedback is appreciated. 🫶

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks. 

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling. 

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him. 

“I can’t,” you say. 

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.” 

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.” 

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat. 

“James…” 

“Just hit me,” he says. 

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage. 

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to hit you, James.” 

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.” 

“I’d rather not, though.” 

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.” 

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.” 

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.” 

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm. 

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest. 

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!” 

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.” 

“I am not punching you in the face.” 

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say. 

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple. 

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests. 

You relax. 

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.” 

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two. 

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority. 

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.” 

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined. 

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.” 

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint. 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?” 

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.” 

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?” 

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.” 

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.” 

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift. 

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy. 

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses. 

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” 

“I need stuff.” 

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.” 

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.” 

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance. 

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does. 

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?” 

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.” 

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.” 

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…” 

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there. 

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them. 

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise. 

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.” 

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.” 

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.” 

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour. 

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?” 

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” 

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.” 

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before. 

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.” 

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues. 

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns. 

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says. 

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.” 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.” 

“Maybe next time,” you appease. 

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks. 

You laugh. “She was nice.” 

“Very motherly.” 

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?” 

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.” 

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.” 

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?” 

“No! When?” 

“The third.” 

“What does he like?” 

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.” 

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.” 

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely. 

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction. 

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door. 

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.” 

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.” 

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly. 

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years. 

“How exhausting,” you’d said. 

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.” 

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames. 

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot? 

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork. 

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat. 

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?” 

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending. 

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?” 

“I’m actually not sure.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.” 

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it. 

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously. 

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?” 

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask. 

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.” 

“Sorry.” 

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?” 

“I’ll just be in your way.” 

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.” 

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.” 

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly. 

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”  

“I resent that!” James calls. 

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one. 

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.” 

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.” 

“We’re both fine,” you say. 

“Were you worried about us?” James asks. 

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk. 

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company. 

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real. 

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths. 

“Bit my tongue,” you say. 

“Ouch,” Remus says. 

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually. 

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down. 

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.” 

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased. 

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.” 

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.” 

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.” 

“And the rest,” James snorts. 

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself. 

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask. 

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.” 

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?” 

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask. 

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country. 

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood. 

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.” 

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says. 

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.” 

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask. 

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.” 

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.” 

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly. 

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.” 

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead. 

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Of course.” 

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise. 

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.” 

He’s angry. 

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.” 

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.” 

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones. 

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner. 

[creamflix]

can I have nanami + mistletoe (naughty) 😈😈😈

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ want to check out other gifts? ・:〃➜ click here! 

NANAMI knew this was a terrible idea. he didn’t need to look up to know the mistletoe was dangling just above your heads. 

what cruel, festive prankster even hung it there? his money was on satoru.

he shifted uncomfortably in the doorway of your house, half-blocking gojo from barging in and causing chaos. the white-haired menace had just been lingering around the mistletoe, openly smirking, clearly waiting for an opportunity to swoop in.

“don’t you have someone else to bother, gojo?” nanami asked, his voice calm but laced with thinly-veiled irritation.

“oh, come oooonn, nanamin,” gojo drawled, leaning casually against the wall. “it’s christmas! and isn’t it tradition to kiss under the mistletoe? don’t be shy, I’ll take care of it for you.”

you rolled your eyes, though your heart fluttered at the implication.

“gojo, maybe you should —”

“out,” nanami said firmly, stepping forward to nudge gojo away from the door.

“fine, fine. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do,” gojo teased, winking as he finally wandered off, leaving you and nanami alone under that cursed sprig of greenery.

you turned to nanami, unsure whether to break the silence or pretend like the mistletoe wasn’t there. “so... uh —”

“there’s mistletoe,” nanami interrupted, his gaze flicking up briefly before returning to you.

“i see that,” you said softly, your cheeks heating.

nanami cleared his throat, his hands awkwardly smoothing down his tie.

“it’s... tradition,” he murmured, his usually steady voice faltering.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face. was he... nervous?

nanami kento, the epitome of composure, looked like he was debating the ethics of kissing you.

“tradition’s important, right?” you teased gently, tilting your head.

“yes. it’s... important to honor traditions,” he said, sounding almost defensive. his brow furrowed as he looked at you, his hesitation obvious.

“then what’s stopping you?”

his breath hitched, his hand twitching at his side. “i don’t want to —” he stopped himself, his jaw tightening.

“i don’t want to overstep.”

you took a shaky breath, feeling your own nerves bubbling up. this was nanami, the man you’d quietly pined after for far too long.

and here he was, standing inches away from you, looking so painfully earnest it made your heart ache.

“kento,” you said softly, reaching up to tug lightly on his tie, pulling him closer. his eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze.

then, as if a dam had broken, his hands came up to cup your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that stole the very air from your lungs.

his lips were warm and firm, moving against yours with a desperation that felt so unlike his usual controlled demeanor. you gasped softly, and he groaned in response, the sound deep and raw as he leaned into you, one hand slipping to brace against the doorframe while the other remained on your cheek.

you whimpered against his lips, your fingers curling around his tie to pull him closer. his breath hitched again, and suddenly his knee was nudging between your legs, the motion subtle but enough to send a jolt of heat through your body.

“kento,” you whined, your voice barely audible.

“you have no idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, “how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

you let out a soft laugh, breathless and giddy. “and here i thought you didn’t notice me.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.

“notice you? you’re all i think about,” he confessed, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

your heart swelled, and before you could second-guess yourself, you shifted against his knee, drawing a sharp inhale from him.

“don’t,” he warned, his tone half-serious, half-pleading.

“don’t what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you did it again, this time more deliberately.

he groaned, his grip on you tightening as his knee pressed up more firmly in response. “you’re going to ruin me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

“maybe it’s tradition to ruin you under the mistletoe,” you teased breathlessly, grinning against his lips.

“if it wasn’t, it is now,” he murmured, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, and this time, neither of you held back.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing his way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[nanamiscocksleeve]

May I request a situation where Kento suddenly turns corrupt in a way that he loses all respect and simply wants to sexually take advantage of fem!reader? Just fucking her rough like a rag doll. Whether it be a curse or aphrodisiac (that can be up to your amazing imagination) But of course, there’s consent and miss reader has a ball with it.

Ohhhh! This is what I needed to break back into writing JJK. But I feel like there's defiinitely some work out there where Kento rough fucks his s/o thanks to a curse or aphrodisiac and I was struggling to write something that felt fresh. This might be a little softer than what was asked because while I'm ok with writing degradation, I think Kento would struggle quite a bit with this.

I hope I've done this justice!

Warnings: MDNI, degradation, derogatory name calling, CNC, objectification, dacryphilia, free use, rough sex, S&M

Use Me

It's a quiet evening as your husband brings you a warm cup of coffee, pressing a kiss to you head as he sits next to you. He stretches and lets out a breath, relishing the peace, and puts an arm around you, drawing you closer for comfort. You sip quietly and appear lost in thought. Ever observant, Kento quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Something on your mind?" To his surprise, your eyes flick up to his over the coffee cup and a blush starts to dust over your cheeks and nose. "What's with that face?" Kento smiles, flattered at the sight and puts a hand on your wrist to lower the coffee cup. Your lips twist into an embarrassed smile and you shake your head, looking away.

"It's nothing I was just thinking about something." You sip and put the mug down on the table. Kento notices the way you hold yourself, the slight tension in your shoulders and the way your eyes look like you want to divulge a secret but were unsure if you should do so. The hand on your wrist slides and he lays his large, warm, hand over yours.

"What is it sweetheart?" He brushes away some stray strands of hair from your face. You bite your lip doubtfully, then decide to spill the beans. "Kento, there's something I want us to...try." You say in a strange tone, like you're still weighing the cons. Kento nods, encouraging you to go on.

"It's...related to sex."

This catches his interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It might not be something you're into."

"Try me." He reassuringly pulls you against him, allowing you a grateful moment of privacy as you hide your face in his neck. You clear your throat and continue.

"I want you to take advantage of me. Sexually."

"Am I not already doing that?" Kento jokes but you shake your head, your hair tickling his skin.

"I mean...I want to be used. Objectified. Degraded. Made to feel like I'm just a toy for your entertainment." You pause and he feels you take in a deep breath before continuing. "I basically want you to reduce me to being holes that you use for your pleasure and nothing more."

Kento's heart pounds in his chest as you word your request. "You want me to use you like that?"

"Yeah. And like, I don't want you to be gentle either. I want you to be rough. Like leave bite marks all over me. Don't have sex with me. Fuck me. Roughly. Hard." The blood in his veins grows hot and he pets your hair.

"Are you sure?"

"It's something I always wanted to try. Not that I don't like how it is now. But. I didn't know how to ask." You feel his lips nuzzle your ear and his hands reassuringly stroke your back.

"Sweetheart you know I'm willing to try a lot of things. But I never want to compromise your safety or well-being. I can be rough if you want. But you need to tell me if it's too much. I can't stand the thought of doing something that'll hurt you."

"You won't hurt me. And we have our safe word. I promise to use it." There's a moment of silence as Kento imagines how this would go. You're his favorite person in the whole world, whom he loves and respects. But at the same time, this idea has him incredibly aroused, the thought of using you to his will and forcing you to submit to debauched acts that he's never allowed himself to think about.

He presses another soft kiss to your forehead.

"If it'll make you happy then all right."

--------

You whimper as Kento bites your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, wiping away the blotch with his thumb. He's unrecognizable to you. You've only seen him like before for a specific scenario; when he's hunting down a curse. It sends a skitter of fear through you but also brings forth a strong rush of arousal that makes your cunt clench in need.

"Now remember slut, you're mine to be used. And I'm only letting you rest after I've fucked and filled you to my satisfaction. And if I hear you complaining, know that I have better uses for that mouth. Now on your knees."

You kneel, keeping your eyes trained on the floor, feeling your heart pounding at what was about to happen. Kento roughly yanks your head up by your hair. "Open."

You part your lips then gasp as he shoves his cock without warning, sliding the hard flesh down your throat. You try to relax your muscles, choking in relief as he comes up then repeats the action. You're on the verge of gagging before he gives you reprieve. Saliva drips from your mouth as he gathers your hair and pushes back in, holding you firmly in place until your nose hits his pubes before thursting forcefully, grunting at the slickness of your wet, willing mouth.

You feel your breathless from the effort of keeping him in your mouth, feeling him nearly touching the entrance to your throat, tears streaming from your eyes as you struggle to accomodate all of him. When he finally pulls out you take in a thankful breath of air, spluttering from the freedom.

"Pathetic. Can't even deepthroat cock. What good are you?" His hands wrap around your throat just hard enough to give you that dizzying light-headed feeling as your brain is deprived of air before letting go. He pauses, watching you writhe on the floor to catch your breath. Once it steadies, he commands you.

"Crawl."

Turned on and feeling debased, you get on your hands and knees and start crawling on the floor, your ass jiggling with each movement that you make. You hear footsteps then squeal as Kento's hand slaps the soft flesh. You freeze as the sting ripples through you before Kento jerks your head back by your hair.

"I didn't say to stop crawling. Stupid whore. Who said you can stop just because you felt a little pain?" He brings his hand down repeatedly as you pathetically begin to crawl again, sniffing as you go.

"Crying when you know this all you're good for? Stop acting like you're above this." He leaves your ass smarting, red and pulsing from his abuse. His calloused hands grab your fleshy cheeks and spread them apart and he chuckles darkly. "Don't tell me you're turned on."

You whimper as you feel him insert a finger into your moist hole, probing forcefully before withdrawing. "Just when I thought you could sink no lower. You really are nothing but a basic piece of meat just hoping a cock will fill you and make you feel like you have a purpose."

His finger withdraws and he pulls you up abruptly, his hands harshly squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples aggressively and earning a keening noise from you, your whole body feeling a sensitive blob. He twists and pulls, and you squirm in his grasp, causing him to growl and grip your chin, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Stop acting like you want to escape." He firmly spanks your pussy and your body jolts from the surprise, a cry leaving you. "You crave this. Want this. Because deep down, you know there's nothing more you want than to be a glorified fucktoy. That's all. You're a vessel to hold my cum, if I decide you're worthy enough to receive it."

He pushes one of your breasts up to his mouth and suckles roughly and you can feel the edges of his teeth skimming along the sensitive peaks. Kento releases it and does the same for the other, and just when your senses start to calm down, he sinks his teeth into the nipple, just hard enough for you make a noise of pain. He smirks.

"Oh. So you do have a limit." He bites the other nipple with similar force and you let out a broken sob. "Tsk. You're not very good at being a fucktoy are you?"

He shoves you to the bed and you fall on the soft mattress. You hear the clink of chains and see him securing handcuffs around your ankles before securing the free ends to the bedposts, angling your legs so that they're spread apart wide. Your wet pussy is exposed to his feral eyes and he licks his lips at the sight of the glistening membranes. He flicks your clit cruelly, enjoying the way you twitch and struggle.

"Oh you're dumb aren't you? Haven't you learned what happens when you try to avoid me?" He spanks your clit again, and your eyes roll back into your head as you try to separate the confusing blur of pain and pleasure that shoots through you body.

"Why is it that the more pain I give you, the wetter your dumb whore cunt gets?" The resounding echo of his palm on your wet folds gets louder with each slap until your clit is swollen and red from the repeated blows.

"Look at that. You actually want more after all that." Before you can process what's happening, Kento shifts on the bed and plunges his hard cock into your pussy. The stretch makes you sob because you weren't quite ready for him, the push slightly painful, but as you adjust to him, the feeling fades. His movements are harsh and selfish, swiftly bottoming out each time and hitting your cervix, setting a brutal pace that has you feeling like you might black out.

You let out a shocked squeak as his thumb starts to manhandle your clit, brushing over it in savage strokes that bring you dangerously close to the edge. Strings of incoherent noises spill from your lips, sounding more and more animalistic as your brain turns off all rational thought and begins to fill with need. You just wanted to orgasm, then have the satisfaction of Kento's seed filling your wet channel, to feel him soften inside you before the next round....

You let a quivering wail as your orgasm hits and Kento huffs in satisfaction as he feels your walls clenching him as you cum. Your feet thrash against their restraints as the ripple of orgasmic pleasure rocks your body. "You can't help it can you? Being a cumslut?"

His hips start to pick up pace and slam into you as he chases his orgasm, his breathing becoming ragged, hands digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he uses your hole to satisfy the raging, primal need that's fuelling his actions. His movements become sloppy and the edges of his vision start to blur.

"Here it comes. Your reward. Try not to spend it all in once place." With a final thrust, thick ropes of cum start to fill your insides and he shudders with the satisfaction. A moment passes before he pulls out of you, leaking his seed as he withdraws. You lay spent and exhausted on the bed.

Kento finally breaks character and crouches over you. "You didn't use your safe word."

"I didn't need to."

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[slu7formen]

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader (halloween) 🎃

you prepare luke’s make-up for halloween night

warnings: just pure sexual tension 🫦

₊˚⊹♡

"You´ll be taking care of me, little Red Hood?" Luke asked, sitting down on the wooden chair placed in the middle of the room at cabin eleven.

Your silk red skirt brushed the back of your thighs as you turned around, cleaning the last bit of face paint from a thin brush. "I will, Mr. Castellan" you joked.

The cabin is packed, like most of the time, but today was for a different reason. A bunch of Hermes´ boys were getting their make up done by you and your sisters, the reason? Halloween night. It was kind of a tradition for the Aphrodite cabin to help out with the costumes for the big party. And as much as a pain it is to help all the campers, you couldn´t deny that it was fun to pick out what your friends should be dressing out as for tonight and then doing their makeup to match the costume, and right now, it was time to help the worst breed; the boys.

They were men, therefore, they were basic, they´ve all decided to dress up as skeletons.

Soft pop music was playing inside the cabin as you felt a faint smell of cherries and hot chocolate. It was a comforting yet fun place to be at right now, like a beauty salon, but chill and without the white lights and burning chemical smells. More of your sisters were currently taking care of some other boys´ make up, painting their faces in black and white scary features that would barely make them look human at night, and now, it was Luke´s turn.

Luke´s face was already quite chiseled, like those marble Greek statues. You stepped back a second to take a good look at his face; sharp features, big nose, small eyes, plushy lips. Good, this would be fun.

"Alright" you state, "Just stay still and let me do all the work"

You leaned in slightly, starting to draw the outline of Luke´s face with a white make-up pencil. You and Luke stood silent, unlike the rest of the campers who kept on chatting and screaming at each other due to failed skeleton features. You planned on doing the simple; a white or pale base with black features like eyes, nose, cheekbones and mouth, maybe even some shadows, just like you did with Connor and Travis, who specifically asked for you to prepare them.

"I didn´t know you were so good at this" Luke finally spoke, anticipating to break the ice a little.

"What can I say?" you smiled, "I have many hidden talents"

You continued on, working in the lines, making the transition between the white and his perfectetly tanned skin. He was such a lovely canvas, his skin was clean, and smooth. You were actually a little scared to end up making him look bad. "Your jawline´s perfect" you muttered as you dragged the pencil there, more to yourself than to him.

Luke chuckled, "Is it now?"

You only dart your eyes away from your work to look into his eyes for a second, then back to your progress. Your teeth barely show as you smile a little, glossy red lips only shining brighter. "Okay, don´t get all cocky now" you tease.

Luke was used to flirting with everyone he met, and of course, people flirting back. But seeing you so focused on his face, the pen working on his face with you so close to him, gave him a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach.

You felt so close. Luke could smell a faint scent of cherries coming from you, and the hairspray of your hair. He could almost feel the warmth of your body too, standing so close to him, your body leaning down towards his face, making him look upwards to take a look at your face. You hissed then, taking a soft grip of your lower back, "Shit" you whisper. You were uncomfortable, being hunched over for so long.

"You okay?" Luke asked.

"Yeah" you reply, "Just-, my back´s killing me. I´ve been like this for an hour" you explain, you´ve been in the same position for the past other two boys you prepared.

Luke looked concerned for a second. So he shifted on his seat then, opening his thighs, basically welcoming you.

You stood speechless, pencil in hand as you chuckled softly, unable to react, or move.

"Come on" he urged you softly, his eyes locking on yours as he patted his thigh. You knew he wasn´t inviting you to sit there, —even though he wouldn´t complain if you did—, rather than in between them. "I don´t bite"

You scoff then, shaking your pencil in between your fingers. Your boots step into the tiny space then, back straightened as you only have to look down to Luke´s face, "Sure you don´t" you reply.

He lets out a short chuckle, tilting his face up to maintain eye contact. The air feels weirdly tense. Your fingers take a soft hold of his chin as you tilt his head a little more up, dragging the pencil over the lines once again; just in case. Luke´s eyes remain open, taking a look at your costume.

A deep scarlet skirt almost too short paired with tall, heeled backboots and a white button-up that hugged your figure just perfectly, and the black corset over it did just the rest of the magic, along with, of course, the red silk cape and hood.

"You look great" he muttered out, trying to get a reaction out of you.

You stop your movements for a second, looking at him dead in the eye again, but with a serious face, only to go back to your job as if he said nothing. "Great doesn´t cover it" you reply, tilting your head slightly.

He chuckled at that. You had no idea how right you were. You were gorgeous in that outfit and he could swear you looked like a damn goddess, a vision come to life just to taunt him.

"Cocky-" he muttered with a playful smile.

"Don´t move" you interrupt, leaning down a little bit more just for a second, the thin pencil brushing past the outline of his lips.

Your face was closer to his now, the scent of his cologne made you feel lightheaded.

Luke had that type of aura; the one that was always surrounded by a nice scent. The type that made you want to lean in closer, the type that was warm and comforting, yet he was no sweet pea, but a little more rough. Manly, with his legs spread open like that for you to stand in between, or for you to sit whenever you liked.

And with his face so close to you, you made and observation; Luke was handsome.

Very.

Just when you finished tracing the outlines of his eyes, lips, and cheekbones, you turned around to dip a pencil into some black face paint. Luke remained politely silent, lips closed and hands over his thighs as he followed your every movement. He was watching you intently as you worked. You looked so focused and careful, like it was an important and serious job, and for gods sake, it was Halloween makeup. He wondered if you were just doing it so perfectly to impress him, which was working, and Luke had to admit it was cute to see you so fixated on his face.

He could feel his heart pound in his chest. Sitting there, having you so close, all he could think of was touching you. How could he not when you were wearing such clothes that he loved?

Of course he wouldn´t. He was patient, and he was very much enjoying the game so far. But you were so close , it was so tempting. And he did have a very bad self-control.

You took your sweet time blending the black paint over Luke´s face with a small brush. He was being an obedient boy, sitting still, with no smart remarks coming from his mouth. How rare.

He enjoyed just watching you, watching your expression change slightly as you applied more and more paint on, watching the tip of your tongue dart out of your mouth every once in a while. It was so hard to keep his hands tucked into balled-up fists on his thighs.

But he wouldn´t stop staring at you, your face.

But you stepped back, pencil on your hand and a small smile growing on your glossy lips, but your brows furrow. You were slightly confused. Luke stared back, not a single expression on his face. His face was sharp looking, focused, stone. And the black paint was doing nothing but only making him look more-, attractive.

"Don´t look at me like that" you smile barely, more confused than actually chilled about what was happening.

"Like what?" He asked, the black paint only remarking the scary and sharp features on his now painted face.

You looked a bit flushed, your makeup and hair perfect. But he wanted to mess it up , ruin it a little. He kept staring at you, not bating an eye. "Like-," you cut yourself off, turning slightly to the side to grab a different pencil before dipping it in more black face paint, "Like you´re undressing me with your eyes or something" you say, too shy to say the words loudly, stepping in between the space of his thighs again, too afraid that somebody else would hear you.

Oh, but Luke heard you just right.

He hums quietly, a smirk pulling at his lips at your embarrassed expression.

You´re standing there, in between his thighs again, and he has to force himself to keep his hands in place. He looked up at you, eyes focused on you as you applied the paint on him. And you were so concetrated on the task in front of you, on his face, you didn´t realise how badly he wanted you.

He was hungry, and it took every bit of his self-control to keep from touching you.

"Maybe I am" he responds quietly.

His voice is low, and the tone he uses makes you freeze. His eyes burn into your skin, like he´s daring you to respond, to say something, anything, back. And for the first time, you have nothing to say, no witty response. You just look back into his eyes.

And there is something in them, something that makes your heart beat faster.

He stares back, not moving, not speaking, and the tension is almost palpable. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry, and you try to ignore the way your body is reacting. Luke has never had this effect on you before.

“Perv" is the only thing you manage to reply, not even a full sentence, not even speaking fully, just whispering into his face as you go back to your task, you only wanted this to be over now.

You can tell by the way his shoulders are tense that he´s struggling not to move. But he doesn´t, and his silence makes your stomach twist and turn. You know he´s enjoying this, and the fact that he knows what he´s doing to you is almost enough to make you snap.

Luke saw the way he made you blush and trip into your own thoughts, and that was enough for him.

You remained awfully silent for the rest of the time, with Luke´s eyes still piercing through your soul until you´re done. "There" you say as you finish touching up the last bits of shadows onto his lips, "All done" you say softly, walking back to the small table to start cleaning brushes again.

Luke stood up, turning around to face you. His face was completely covered in white and black, his skin was unrecognizable.

He walked over to you slowly, and the way he was moving was almost predatory, like he was stalking his prey. You felt a shiver run down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rest of your sisters and his brothers didn´t seem to notice a thing or even try to look to your direction, too busy invested into their own conversations.

You grab a towel, and you feel it-, oh you feel it. Like when someone´s standing behind you, the cold feeling that drips down your spine, ready to attack. Luke places his hand on each side of the table, his chest so close to be pressing to your back, trapping you against the table; and you couldn´t even see him properly.

"Just a question-," he says, clearing his throat briefly, "How effective is the make-up remover?"

Your breathing hitches for a moment. His voice was ridiculously low and whispery against you. You swallow, and the room suddenly feels too hot.

“Um-" you reply, trying to focus on cleaning the brushes instead of the man standing right behind you. "Very. It´ll clean right away, don´t worry" you reply poorly.

"Oh-. no, I wasn´t asking because of me", he replies, and he leans in a little closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You can feel the heat of his breath and it sends a jolt of electricity through your body, "I was asking for you. I don´t wanna leave any mark on your face after you´ve worked so hard on yourself"

Well, who would´ve though this guy was a poet? Hiding meanings behind words?

"That´s very considerate of you" you reply, trying not to sound too eager, but the way your voice cracks tells him all he needs to know.

Luke nods once, a smirk on his lips, and you can practically hear it in his voice. He leans down, his lips grazing the skin of your neck and his nose ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"I´ll make sure you find me", he whispers.

And with that, he steps back, his presence gone as fast as it arrived to the scene. Your hands tremble slightly as you finish putting the last brushes away, and your face burns hot. He had suddenly left you wanting, a feeling you didn´t even have when you first started working on him.

But you had to head back to your cabin now, and fuck-, were you mad you couldn´t get what you wanted now.

Luke surely knew he had started some type of game, your pretty little self caught in between his webs… but the night was only starting, and soon enough, you would be the one trapping him.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

A Study in Possession (Professor!Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Rio returns, looking to cause more trouble, but you refuse to let her break something that isn't broken.

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: Student/teacher relationship, power imbalance, toxic relationship, age gap (all 18+), marking, discussions of exhibitionism, mentions of bondage, possessiveness, jealousy, swearing, oral (R giving), praise kink, mentions of face sitting, hair pulling

Some days, a restlessness seemed to take root in your bones. It spread through your veins, ensnaring you, turning your insides to mulch if you didn’t do something about it. Pacing circles around Agatha’s living room, you were hoping to wear yourself out.

She reclined on the sofa, watching you, blue eyes intent as they followed you around the room. Her chin rested on her fingers, delicate and distracting and it only made the itching under your skin worse. Every pass by, you let your fingers trail over her shoulders, again and again, until you thought you might be smudging the outline of her.

“You’re wearing through my carpet, pet,” she said, after the umpteenth pass.

“Sorry,” you said, pausing until your bones ached with the need to move again.

“Shall I tire you out?” she asked, fingers curling around your wrist.

A flash of heat, burning through you, leaving the taste of ash on the back of your tongue. You lingered, fingertips brushing over her lips. She nipped at you, a smirk unfolding over her face.

“I can put you to rest,” she said, voice lowering into a soft hum, “you won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

“I don’t think I could stay still for long enough,” you said.

“So I’ll tie you up until you can’t move.”

Her lips brushed over the pulse point in the wrist she still held. Looking up at you from under lowered lashes, she let her tongue flick out, tasting your skin, feeling your life thrum. You trembled but the burning, the ache, the gnawing in your bones would not quiet itself, even as you throbbed for her touch.

“Maybe I should go for a walk,” you said.

“After,” she replied, “if you can.”

Her hands grasped your hips, pulling you closer. Pushing up past the sweater you’d tugged on that morning, her fingers pressed into your skin. You went, willingly, knees falling either side of her hips. Her kiss was slow, maddeningly so, taking her time until you were vibrating in her lap. She chuckled, drawing away from you.

“I like you like this. You’re so impatient,” she said.

“Agatha,” you whined.

“I’m going to take my time with you. Do you think I’ll drive you mad? I’m game to find out if you are,” she said.

Her lips trailed down your neck, lingering, stretching out the time as she sucked a hickey into your skin. You whimpered, fingers digging into her shoulders, hips rutting against her, finding no friction. You couldn’t stay still, not with the ache and the throbbing and the absolute overwhelming need for more of everything.

“I could spend hours, right here, before I even touch you,” she murmured.

“Agatha,” you whined again.

“You don’t like that thought, pet? You don’t want me to take as much time as I want with you? You’d rather I rush through this and not drag out every single moment of pleasure your body can handle? You want me to be a common whore, just bang one out and leave you be?” She did not sound happy, “if you’re looking for a quick fuck, I can send you out to some frat party.”

“Don’t want a frat boy,” you said, “want you.”

“Then you’ll stop complaining,” she told you.

She returned to her place on your neck, open mouth kisses pressed into your skin. Her hands were slow as they ran up your back, nails dragging down your spine. Over and over again, maddeningly slow. You thought your bones might shatter from how slow she was being. You tried to stay still, to be good for her, but it hurt so much.

“Do you want to tell me what’s got you so worked up?” she asked into your skin, thumb brushing the underside of one breast.

“It’s just.” You hissed when her teeth sunk into your flesh for only moment, “I’ve been sitting too long.”

“Oh?” She sounded amused.

“I keep rewriting my introduction for you and you keep asking for changes and so I’ve spent days sitting and writing and not doing much else except when you…”

You lost your train of thought as she nipped at your collarbone.

“When I do what, pet?” she asked.

“When you do things like that,” you replied.

“I thought you liked when I did things like that,” she said.

“I do,” you sighed.

Your fingers moved from her shoulders, winding themselves in her hair, long and wild and free. She grinned at you, the kind that felt dangerous. With racing heart and throbbing need, you pulled her into a kiss again. She let you control it for a while, taking what you needed from her, before reminding you she was in control. She was always in control. You liked her being in control.

“So what’s the problem?” she murmured against your lips.

“I think I need a change of scenery. Some fresh air. Just to blow the cobwebs away,” you said, breathless and needy and trying to drag her closer.

“You want me to fuck you in the park?” she asked, a touch of meanness entering her voice. She was mocking you. It shouldn’t have had you grinding down, trying to find any hint of friction you could.

She laughed, tipping her head back, away from you. You whimpered, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

“You are full of surprises, pet. I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant,” you muttered, but the heat between your legs said otherwise.

Wasn’t there something exciting in the thought of Agatha having her way with you in front of an audience? For the entire town to see that you were hers? That she was yours? To so publicly claim one another?

Maybe you were an exhibitionist when it came to her, and her alone.

“Even if it was, you know I can’t do that,” she said.

“I know.”

She couldn’t be caught with you. Plausible deniability and all that. You wanted her but you didn’t want her to lose her job over it. It would remain a secret until you’d graduated and then she could publicly say you were hers.

“But know I would, if you really wanted me to, and the circumstances were different,” she said.

You clenched around nothing and she seemed to draw joy from the needy little noise you made.

“But if you want to get out, you should go take that walk,” she said.

She pushed you off her lap, onto trembling legs, disappointment a sharp slap. Your fingers were still wound in her hair, keeping you close, caught in one another’s orbit.

“Go on,” she said, “you were so desperate to go for your walk. I might be able to get something done without your constant pacing.”

“I thought you were going to tire me out,” you said.

“Don’t pout.” Her thumb ran along your lower lip, “it’s not as endearing as you think.”

“Will you tire me out when I come back?” you asked.

“We’ll see,” she said.

You lingered another moment. You tugged on the ends of her hair until her lips curled up into a small. Her hands were gentle as they shoved you away.

“Go on,” she said, but there was an undertone of fondness in it.

“I’ll bring you back something pretty,” you said.

It wasn’t until you were out of the room that you heard her say, “you’re the only pretty thing I need.”

With the flush of pleasure still on your cheeks, you put your shoes on and walked out the door. You shoved your hands into your pockets, hurrying your steps, turning your feet towards the park. You’d walk laps, imagining being there with Agatha, knuckles deep inside of you, uncaring of who was watching as she fucked you in the open air.

It was oddly empty for a Sunday afternoon. No children running about, no families picnicking, no dog walkers. A few people were by the pond, looking at the ducks, but for the most part you had the park to yourself. Your pace was fast as you walked, trying to force the jittery feeling out through your fingertips.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You startled, stumbling, almost tripping over your own feet. A hand shot out, catching you. You looked up, dark eyes sweeping over your body.

“I don’t suppose Agatha is with you, is she?” Rio asked.

“No,” you said.

“Good. Then us girls can have a chat.”

She placed your hand in the crook of her elbow as she continued walking along the path. You went with her, not sure if it was a good idea, not sure if Agatha would be okay with it. Actually, you knew she would not be happy when she found out. And she would find out, even if you didn’t tell her. But you would, especially knowing that she would want to know. And that Rio was sure to tell her if you didn’t.

“Tell me, is she a good mentor?” she asked, slipping into perfectly pleasant conversation.

“Wonderful,” you said.

“I’ve been listening in to some of the students. The rumours about her are pretty intense,” she said, “she doesn’t scare you? Intimidate you?”

“No,” you replied.

“Really?”

You chanced a look at her, finding her head tilted and interest in her eyes. You shrugged. She lent closer to you.

“You can be honest with me, sweetheart. I won’t tell,” she whispered, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

“She doesn’t scare me,” you said, firmer, refusing to give her any ammunition after last time.

“Do I scare you?” she asked.

You turned your head, nose brushing against hers. Your breath caught. It was so easy to see why Agatha would find herself entangled with this woman. There was something about her that was like a blackhole, pulling you in regardless of how you might feel.

“No,” you said but you whispered it and you weren’t sure the single word rang with truth.

“It’s not true, you know,” she said, leaning away from you, letting you get away with your lie.

“What isn’t?” you asked.

“Whatever she told you about me,” she replied.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” you said, sniffing.

Her chuckle was soft and she shook her head.

“I knew you were a liar but even I’m not sucker enough to believe that,” she said, “I know Agatha. She’ll have told you to stay away from me. That I’m evil and I do awful things. That I can’t be trusted.”

“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think,” you snapped.

“Oh, no, I know her perfectly,” she said and you didn’t like the possessive tone she’d adopted, “you’re the unknown in this equation.”

“Agatha knows me,” you said, stubborn and refusing to let her think that their history gave her the upper hand.

“I think we can be honest with each other,” she said, “you will be honest with me, won’t you?”

“I don’t even know you,” you said.

“Let’s get to know each other then,” she said.

You hadn’t noticed as she’d steered you towards one of the more isolated parts of the park. Trees kept your portion of the path from easy view, the twist and turns giving it the facade of privacy. Her hands landed on your shoulders, pushing you back until your spine hit the rough bark of a tree.

“We’re going to be best friends by the end of this,” she promised you.

“What do you want?” you demanded.

“To have some fun.” Her eyes travelled over your body, tongue dragging over her lower lip, “we can have fun together, right?”

“I suppose it depends what kind of fun you’re talking about,” you muttered.

“The kind that leaves you feeling satisfied,” she replied, voice turning into the rasp of a whisper.

“I don’t think I want that kind of fun with you,” you replied.

“Really? You haven’t thought of me once?” Her face drew closer, “you haven’t considered what to would be like to play with me? You wouldn’t even have to hide it with me.”

“I’m not a toy,” you said, echoing Agatha’s words.

“Prove it.”

You shoved at her shoulders, but she didn’t relent, forcing you further into the bark of the tree. You gritted your teeth, jutting your chin out, refusing to be cowed by her. She had no power over you.

“You were so accommodating last time,” she said, “where’s that girl gone?”

“I know better now,” you said.

“She has done a number on you, hasn’t she?” Her head tilted to the side, “has she made you feel special?”

“It’s none of your business how she’s made me feel,” you snapped.

“You’re not the first, you know? She has a pattern. She finds a pretty little thing interested in witchcraft, invited them to study underneath her, and then she gets them underneath her in every single way,” she said, her words a sharp blade that you were sure was intended to slash at the vulnerable places inside of your psyche.

“I didn’t expect her to not have a history,” you said.

“Would you like to know our history?” she asked.

Damn her, you did. But you weren’t going to ask. You were never going to ask anything of this woman when Agatha so clearly did not like her.

“You do,” Rio said, delight, colouring her words.

“Agatha will tell me when she’s ready,” you said.

“Or I could tell you right now. No more curiosity. No more wondering exactly what we are to one another. I could tell you every single thing she and I have done together in excruciating detail,” she said, drawing closer again, “have you imagined what we’ve done to one another?”

You slapped a hand over her mouth, not wanting her to continue. Of course you’d thought about it, but each time it left with you with the taste of something sour on your tongue. You weren’t stupid enough to assume there hadn’t been anyone before you, but you hardly wanted her ex back in her life. You didn’t want to think about the two of them in bed together.

Something growled in your chest, and all you could focus on was how much you never wanted anyone else in bed with Agatha ever again. She was yours. Your’s and no one else’s. When you returned home, you’d make sure she knew.

A wet tongue ran over the skin of your palm. You made a noise, snatching your hand back from Rio’s mouth, wiping it dry on the denim of your jeans. She grinned.

“I could show you,” she offered.

“I’ve already said no to playing with you. What makes you think I would change my mind?” you snapped.

“Wouldn’t you like to know all the ways you could please Agatha? I’ve catalogued so many ways,” she said.

“I’m doing perfectly well on my own,” you said, jutting her chin up.

“You’ve got fire. That’s good. I’m sure she’ll enjoy dousing it,” she said.

“What do you want from me really? Because I know it’s not for a quick fuck against a tree,” you said, tired of the game.

“Don’t I?” Her smile was predatory.

“No. You want something and I want to know what it is,” you replied.

“Fine.”

She took a step back, finally releasing you. You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting, impatient and uncaring of the other woman’s wants. Her eyes swept over you, assessing, different from last time. It was as if now, without the facade, she was looking at you as a threat.

“You’re not the first student she’s been with,” she said.

“So you’ve said,” you replied coolly.

“Has she told you about Wanda yet?” she asked.

“Whatever we talk about is none of your business,” you replied.

“So she hasn’t.” She nodded her head like it confirmed everything for her, “you should ask. I think you’ll find her answer fascinating.”

You tipped your head to the side, eyes sweeping over her, trying to work out what she was hoping to gain from this, what the game was. You knew the game with Agatha, enjoying it, knowing that if one of you won, you both did. This time, this woman, was a mystery to you.

“You think her answer will make me run away,” you said, the words slow as you tried to work it out.

“I think you should know what happened,” she replied with a small shrug.

“You want me to leave her. I heard you. You think I will and then she’ll fall back into your arms.” You took a deep breath, “it doesn’t matter what she tells me, I’m not leaving her. Not ever.”

“The naivety of youth is endearing. You really can’t think of anything that would make you leave?” she asked, drawing closer again.

“No.” You were giving her nothing.

“Even if she’d done something really bad?” she asked, still approaching.

“No.”

“Even if she’s murdered someone?” she asked.

You laughed, the idea preposterous. But she remained serious as she watched you with increasing interest.

“Has she?” you asked.

“Would it matter?” she asked in return.

“You have no idea, do you?” you said, realising for the first time that you had the upper hand.

“No idea about what?” she asked.

“That there’s nothing about her that could make me leave,” you said, “I love her and I’m not going anywhere. So say what you need to say and do what you need to do, because if it’s a fight for her you want, then you’ve got it. She’s mine, and I’m never giving her up.”

Her lips ticked up into a half smile. You could feel the vibrations of anger in your body, coursing through you, determined to let this woman know that you weren’t the fluffy little bunny she seemed to think you were. You had claws and teeth and a fighting spirit. And something to burn for.

“Quite the performance,” Rio said, “and I think you really believe it.”

“You’ll see. Come graduation I’ll still be here and she still won’t want to see you,” you said, hardening your voice, your eyes, your stance.

“I could just report this to the administration,” she mused, “you’re hardly being subtle.”

Her thumb ran over the hickey Agatha had left on your skin not even an hour ago. You let her, arching your neck to give her better access, wondering if seeing it burned in her gut the way you knew it would in yours.

“That’ll just hurt her more than me,” you said.

“But she’ll blame you. Pretty little thing, unable to keep her mouth shut about taming the great Agatha Harkness. It shouldn’t surprise her. Not all toys are smart,” she said.

She pinched at the bruised skin, your hiss making her smile. You smacked her hand away, glaring.

“You wouldn’t risk it,” you said, “or else you would have done it already.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged, “or maybe I’m just waiting to see how this plays out.”

She stepped away from you, tugging something out of her bag. A thick book thumped in the dirt by your feet. The same leather bound tome that Agatha had sent you to the library for all those weeks ago. You were hesitant as you picked it up.

“Give her my regards,” she said.

You brushed off the front cover, fingers lingering on the filigreed title. When you glanced up, she was gone, leaving you in the shadows with a book on witchcraft and a sense that something was coming that you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Whatever feeling had compelled you to walk had left your body, leaving it cold and desperate for something else. You turned your feet towards Agatha’s house, needing to see her again, needing to run your fingers through her hair. To whisper your devotion into her skin and remind her that you were a permeant fixture in her life.

You were nothing like the other students who had all left her behind.

You shoved the door open, dropping the book on the hall table and throwing off your shoes. You called her name, following her response into the kitchen.

“Feeling better, kitten?” she asked, thrown over her shoulder, focused on the drink she was pouring for herself.

“Yes,” you replied.

You wound your arms around her waist, lips finding their home on the skin of her neck. Wet kisses on her skin, tongue darting out to taste. She chuckled, neck arching towards you, giving you the access you craved.

“You’ve returned in a good mood,” she hummed.

“Uh huh,” you mumbled into her skin.

Your hand skimmed over the hem of her shirt, slow to push under it, seeking out her skin. She lent back against you, letting you hold up her weight. Your lips found their home on her skin, hands stroking higher and higher. She allowed you to indulge in her for a long moment.

“Rio found me in the park,” you admitted, hand climbing to cup one bare breast under her shirt.

“She did?” she asked, a growl in her voice.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, thumb brushing over a nipple, feeling it beginning to harden.

“And what did she want?” she asked, head tipping back onto your shoulder.

“To scare me off,” you replied, “she threatened to tell people about us.”

“And what did you say?” she hissed as you pinched at her nipple.

“That I’m not going anywhere.”

Your teeth sunk into the juncture of her neck and her shoulders. The pleased noise she made could have been due to your words or your actions, but you felt her arch into your touch. You were determined to leave your mark on her, the way she always did to you. You wanted to paint her skin purple and blue, sign your name over her body, make it so she couldn’t look in the mirror without thinking of you. You wanted to consume her, to sink beneath her skin and never return, to go up in a flash of flames and turn you both to ash.

“Are you trying to prove yourself to me?” she asked but she sounded breathless.

You didn’t answer, busy making a mess of her. Your other hand was running along the waistband of her trousers, fingertips ghosting in a teasing manner. You listened as her breathing grew heavy, revelling in the fact that you were doing it. It was all you. You were making her feel this way with nothing but your lips and your teeth and your hands.

It was an honour.

You took your time, playing with her body, tasting her, feeling her begin to melt into you. Your fingertips dipped into her trousers, finding the lace of her panties waiting for you. She sighed your name, so soft in her voice, and you wondered how much longer she would let you get away with this. You had to assume not much longer.

“Answer me, pet,” she said.

Her hand pressed to the back of your head, holding you in place, fingers tangling in your hair at the nape of your neck. Your tongue ran over her skin, her body shuddering against yours.

“All I’m proving,” you murmured into her skin, “is that you’re mine.”

Her laugh was more of a cackle, loud and braying, shaking her whole body. You hid your smile against her neck, hand pushing into her underwear. Her laughter choked off when you ghosted your finger over her clit, collecting her wetness on your fingertip.

“You really think that, do you?” she asked, breathless, almost a moan.

“I don’t think anything. I know you are,” you replied.

You brushed over her clit again, feeling her hips jump towards you. Rolling her nipple, you enjoyed the way she arched into your touch.

“You sound very certain,” she said, but her fingers were tightening in your hair, and you knew you were right.

Your fingers teased her entrance, enjoying when her hips pressed back against you.

“Do you want to see what I’ve learnt while I’ve been studying under you, professor?” you asked, keeping your mirth at bay.

“I think it’s time for your practical exam,” she replied.

With a finally tweak to her nipple, you retracted her hands from her bare body, gripping her hips. Softly sucking on the skin of her neck, you pressed your thighs together at the thought of what you might find there later.

You spun her, pressing her into the counter, finally kissing her the way you always wanted to. Tongue in her mouth, moans muffled, hot and dirty. You could spend the rest of your life doing exactly that. Her fingers in your hair were pulling, pain blooming over your scalp but all it made you want was to devour her.

Sinking to your knees, you looked up at her from under lowered lashes. She stared down at you, fingertips stroking over your cheeks. You felt breathless, knowing this goddess of a woman before you was all yours. She tilted your head up.

“You may begin.”

You helped her step out of her trousers, dropping them to the floor beside you. Your tongue dragged over your lower lip, looking at the wet patch on her panties. All of that because of you, for you, yours in ways that had your mouth watering. You pressed her hips to the counter, sucking on the vulnerable skin of her inner thigh. She groaned, a rumbling sound from her chest.

You sucked a matching hickey into the other thigh, tracing over it with soft fingertips as pride filled your chest. She chuckled but didn’t argue with you, letting you drink your fill. That chuckle broke off as your tongue pressed against the damp patch in her panties, tasting her on the silk. You hummed, placed a chaste kiss over her hot cunt, then dragged that scrap of lace and silk down her legs.

She glistened in the afternoon light. You ran your hands up her legs, soft skin warm in your palms. Dragging your gaze back up, you found her already looking down at you, eyes smouldering, lips curled in a smirk.

“My good pet,” she murmured.

You shivered, loving when she called you that. Her fingers in your hair gave a sharp tug, reminding you that you had a job to do. Leaning forward, you let your breath ghost over her folds, feeling her fingers tighten.

Your tongue gave a soft kitten lick, barely there, more a graze than a proper touch. Her body shuddered.

“Go on,” she said, “don’t be a tease.”

You tasted her properly, letting your tongue explore her folds. She pressed you closer. With a strong grip, you tugged her leg over your shoulder, pressing her more insistently against the counter. She moaned your name, soft and guttural and so beautiful. You groaned, her hips bucking against your mouth.

She tasted exquisite. You’d spend hours between her thighs, doing this, if only she’d let you. Days lost to making her cum over and over again with nothing but your mouth, not letting a single drop of her go to waste. She rocked against your mouth, heel pressing into your spine.

Wrapping your lips around her clit, you felt her tremble. The sounds she was making, the constant praise falling from her lips, the small gasps and moans, were addictive. The sweetest music you could imagine came from her. You shivered, sucking harder, wanting to see how loud you could get her. There was no reason to be quiet in her own home. No one was about to barge in on them, catching them doing something they both knew they shouldn’t. You wanted to unravel her.

Slowing, you lapped at her entrance, nuzzling against her cropped curls. Her fingers were harsh as they tugged, trying to press you closer again, commanding without words. You chuckled, tongue tracing the letters of your name over her clit, soft and gentle and definitely teasing.

“You’re a devil,” she gasped.

You hummed into her cunt. Her body was taut, almost trembling. You gave in to her, sucking on her bundle of nerves again, letting yourself drown in her. Her hips rocked against you, almost as if she wanted to grind against your face. You’d have let her, if you were in a different position, if she was above you instead of standing.

Later. You’d convince her to sit on your face later.

Your finger teased her entrance, the other hand gripping her thigh tightly. You wondered if you could bruise her as easily as she seemed to bruise you. If your hand prints would linger on her skin long after this moment was done. You hoped so. Some physical sign that you’d been there, with her, like this. That you had been offered the honour of bringing her so much pleasure.

You set a slow pace, wanting to draw this out, wanting to make sure you knew how to care for her body, that you knew how to make her lose her mind. She didn’t complain. You glanced up, finding she had rucked up her shirt with her free hand, playing with her own tit as you feasted on her. You’d never seen something so hot as Agatha Harkness touching herself, bringing herself pleasure while you tasted her. If you could, you’d take a picture of this view, paint it, hang it in all the art galleries of the world. There was nothing so beautiful. You were obsessed with this view.

You whimpered, muffled against her. Lazy eyes dragged down to you, hooded with pleasure. Her chest heaved, arching into her own hand, tweaking one of her nipples. You curled your fingers and the curse that fell from her lips was the most gratifying thing you’d ever heard.

You pressed her more insistently against the counter, tasting more, pressing deeper. She threw her head back, moaning like it was her job. It was a symphony in your ears.

When she came, it was with a guttural cry, loud in the kitchen. You kept lapping at her, not wanting to waste a drop of her arousal. Her fingers tightened in your hair, and you growled, refusing to leave that place between her legs. Her hips jumped towards you, and she groaned your name. You didn’t care, losing yourself in her.

“Pet,” she said, breathless and wanting and so very turned on. You knew her well enough to know what she sounded like when she was turned on.

You ignored her, fingers curling. Her hips were rocking again, without her say, and those same fingers that had been trying to drag you away were now pressing you closer. You swirled your tongue over her, almost certain you could feel her heartbeat throbbing in her cunt.

You weren’t soft this time, demanding her orgasm. Thrusting your fingers into her roughly, you kept twisting, curling, forcing her to give you more. Her head was tipped back, hand clutching the edge of the counter as she tried to keep her balance. You weren’t helping, only caring about how to get her to fall apart. A reminder that you knew her body so well.

Who cared if there had been others before you? Who cared if Rio thought she had a chance to be back here? You were the one in her home, in her bed, between her legs. You were the one she was choosing. And you were going to make it so she would never be able to forget you. You were going to burn yourself into her skin until you were as much a part of her as she’d become of you.

She clenched around your fingers, a cry ripped from her throat. Your grin was hidden against her, still buried between her legs. You cleaned her up, your tongue careful, and yet still you wanted more. When you brushed over her clit, she hissed. You nuzzled against her hip, a gentle kiss to her skin doing more than words could.

“C’mere, kitten,” she murmured, her fingers in your hair pulling you.

The ache in your knees was worth it as you climbed to your feet, lowering her foot back to the ground. She tugged you into her, uncaring as you crashed against her body, forcing her against the counter again. Her hand caught your chin and she kissed you, tasting herself on your tongue, a filthy groan muffled by your mouth. Her fingers dug in, nails scraping across your skin, ignoring the slick on your chin from your hard work.

“How’d I do?” you asked, breathless, curling your arms around her waist.

“Passed with flying colours, kitten,” she said.

She brushed your hair out of your face, so soft with you. You nuzzled against her, enjoying the feeling of her hand on your cheek. She gave you another kiss, softer, sweeter, turning you into goo as sunshine melted through your veins.

“There might be some truth to your statement,” she whispered, lips brushing yours, still sharing the same breath as you.

“Which one?” you asked, pulling her closer.

“The one about me being yours,” she replied.

Your smile stretched, overtaking your face. She shook her head, but her own lips were tipped up in a small smile. Tugging out of your hold, she slipped from between you and the counter, pulling her shirt over her head. Your mouth grew dry, eyes sweeping over her naked body. The bruises you’d left littering her skin had you shivering with pleasure.

“Come along, pet,” she said, walking out of the kitchen, “it’s time for your oral exam.”

You chased after her, not willing to be late to that particular exam.

[unlosts]

Honey, you're familiar

Summary: Hotch takes the day off, you plan to take full advantage of it.

A/N: MDNI!

A calloused hand softly caressing your cheek is what wakes you up instead of your alarm, or more accurately Aarons alarm. 

The solid weight of him pressed against your back, his other arm caging you against him. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble, sleep still coating your voice while you tilt your head backwards to leave your neck bared to him, and thread your fingers through his sleep mussed hair. Very pleased at the small groan you manage to pull from him. 

“I have the day off, remember?” He says against the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses from right behind your ear to the base of your neck, the feel of it sending shivers down your spine, entirely too early to feel like this. 

“I did remember -” a yawn cuts you off “I just didn’t really believe you when you told me”   

He pinches you softly in retaliation making you squeal and try to detangle yourself from sleep, an arduous task given that you’ve entangled yourselves to fully  usually go to bed on different sides of the bed only to wake up in the middle as an incomprehensible mess of limbs. 

“Okay, okay I'm sorry, now get back here”Aaron uses the momentary distraction to draw you back into his arms, moving on top of you and caging you between his thick forearms. 

“Good to know all that FBI training isn’t going to waste” 

“What, you think I do this with suspects?” He asks with an arched brow

“Well, I should hope not” You say between laughs with the kind of carefree full teeth smile that drives him crazy. 

Here cradled by the morning sun, he remembers the morning he met you, and how that feeling he thought had long died in that old house, began to appear again.  

“What?” You ask a little breathless, your calf rises to slightly nudge his hip and his hand leaves your forearm to grip your thigh. 

Suddenly the morning sun feels scorching on your skin, your breath deepens as he lowers himself down to kiss you,  the solid weight of him on top of you a heady feeling. 

Aaron’s lips are all consuming, in a morning like this one he’s trying to make up for every late night and missed date even when you’ve told him that he doesn’t have to. His hand angles your jaw to deepen the kiss and yours go up to pull at his hair, causing a groan that makes your cunt clench. 

When you first slept together you discovered the sort of sounds you could pull from him so unlike the quiet and stoic man you had come to know, that you became devoted to learning him. Focused as a scholar, learning exactly where to press, pull or kiss to elicit the sort of sounds that would drive you crazy. 

His hand slides from your thigh, fingertips slowly trailing up leaving only goosebumps in their wake, up to your stomach. 

You separate only for a second as he leaves a trail of wet kisses up to your neck to suck a bruise there, making you hiss and pull at the hair in the nape of his neck once more. 

“You better not have left a fucking hickey Hotchner” you say between heaving breaths, but his only reply is a teasing grin against your neck. 

Aarons fingers play with the band of your sleep shorts while he goes back to kiss you unhurried even in the face of your growing desperation; his fingers run tauntingly back and forth, occasionally slipping a finger in to tug at the band of your underwear only to pull back out. 

They finally slip in to press against the patch of wetness forming in your underwear. You suck in a sharp breath when he touches your clit through your panties, rubbing more intently as you pull away from him to let out a weak moan.

“Aar” you gasp, breaking the kiss for a second, leaving his lips to chase after yours, kissing the corner of your mouth softly while you grind against his fingers. 

“I know” He says, his gravelly voice reverberating through your body “just relax honey, let me take care of you” 

He leans closer to you, braced on his forearm. Like this almost nose to nose he just watches you pant for a moment. Taking in this one sliver of time where his entire world is narrowed down to this bed. While holding your gaze he moves aside your underwear and finally runs his pointer finger against your cunt, collecting your wetness before going back to rub your clit. 

He swallows your moan with a hungry kiss, his calm facade abandoned when two of his fingers enter your cunt and feel your walls clench around them, the thickness of them still makes you dizzy even after so many times together. 

“Fuck” you moan, your foreheads pressed together when his fingers expertly twist to press against a spot that makes you feel like you’re on fire, his thumb going back to rubbing circles against your clit. 

“Yeah?” He asks, your hips bucking against his fingers, seeking even more closeness. 

your hands going to squeeze your breasts over your (his) sleep shirt.

He stares at your hands and you know exactly what he wants then, there’s no time to pull away and take off your shirt so you pull it up to expose your breasts to the cool morning air, Aarons lips immediately going to one, sucking softly while you arch into his mouth.

Whatever there was before in your veins replaced with something molten hot, every single part of you feels like it’s on fire. 

“Yeah”  You nod, unable to think of everything else, brain pleasantly emptied of any coherent thoughts. Your hands leave your shirt to caress his back, the nape of his neck, everything you can reach, you just want him as close as possible. 

He alternates between both breasts, sucking one pebbled nipple into his mouth only to let go and switch to the other, not before nipping at the side of your breast. 

After that your orgasm comes quick and loud, you don’t see it coming really, you only feel Aaron rub your clit sharply one last time before you feel it crest through you, leaving you to crash against the sheets.  

“Aaron”   You moan loudly, uncaring of the neighbors. 

“That’s it” He murmurs, his fingers have stopped moving but his thumb still rubs your clit until you can’t take it anymore.   

Despite his fingers still being inside you, you want him near so you pull him to you, the ensuing kiss sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“I’m going to need you to take time off more often” You say, smiling against his lips.