#Original Male Character

[lomlompurim]

Do yall have headcanons for heavenly demon babies/toddlers ? (as speaking of half demons like Binghe) I have a preg Bingge eventual BinggYuan AU where he has a little son, and I'd love to read what you think about the growing process and shenanigans of raising heavenly demon child

(little doodle of reference of Bingge and his son, Chuxin)

[dark-and-kawaii]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Your Breeding

Summary: You’re their pretty little whore, their perfect cum dumpster. But to Kieran, both you and Rolan are the perfect toys to break~

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Pairing: Rolan x F!Tav/Read x Kieran

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Content: NSFW - Petnames - Breeding - Multiple Creampies - Bred Till Your Nice & Full - Stuffed - Tail Fucking - Cum Licking - FMM - Begging - Making Rolan A Sobbing Mess

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Notes: A gift for @reverieblondie who can’t get enough of these two tieflings xoxo

You felt how his cock pulsed- your gummy walls hot as strings of cum shot deep into you, no doubt seeping into your very fertile womb. Rolan rutted, his thick cock throbbing- gushing, as all of his seed seeped into your welcoming hole, not pulling out, not caring about protection at all. And all you could do was wrap your sweat drenched legs around him as your very own orgasm wracked your body, your cunt milking the tiefling for every drop he has to offer.

You were a quivering, panting, and drooling mess when he finally decided to pull out of you. A trail of white left in his wake, his cum clinging to your reddened abused pussy lips. 

“I- hells… please I- I can’t take much more…” You groaned, your legs dropping from his warm body, too exhausted to hold them up any longer. Lying on your back like the good whore you were for them, you tried to catch your breath. Your pussy still tingling from the abuse it just received- still clamping down around nothing, begging to be filled and punished once more…

As you moved your arm up to cover your face, you felt like you were burning despite all the sweat that clung to your skin, and your cunt felt as though it was filled with liquid fire…

“Looks like our pretty little bunny hasn’t had her fill yet.” Kieran said.

“I… Kieran…” You shivered as Rolan’s cum slipped from your fucked out hole and drooled down your ass, “m’need a break, i- i feel so full-“

Kieran only chuckled and ran a hand up your sweaty thigh, dipping a finger into your cum filled hole, “I think you can handle one more, little bunny. Right Rolan? Think our girl needs another good pounding to keep her nice and warm for the rest of the night?” His digit came out coated in Rolan’s sticky white cum, and without ever breaking eye contact with you, he brought it up to his lips, making a show of licking it clean.

Rolan’s face flushed as he watched Kieran lick his creamy seed off his fingers- his cock twitching in excitement, not even beginning to soften after his last release. His eyes roamed over your exhausted form, his gaze landing on your puffy cunt, glistening in his seed and your own juices, “Do… Do you want us to stop, my dear?”

You bit your lip as the cutest little pink blush spreads across your cheeks and chest, a stark contrast to the dark marks and bruises that littered your skin. Your thighs twitched as you spread your legs further apart, and you reached a hand up to Kieran.

Kieran took the hand that was offered to him and intertwined your fingers together, kissing your knuckles while his tail wrapped around Rolan’s cock. He looked at the wizard and smirked, watching him groan and bite his own lip, his cock already leaking with precum and throbbing, ready to go again.

Your eyes locked onto the tiefling who held your hand, “I… I don’t want to stop…” You turned your head, and looked to Rolan, “Pl-please keep using me” With your free hand, you reached down, spreading your puffy folds, giving the two tieflings a nice view of your cum filled pussy. You needed them- needed Kieran, needed Rolan- wanted them to use you. To fuck you, fill you, breed you, for Kieran to treat you like the dirty little cum slut you were- For Rolan to hold you after and whisper loving words in your ear…

Rolan swallowed hard and looked back at Kieran, a question in his eyes.

“Awh, does the good little wizard need permission to keep fucking our cum bucket? How precious are you-“

Rolan sneered slightly, “don’t call her tha-“ 

Kieran’s tail squeezed around the base of Rolan's cock and tugged, forcing him closer to the two of you. He chuckled as Rolan whimpered and bucked his hips, trying desperately to get some friction… 

Grabbing Rolan by the horns, Kieran dragged him so that their lips were mere centimeters apart. Kieran was so close, Rolan could feel his hot breath ghost over his mouth as his cock throbbed- those fiery eyes peering into Rolan’s yellow ones, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give that pretty little cock of yours the attention it deserves while I fuck a child into our little bunny.” 

Tossing Rolan’s head to the side, he stood, looming over you like a dark god, as if he were ready to worship his most faithful follower, ready to take the sacrament, and give his offering.

Dragging you towards him, Kieran spread your legs further with his knees, his tail still wrapped around Rolan's cock. He grabbed your hands, and pinned them above your head with his, intertwining your fingers together, leaving you open and vulnerable to his every desire… He was going to have you scream his name, have you beg for him to fill you so full that you forget about Rolan.

He was a force of nature, a wildfire in a dry forest.

And he was about to ravage you.

Pulling Rolan in closer to get a good view, the tip on his tail flicked across the other tiefling's swollen head, smearing precum across it, making Rolan grip the sheets, moaning.

Kieran’s fat cock was so close now to your willing cunt- his precun trailing from his own swollen head to the entrance of your gaping hole- brushing his cock up and down your gooey slit before pushing in painfully slow… Letting you feel every ridge and bump as he stretched you even further, making room for him to pound you senseless. Your slick and Rolan's cum made it easy for his cock to slide inside- the excess dripping down your ass.

He was so much bigger than Rolan though- longer, thicker, and much more ridged, but Kieran took it slow, letting you feel each and every vein as it scraped along your overstimulated walls, each ridge catching on your tight entrance. The tip of his tail still teasing the other tiefling's weeping cock, the wizard's eyes focused solely on Kieran's thick member penetrating your pussy, watching as it was stretched and molded into the shape of the bastard’s cock.

With a gasp you gripped either side of Kieran’s chest, your body forgetting how tired it was. He was so hot- like a brand- branding your insides, filling you, stretching you, “K-Kieran~!” 

And with a triumphant smirk, the cocky bastard thrust himself completely inside, bottoming out in one smooth motion. As Kieran thrust himself into you, the sea of cum inside you squelched and gushed out of your cunt around his cock that reached further than Rolan’s.

There was no room for Rolan’s cum… Continuing to bottom out inside you, Rolan’s load flooded over your pussy lips like an overfilled cup. Kieran began pumping the remains of his competition out of your saturated pussy in broad, filling strokes… He was taking you for himself, “Say what I wanna hear you say, be a good girl for me~”

The room filled with the filthy sound of his balls slapping against your ass- the squelching of his cock being buried in your sloppy hole, the sound of the mattress creaking and the bed slamming against the wall. 

“Ngh!~ Kieran-“

Kieran slammed your hips down on his cock, hitting your cervix, forcing more of Rolan’s cum out of you, and making you wail. The wizard's cock pulsed and twitched as he watched, biting his lip and squeezing the sheets- the sight of you getting fucked like this turning him on even more… he hated it, but hells… his cock loved it.

Kieran smirked- his eyes flashing a dangerous shade of red as he slammed into you again, “You know what I like, doll~ don’t play dumb, now~ let me hear you sing- beg for my cum- beg for my kids, whore~”

Your eyes rolled back as the ridges of his cock dragged along your walls, his thrusts hitting something so deep inside you, “N’f-fuck me with y-your filthy fiendish cock- r-ruin me~”

His head tilts back, those sharp canines on display as he moans. You're doing such a good job, “And~ what else does our cute bunny want~?” 

Your eyes meet his, his stare hungry, his grin wicked… Peering over his shoulder, your eyes meet with Rolan, his yellow eyes blown wide and glazed over… He looks so helpless- so turned on by the sight of his lover getting railed by someone else, “M’sorry Rolan… I- I-“

You felt warm fingers graze over your cheek, titling your face back to Kieran, “I wanna hear what my favorite girl wants~”

“F-fuck a hellspawn into m-my womb- make hah~ make me a mother-“

Kieran laughed, it was dark, and filled with a sick satisfaction- slamming into you again, forcing another glob of cum out, his hellish eyes finding Rolan's- “How could I possibly say no when she begs so nicely?”

A sharp intake of breath caught your attention.

Rolan collapsed next to you, his hands gripping the sheets tightly, his knuckles a pale red. Sweat beaded along his brow, and his face was flushed as he panted. His chest heaving, his eyes trained on the point where Kieran and you were joined- watching as the other tiefling thrust in and out of you, watching as his seed gushes out around Kieran’s cock... 

He bit his lip and moaned at the touch of Kieran's tail. The appendage stroking his length with long, quick, strokes- coiling and uncoiling around his swollen cock- a string of precum hanging from the tip.

“Enjoying the show, Rolan?” Kieran asked, his clawed hand petting Rolan’s cheek like some good pup.

Rolan didn’t say a thing, instead his tail wrapped around Kieran's, squeezing tightly, as if he was holding onto the other tiefling's arm- his hips thrusting up, meeting Kieran's tail with each pump.

Kieran hummed, his gaze still focused on the other man, watching as he came undone by the sight of his lover and him, a smug smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, his tail stroking the wizard's cock faster- twisting around it tighter and tighter till it darkened in color, until the head of Rolan’s cock looked like it would burst~

As much as he loved the sight of Rolan losing his mind, he brought his attention back to you. His favorite plaything, his beautiful doll.

He held you down with his weight, his toned muscles working along your slick chest as he fucked you faster and harder. Every thrust pushing you further into the bed, inch by inch, until your body was pinned to the cum soaked mattress.

His thrusts became uneven, his breathing ragged, and his face twisted with a snarl, his teeth bared and his horns scraping along your collarbone as he bit down- biting down hard as he buried himself into you. Spilling himself- drowning your white stained walls with his thick, sticky cum…

Rolan's eyes went wide, his tail squeezing tightly around Kieran's…Watching as his seed shoot deep inside, watching as it mixed with his cum already there- filling your pussy, your womb… “magresham,” he groaned- his hips thrusting up one more time into Kieran’s makeshift cock sleeve… Ropes of his hot spunk splattered his stomach and sheets, coating Kieran's tail. His body going limp- the tail that held Kieran's falling away, but Kieran’s refused to let go of him, refusing to stop pumping him until Rolan was a sobbing, writhing, mess.

You screamed, the pressure becoming too much for you. Cum dribbled out of you- squirting out around his cock, the sheets now ruined beyond saving, and your body convulsed with pleasure as you came- milking the tiefling's cock with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Feeling how the bastard’s cum pools against your pulsing cervix… Welcoming his seed just as it did for Rolan’s…

Kieran's tongue slid over the teeth marks on your collar bone- tasting the iron and salt of your blood. He groaned at the taste, licking his lips and grinding his hips against yours, his tail still stroking Rolan’s softening cock.

You moaned softly, your cunt sensitive to every ridge and bump. Your vision slowly cleared, and your gaze fell on the tiefling who was enjoying the sweet taste of your wound, tiredly, they fell to the other who was a panting and sobbing mess, your ears filled with the sounds of the wet, squelching noises of a tail on a spent cock.

Kieran sighed as he finally pulled his tail from Rolan's cock, “you two are too easy~”

A soft mewl escaped your lips as Kieran slipped his now softened member out of your overstuffed pussy. A river of cum and seed flooding out of you and dripped onto the ruined sheets- the sticky mess seeping into the already stained mattress.

Rolan, though exhausted, brushed some hair from your face, his expression filled with worry, “Are- are you okay?”

You smiled softly, the look on his face making your heart flutter, “mhmm~”

He sighed, and rested his head next to yours, his eyes closing.

Kieran stood and stretched, the sound of his joints cracking loud enough to wake the dead, or in this case, the exhausted wizard and the thoroughly fucked bunny.

With a small frown, you reached a hand out to him, not wanting him to leave, even though he had already taken what he wanted.

Kieran arched his brow and smirked, “Don't tell me you still have more in ya?”

Your cheeks flushed a deep pink, and you shook your head, your hand reaching for his still, “pl-please don't go… Stay with me~”

With a chuckle, he took your hand and leaned down, capturing your lips with his. It was sweet, gentle- the kiss was different from any kiss he had ever given you. The tiefling pulled away, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, a rare genuine smile on his face... “Is that what my girl wants?”

[supercap2319]

James Hook, his eyes gleaming with a wicked light, takes a swig of rum. "Well, well. Look whit we hae 'ere, fellas. A pretty boy." Morgie and Hades surrounded Princeton Rose.

Princeton eyed the three vks. "Back off."

Hades' eyes flash with dark amusement at Princeton's boldness. "Or what, little prince? You'll summon your fairy godmother to save you from a little attention?" He steps closer, his leather jacket creaking, and Morgie follows suit, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, what's wrong, little prince? Scared of us?" His eyes flashed like a serpent's.

"I'm not scared of you three. I wanna know what Uliana's planning to do to Bridget as revenge for the flamingo cupcakes. Tell me." Princeton demanded.

Morgie lets out a low whistle, impressed by Princeton's bravery, while Hook's expression darkens, his hook glinting in the light. "You think you're clever, don't you, prince? But Uliana's plans are none of your concern."

"It was an accident. Bridget warned Uliana not to eat the feathers on the cupcakes. You can't punish her for that."

Hades smirks, his eyes raking over Princeton's form in a slow, possessive sweep. "Accidents have consequences, little prince. And if Uliana wants to make an example of Bridget, that's her prerogative." The three young villains got closer to Aurora's son. He didn't bat an eye. "I'm not gonna let you hurt an innocent girl. She doesn't deserve to be punished for being nice."

Morgie chuckles, eyes glinting with amusement as he leans in close, speaking low in Princeton's ear. "Oh, Princeton. So naive. But that's what makes you so charming."

"Whit dae ye say, fellas? We teach him a lesson?" Hook smirks menacingly. Hades' hand shoots out, grabbing Princeton by the throat, lifting him off his feet as he sneers into the prince's face. "A lesson, you say? Indeed, we shall teach this foolish prince a lesson he won't soon forget."

Princeton struggles against hades. Mal's dad was—is a real jerk. He knows he can't beat a god, so this is gonna suck for him. He kicks Hades in the stomach, causing the God of the Underworld to let him go and hunch over. Morgie's eyes flash with annoyance as he steps forward, his hands crackling with dark energy. "You shouldn't have done that, Princeton." He hisses, raising his hand to cast a spell.

Princeton gets up quickly and runs away from the three vks. Hook's laughter echoes through the hall as he watches Princeton flee. "Th' wee prince thinks he kin outrun us?" He turns to Hades and Morgie with a wicked grin. "Let's give em a chase, boys. It's been a dull afternoon."

They run after Princeton.

[sumiremrsk]

Those muscles aren't for show

[babygirl-diaz]

Bartender: You look like a whiskey-on-the-rocks kinda guy Eddie: Actually- Buck: ACTUALLY, he's a lager-from-the-bottle kinda guy, who also happens to have a boyfriend Bartender: Oh, I wasn't flirting- Buck: What do you mean you weren't flirting? Have you SEEN Eddie? How could you see someone with that smile and those eyes and not flirt with him? Bartender: So you WANT me to flirt with your boyfriend? Buck: Oh, if you dare flirt with him, I will put your HEAD on the rocks Bartender: I am so confused Eddie: Yeah, so am I

[morganski-19]

The One With the Second Date

“Ok, I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen in the end,” Ryan explains as they leave the theater, “but it wasn’t that.”

Nancy laughs. “It was a stereotypical romcom, they were always going to end up together in the end.”

Ryan and Nancy walk down the sidewalk. Ryan’s hands shoved into his jacket pockets while Nancy’s are at her sides.

“I just think that she was much better with the other guy. They had way more chemistry.”

Nancy nods with another laugh.

They come to a stop outside of a parking garage. Ryan turns toward her. “My car’s in there,” he points awkwardly to the garage.

“My bus stop is right over there,” Nancy points across the street.

Ryan lets out a nervous huff. “You know, we didn’t really get to talk much tonight. With seeing a movie and everything. My parking’s for the whole night. And there’s this nice ice cream place around the corner that we could go to. If you wanted to.”

Nancy smiles. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Ryan looks generally surprised. “Sure, yeah ok. It’s this way.”

He leads them across the street and down one block. Turning at the corner and halfway down, there is a small ice cream shop. They walk in, a family and one other couple at the tables. But otherwise, it’s empty. Nancy looks at the options, debating which to choose. While Ryan immediately knows what he wants and asks the employee. One scoop of vanilla and one cookies and cream. Making sure to note that they needed to be rung up together but were in no rush.

When Nancy chooses the honey vanilla flavor, Ryan beats her to register to pay.

“You know I can pay for us at least once,” Nancy jokes. She instead pulls out a few dollars and slides them into the tip jar.

Ryan laughs. Taking back his change and dumping it into the jar as well. “It was my idea, so it’s my money.”

Nancy walks over to the table in the corner. “So, I need to plan the next date and then I get to pay?”

“Yeah,” Ryan stutters. There’s been a nervous energy with him all night. “That would work.”

“I promise I don’t mean anything by this question, I’m just generally interested. Why are you so nervous? We’ve already been on one date.”

Ryan sets down his ice cream, rubbing his palms on his pants. “I’ve been on what seems like hundreds of first dates. It’s down to a routine at this point. But as far as second dates go, there’s only been a few. And most of those times, it never went anywhere else, and I was back on the app the next morning.”

Nancy nods, showing that she’s listening.

“I get that’s just how dating can be, sometimes. Especially through dating apps. But I just want something that lasts more than a week or two, you know?”

“I do.” Nancy stares down at her ice cream. “I kind of gave up dating for a while for the same reason. It was just horrible date after horrible date. So I gave up.”

“What made you try again?”

Nancy sighs. Debating how much she should tell. “My best friend, who also lives across the hall from me, got a new girlfriend.”

“Oh,” he says. With a mix of shock and concern.

“There’s nothing there, I promise. Back when we were in college, there was a phase where we both liked each other but didn’t know. Part of me kind of always harbored those feelings for her, but it was time to finally let them go. Whatever we could have had was over, it was time to recognize that.”

“And you though going on a dating app would help with that?”

Nancy lets her hands fall into her hands. “That makes me sound like an asshole. I swear that I didn’t agree to go on a date with you just to get over my stupid feelings. They played no part in deciding to go on a date with you.”

Ryan reaches across the table and gently pushes Nancy’s hands out of the way. “I believe you, for what it’s worth. We’ve all been there at some point.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

“I appreciate you being honest with me. I,” he pauses. Taking a deep breath. “I really like you, Nancy. You’re probably the best person I’ve met on one of these apps.”

Nancy smiles. “Same here.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Finishing their ice cream and heading outside again. When Ryan goes to shove his hands into his pockets again, Nancy stops him. Taking his hand into hers. They walk back to the street where they would need to part ways. Nancy waiting for the bus and Ryan crossing the street to his car.

“Would it be ok if I drove you home?” he asks. “It’s dark and way better than a bus.”

“Yeah, that would be ok.”

She follows him to his car and directs them to her apartment building. He finds a spot down the street and parks. Planning on walking her to her door. With full explanation that she can tell him no.

Instead, she rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. Waiting for him to get out. He does, stumbling over his step a bit.

“So, for our next date,” Nancy talks as they walk up the stairs. “I was thinking that we could to this Mexican place I love.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

“And it’s my idea so my money, right?” She stops in front of her door. Facing him.

He laughs. “That was the deal.”

Inside of Steve and Robin’s apartment, Robin is staring through the peephole. Having heard Nancy come back and got curious. That’s all, curious.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asks. Looking unenthused.

Robin shushes him. “Nancy is back from her date. She’s talking with the guy outside the door.”

“Let me see.” Steve pushes Robin out of the way, looking through the peephole. “Oh, he’s cuter in person.”

Robin slaps his arm. “Don’t encourage this.”

“How am I encouraging this? I’m behind a door, she can’t hear me. Also, it’s too late for that. I was there for the pre-date crisis.”

“And she still went out on the date?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah well, she seemed to really like the guy. Argyle even did his weird stalking thing he does and found nothing bad. He checked out.”

Robin pushes Steve out of the way again, looking through the peephole once more. “Oh no, she’s doing that face. You know that face.”

“I am well aware of the face.” Steve leans up against the wall next to the door. “Why is this bothering you so much? She’s allowed to date if she wants to.”

“I don’t know,” Robin groans. Letting her forehead thunk against the door. “She just deserves so much, and she’s been on so many dates and none of them have been good. I’m just . . .  looking out for her. That’s all.”

Steve hums, disbelieving. Pulling out his phone.

Steve: I think Robin is jealous of Nancy’s new guy

Eddie: Oh wow, what a shocker

Eddie: Do you not remember the two-hour long pity session she conveniently had after Nancy had the first date

Steve: They’re out in the hall right now, Robin can’t stop looking at them through the peephole

Eddie: Can’t she just pretend to take out the trash like a normal person

Steve: Are you going to go do that now?

Eddie: Yes

Eddie: I need to see this guy in person

Back in the hall, while all of that was ensuing, Nancy and Ryan were saying goodbye. Not exactly making any moves toward it. Until Eddie opens the door, with a half full bag of trash in hand, interrupts it.

“Oh, hey, Nance. I didn’t hear you get back,” he says, nonchalant. Looking over at Ryan with fake shock. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Nancy sighs, catching onto Eddie’s play. “Ryan, this is my roommate Eddie.”

Ryan holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Nancy’s told me about you.”

“Same here.” Eddie shakes his hands. “I’m just gonna, thank you.” He steps in between them to head down the hall to the trash shoot. Leaving them alone again.

“I should get going,” Ryan says, pushing his hands into his pockets again. “It was really nice to see you again.”

Nancy smiles. “Yeah, it was. I’ll text you later when I’m free.”

“I’ll be looking for it.”

There is a break of silence. Expectation in the air. Ryan shrugs in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh my god.” Nancy stops his from walking away. Grabbing his face and pulling him down. Pressing a kiss to his lips. He’s shocked for a second, before pressing into it. “Have a good night,” she says after pulling back.

Ryan steps backward, a blush covering his face. “Yeah, uh, yeah. You too. I’ll text you later. Yeah. Bye.”

He turns to walk down the hall while Nancy snorts to herself. Eddie comes back around the corner with a teasing smile.

“Don’t even start, Munson.” Nancy walks into the apartment.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything.” He closes the door behind them. “I was just merely observing.”

Nancy glares at him while taking off her earring. “Observing?”

“He seems nice,” Eddie teasing tone.

“He is nice.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“There it is.” Nancy walks to her bedroom. “Night.”

Eddie leans on the back of the couch. “No, I wanted to do the after-date gossip.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She closes the bedroom door.

Eddie sighs, pulling out his phone to see many new texts from Steve.

Steve: Holy shit, she kissed him

Steve: Robin is not taking that well

Steve: She’s trying to play off her jealousy as protectiveness

Steve: Maybe we should warn Nancy about the tirade she’s going to get tomorrow about the dangers of kissing random men

Eddie: I don’t know, the guy was pretty respectful about it

Eddie: He was smiling like an idiot when I passed him in the hall

Eddie: And Nancy seems happy about it

Steve: This is going to be both entertaining and a pain in the ass

Eddie: Agreed

Eddie: I take it Robin isn’t going out tonight then

Steve: Sadly not

Steve: There goes our plans

Eddie: Damn, I kind of really want to kiss you right now

Steve: You know

Steve: No one is ever in the laundry room this late

Eddie: I could do some laundry

Steve: Meet you there in twenty

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137, @morallyundefined

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter One

Really, she doesn't have a choice.

Lark barely remembers the huge shadow of a man sitting beside her in the dead heat of Mrs. Poppy's office at the children's home. He is silent, stoic, and completely terrifying.

Christopher Hollow.

Muscled.

Six foot five.

Storm blue eyes.

Dog tags outlined under the straining stretch of his black tee-shirt.

"Lark," Mrs. Poppy says, gently, "you're happy with this arrangement? You want to go with your Godfather?"

There's no money left for her to live off until she finds a job - if she finds a job.

Her Dad is dead.

Lark doesn't have a choice.

Lark Douglas didn’t know who Christopher Hollow was when Mrs. Poppy brought his name up to her on a hot Saturday afternoon in her office. The additional details that he had served with her Dad in Afghanistan and was her appointed legal guardian and Godfather did nothing to help jog Lark’s memory.

      In fact, it was a full week after Mrs. Poppy informed Lark of Christopher Hollow’s existence that the girl finally managed to scrounge up a single, short, fuzzy memory of the man.

         She was home.

         The door to their flat was open, the old ceiling fan had been turning in slow circles over her head. It did nothing to fight against the mid July heat that was so stifling and muggy it made her skin stick to the linoleum floors. She had sat on the couch playing with Labrador, her stuffed toy dog, when Mom walked in with someone.

        Lark was five, she thinks, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything that was being said, or looked at who had stepped the room after her mother. She only glanced up from where she was making her stuffed dog do backflips off the worn-down couch cushions when big, black boots stepped into her vision off the edge of the sofa.

       The man who stood in front of her was tall, wearing camo pants and a fitted grey tee-shirt. His face was hard to remember, but Lark thought he had sandy brown hair and the start of a thick brown beard. He had crouched down, setting aside a battered black duffle bag, looking at her like he expected something.

     Lark had only stared at him.

      Mom’s voice had a strain in it when she spoke.

     “Say hi to Chris, baby. He’s come all the way from the airport just to see you.”

     The man spoke before Lark had the chance. He had a deep, rough rumbly voice.

     “Don’t worry her about it, Lori. Been two years. I’d be surprised if Pet remembered me at all.”

      Pet.

      That was the only memory Lark had of Christopher.

      She wasn’t even sure it was real and not just something she had made up in the recesses of her mind as an unconscious effort to help herself fill in the gaps and feel less uncertain.

     She had lots of memories like that.

      Memories no one else could verify. Memories she wasn’t sure happened, but couldn’t shake as being real.

      This was what led Lark to where she stood at the top of the worn flight of wooden stairs.  Seventeen years old, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to her, feeling entirely unsure of what the future would hold.

      Seventeen, and only three weeks and four days shy of her eighteenth birthday.

     It was ridiculous.

     Stupid, even.

     Why couldn’t she just wait it out at the girl’s home?

     Why was Mrs. Poppy was obligated, by law, to reach out to relatives Lark had never even heard of and negotiate with them down the phone, asking and then, after the eighth rejection, pleading with each of them to come and pick her up?

      “Just a month - no, no, you wouldn’t have to commit to adoption, Mrs. Tanner - not at all. I am only reaching out because Lark is your niece, and I am sure you want the best for her -”

     The list thinned, name by name. Lark saw them each time Mrs. Poppy opened the manilla envelope with her initials on it, glancing over the struck off phone numbers and feeling nothing.

    The rejections didn’t surprise her.

    She knew from lived experience how reluctant people were to help a stranger.

     It took less than half a week for them to reach the last one.

     His name.

     Christopher Hollow.

     He was who Lark was waiting for as she hung onto the banister, her dark eyes fixed on the panes of frosted glass in the door, anticipating seeing a shadow blot across the panels when he stepped onto the porch and rang the buzzer.

     Floorboards creaked.

     Lark moved too late when Mrs. Poppy stepped out of her office that stood at the side of the stairs. The stacked blonde beehive of her hair bobbing into the girl’s view as Lark tried to scurry back out of her sight.

    Too little, too late.

    The kind wrinkles around Mrs. Poppy’s eyes doubled and deepened as the sound made her look upward and spot Lark.

     “Lark, there you are! I was just about to come and find you, dear. Nip down into my office for a moment, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you before Mr. Hollow arrives.”

    The old stairs squeaked loudly as the girl walked sheepishly down the grossly worn-out blue carpet runner, rounding the curved banister at the bottom to follow Mrs. Poppy into her office.

    It was sun warm inside, light spilling over the faded hardwood floor and shiny varnish of the big, brown desk, highlighting the dozens of ring-marks stained into its top by mugs of coffee past. Mrs. Poppy rounded the desk, having to skirt sideways between the edge of it and the rows of heavy metal file drawers that flanked the room on all sides.

   Taking her perch in a black wheely chair, the woman gestured for Lark to sit in one of the two big, green, retro velvet sofas that faced her desk.

      Sinking down into her seat, Lark folded her hands in her lap and looked at the woman, waiting to be spoken to. She had been thoroughly taught from a young age that she was to be seen and not heard. There had also been plenty of occasions when Lark wasn’t to be seen or heard. Those were moments when her half empty pink, princess wardrobe came in handy.

        Mrs. Poppy placed a pair of up-swept cat eye spectacles on the tip of her tall, gently crooked nose, and took out a notepad. It was one of dozens she had, this particular piece of stationary sported Lark’s name on its front, written in black pen and then broadly underlined in purple marker.

       “Miss Douglas today is a big one for you. How are you feeling, hon? Excited? Nervous?”

        The soft slip of her southern accent calmed Lark some as she fought against the urge to fidget, keeping her fingers still in her lap.

        “Excited, Ma’am. Dad didn’t like to travel much, so seeing the Appalachians sounds like a real adventure.”

        Lark stuck a quick smile onto the end of her lie. She had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times since she was told the good news a week before.

        Christopher Hollow wanted her.

        He was driving the whole way down the coast from his home in the Appalachian Mountains to come and collect her. Lark couldn’t even comprehend where the Appalachian Mountains stood, just that they were stupendously far away.

        Mrs. Poppy grinned at Lark, genuine and radiant, as she wrote something in fast scratching cursive over and empty line of the notepad.

       “Always such an optimist, Lark. I’m sure Mr. Hollow will be delighted by you.”

        Lark’s left thumb twitched. When she smiled, it felt tight in the corners, “I certainly hope so, Ma’am.”

        And she truly did. Lark knew the way men behaved when they weren’t delighted by her.

~R.F.M~

         A fist gripped long, brown hair tightly enough to tear dozens of strands out of Lark’s scalp as she was dragged down the hallway by her head, the girl’s frame stooped almost to the floor as she clawed at the hands restraining her.

       “Fucking little bitch coming to steal from me? Think you’re slick, huh?”

         In honesty, Lark did.

        She had stolen from the man before on countless occasions, rummaging through the contents of his worn leather wallet, fishing out loose coins and dollar notes that wouldn’t be missed. Before, he was always too out of his mind to realize, so Lark had gotten greedy.

        Twenty dollars was a lot of money to people like them. She was foolish for thinking she could snatch it away without his notice.

       Lark didn’t know his name, or his age, or anything about him other than the fact he bought pot on Thursday afternoons and left the door to his apartment wide open with 90’s music playing full volume while he sat out on his balcony in a beat-up pink recliner, back to the living room, smoking.

         By all accounts, the man wasn’t very smart. But he was still a man, a man much stronger than Lark.

[shaypie67]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲 - Request

Summary: Reader shows his father Soldier Boy just how good he can be.

Pairing: Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Male Reader

Warnings: Bad Language/Cursing, Incest, 18+ (NO MINORS).

Word Count: 847

"There's a good boy... what this mouth was made for." Soldier Boy groans, leaning his head back onto the sofa as he relished in the feel of my skilled mouth wrapped around his cock.

To the public, I was America's Golden child, a young man loved just for being the son of Soldier Boy. But what the public doesn't know is I am just a little slut for my father's cock.

Which is how I ended up here, kneeling between my fathers knees, deepthroating his monster cock, freed of the confinements of his skin tight suit. A start contrast to my naked body.

"Whores don't need clothes." I remember him telling me the first time he asked me to suck his dick. But the sight of him fully dressed made him seem more powerful, having more of an effect on me that I would like to admit.

"You're enjoying this aren't ya?" Ben's voice comes out breathless, full of pleasure. I feel pride swell in my chest that I can make daddy feel this good, happy to be his good little boy and please him whenever he chooses.

I whimper and nod, looking up at him through my eyelashes, mouth stretched around the base of his cock, so deep I can feel it in my throat. I'm glad he helped me repress my gag reflex.

"Yeah you are... Good little cocksucker aren't you?" He grits his teeth, trying to hold in his moans of pleasure against the blowjob he's receiving.

The degrading comments get to my head, my hips bucking instinctively against his newly cleaned boots. My little cock leaking all over them, practically destroying them. I'm already thinking how daddy will punish me for that later, causing me to moan.

Soldier Boy looks down when he feels his son grinding onto his foot and he can't help but smirk, pressing his boot up and helping his son along.

I gasp in pleasure, grinding down harder onto his boot, searching for more of that delicious friction provided.

It ends when Soldier Boy grabs a fistful of my shorter hair, yanking my head back and off his cock, only being connected by a thin string of my saliva. I whimper at the sting as I look up into his eyes, panting heavier now.

"Daddy please..." I can't help but beg, my own arousal aching so bad. I would do anything for some relief.

Soldier Boy hums softly and relents his strong grip on my hair, stroking it instead as he continued to smirk at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You wanna come, baby." He mocks me with a fake pout, his hand moving to my jaw. I nod quickly, wanting nothing more.

Soldier Boy just looks me up and down, pressing his booted foot back into my groin with an almost painful force that I whimper some more, not knowing whether to back away or chase it some more.

"Since you were such a good boy for me this morning, I give you permission to come. But only if you can make me come first."

I listen to his ultimatum, not taking a second to think about it before I swallow his cock back down my throat, doubling my efforts to help him reach his climax. My tongue darting out to tease his balls, knowing daddy is sensitive there.

"There we go... daddy is so close baby boy." I hear my father groan out, by the way his dick hardens a little more and the tight grip he has on my hair proving his words.

Within seconds, my hips grind desperately onto the mans foot before I hear the loud roar of my father coming, before I feel the the flood of cum force it's way down my throat. But I don't pull back, opting to swallow every drop of my father's release, being addicted to the taste since the first drop I swallowed.

"Come on baby... be a dirty boy and come all over daddy's boot." Ben groans out, dick still buried deep into my throat as I finally reach my climax. I moan loud around him as my entire body tenses, ropes of come shooting across his boot and drops landing on his suit. The pearly white visible against the forest green of his pants.

I sit back on my feet, licking my lips to savor the taste of him as I watch my father tuck himself away.

"Dirty boy. I have a damn press conference to do in 10 minutes. Use that fucking cock sucker mouth to clean up your mess."

To anyone, they would have ran away at the sight of his grumpy look. But his anger only turns me on even more as I nod.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

I lean down and kitten lick all my spunk from his suit, closing my eyes so I can't see the proud and smug look of my father's face. The father who loves nothing more than to use me, humiliate me and degrade me. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (7) - eighteen is dangerous

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: lots of teenage angst. descriptions of body insecurity. descriptions of alcohol consumption and reckless behavior (getting in a pool while drunk is very reckless, don't do that please!!) consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) reader is going through it unfortunately, sorry authors note: this is a flashback. reader is eighteen and roman is nineteen. word count: 7300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

eighteen is a dangerous age to be alive. all of your almost adult thoughts and ideas and intentions strewn together by wild, colorful imagination, but, at times, for the sake of another. in front of your mirror, picking at your hair and pinching the elastic of a maybe too tight swim suit. the back cut out to reveal skin and your legs thicker now than they were last summer. frustration brimming harsh in your blood so well it's knotting in your throat. tears pricking your eyes. doom in your bones. because, fucking boys and their oh so amazing pool parties. water every place you step and the torment of maybe getting thrown in for shitty amusement. beer bottles floating everywhere and just-finished-with-high-school-teenagers too lightweight to hold their stomachs. not that you're any better. but at least you know that much about yourself. the pool, party and house courtesy of seth and the kegs of beer to come courtesy of dean no doubt. a friend of a friend of his who wants clout with the club so badly that he swiped his card on kegs for underaged leather bound boys. fucking men. 

and seth's guest bedroom is hot. sweltering so much that it nearly leaves you damp with sweat. your fingers undone with a trembling ache as you pull a pair of shorts over your thighs. overthinking on over drive. because he and his cousins and the rest of the "vip's" have yet to make an appearance. the common people waiting with bated breath for their loud, grimy noise filled entrance. a rumbling, chaotic spectacle filled with air's and aura's of a specific importance and nature that you'll always find too high maintenance to keep up with. but that's why eighteen is such a terrible time, despite maybe your exaggerations about the angst of it. this weird refurbishing of the soul. his mighty self importance aside, romans thoughts and opinions mattering now much more than they used to. your eyes yours still, brown and "shaped so prettily", as your mother likes to say, but not really. going about a constant examination for someone else. shaped against your face perfectly but living outside to look inward too. 

because would he like what you've done with your hair? the earrings you've decided on for the night? the way the swimsuit cuts out at the back? toes painted a different color from your fingernails but oddly cute all the same, because you couldn't be bothered with changing the shade. your tummy not as flat as last year and that scar still embedded in the center of your palm. eyes working for you but at the service of another. him. yes. eighteen is goddamn dangerous. 

that sweet silver necklace he gave you sometime ago. eyes all nervous and his fingers shaky as it clasped the lock of it before you kissed him. a warmth to his skin you never knew existed till that moment. the cool of the metal resting on your skin. dipping low a bit more than usual. the swimsuit made with built in cups. accentuating indeed. because swiping for it at the register of the sports store was easy. naomi at your side smiling bright and excited with a matching style in a different color. the try on process quick and sure with a good natured finality because her eyes were different. lacking that air of intense appraisal. a girls girl for you in the truest sense. her eighteen and your eighteen so similar sometimes. her dealings with jimmy like yours with roman. 

a knock against the bedroom, like a warning, before naomi bursts through. red solo cups in hand and a frustration running lines into her face. long, waist length braids, ponytailed up and away from her face. the bright neon of her swimsuit wet, and her legs dripping some on the carpet. 

you shift quick from the mirror. a creeping heat in your cheeks rising till it settles about your forehead. heart hammering before it plummets to your empty belly. the idea of somebody, anybody, finding you amidst such a vulnerable moment of self brought on scrutiny, absolutely troubling. embarrassing even. a damn scary state of affairs that nearly makes all the doubts and uncertainties breathe harder, heavier. with a better purpose. 

"you went to the pool?"

plopping to lay against the made bed. the fluff of the sheets comfortable despite the heat. maybe even comfortable enough to stay laid up against. a decision that feels more and more appetizing by the second. 

she stands just near the mirror where you'd been, setting down the cups to readjust her hair. a strong presence living along with her reflection. unflinching and sure and at ease. "i took a dip. enough not to get my hair wet", she starts. still corralling the long waist length hair. "i was tryin to wait around for you but somebody decided to abandon me last minute to come up here", giving a pointed look through the mirror. slivers of guilt slipping under your skin. but her fuss of it doesn't last very long, eyes rolling as she dips into an annoyance. "they all down there standin around all brainless n'shit, like they need to be told when to get in the pool. half of them is only here just to say they came anyways...". her steps shuffling over the carpet, cups in hand again. "...followers irk my nerves", she groans. eyes dropping quick over your body. "why are your shorts on?" 

you sit up. a quick, abrupt movement. driven by that suffocating air of hesitation you've fought with since slipping on the swimsuit. 

"should i take them off?"

and maybe naomi doesn't understand the painstaking work of such hesitation, or even if she does, it isn't shown. eyes living with all of the opposite actually. "where is this coming from? it was fine when we bought it, it's fine now", her body plopping beside yours. eyes shining with a scrutiny towards you for the first time tonight, and maybe the first time ever. but oddly enough, it doesn't burn the skin, and neither does it make your esteem shrivel. a sigh leaving her. hardened eyes, protective and familiar in their way, like you could have maybe felt them once before in another lifetime. something similar to how a sister looks to her less stronger one. "if you're worried about what he thinks, then forget his ass. he should be lucky you even lettin him breathe your air". 

and your nerves don't fall away all that quickly, but the air is less thick now. breathable. your eyes interested now in the cups she's bought. both filled with something pink, but the smell of it like that faithful burn of tequila. 

"you're right". 

she smiles."have i ever been wrong?"

your eyes rolling playfully. "no"

"exactly". shoving a cup in your hand before bursting up excited. "so sip on this and lets go mingle". 

and maybe you're like your mom about these things but "mingling" is for the fucking birds. an unexcitable process of small talk that does your head in. because no one actually cares about anything real, or different, or new, they just want to make good on first time impressions. all the real things, these scary little bits of air and unspoken moments between the words. something something, if we make the daughter of the vice president of the most infamous, illustrious, biker club in all of florida laugh and smile and twiddle her fucking thumbs, then we've made it to the inner inner ring, of the inner circle. which is a lie and a half. sweaty shoulders rubbing up at yours and the dampness nearly folding over your stomach with disgust as you follow naomi through to a less busy area of the backyard. the heat steeping in and weighing over everywhere. the crowd as idle as she said it was. hesitation in their bones as they wait for some fearless leader to make the first move of jumping in, so they of course then, can follow. 

you sip at your cup, and then nearly guzzle it the rest of the way. a cold, fruity bite to your tongue that helps ease the angst. 

your eyes peering over to the sliding door that connects the backyard and the inside of the house. like a mere gazing over would summon the not so true bane of your existence. a nineteen year old boy with a penchant for unscrewing your nerves loose. your words tongue tied when they aren't soothed into an easy quiet submission by the sweetness of his mouth. groaning little kisses that leave you frenzied and a little dazed and scared. because he has that way about him unfortunately. a lax sort of domineer. flirtatious eyes and quick little phrases that make your skin crawl something horrendous but excellent just the same. you literally despise him. mouth seeking your cup again. already at the end of your drink and feeling the hard rush in of it in your blood. warmth in your belly and a dizzying effect that loosens your anxieties. the type of buzz that asks for more. 

a small little table exists near a group of shrubs. a cloth bag nestled in a particularly thick way of leaves. your hand sticking down and into the bag to pull out a bottle of tequila. because seth said "only my buddies get the good shit", everyone else suffering with cheap beer they bought, waiting for dean and his kegs to arrive.  

 and with a harsh splash of water—some rando a little less than recklessly diving into the pool—does the party finally actualize. bodies corralling quickly in that cold wash of blue and the music a little louder. this concoction of whatever on your tongue and your urges less accounted for. 

surely this is what naomi means when she says "mingle". forgetting about yourself a little and just being. a hard task made easier when tequila doesn't give two shits about what it means to be perceived. eighteen not as dangerous when you've got liquid courage to slot a small battery in your back. 

"samir right?", his name calling sweetly on your tongue. the leaving of it gentle as you make to get closer to him. a tall-ish boy—but certainly not taller than roman—with a rich dark caramel complexion. charming hooded eyes and the cutest nose. his beer clutched for dear life in his hand like he'd maybe pay to be anywhere else. 

"uh, yeah". a cautious sort of surprise. like the possibility of speaking to him was slim to none. "how'd you know-"

"i seen you with yah dad before...", memory working amidst the alcohol. your words a little loose. stepping closer to him to get over the loud play of the music. his cologne nice in your nose. the type of scent made for double takes and "where'd you get it from?" questions. a silent wingman working as a possible conversation opener for anxious girls who maybe don't know that being this close makes for a heavier suggestion of familiarity. an intimate proximity like you know him more than just from seeing him around. "...he brings his car around my pops shop for tune ups n stuff. you look like him", and maybe the smile after that comment with the way you stand next to him implies something more than it should or more than you want it to but you don't notice. the fuzz of your brain winning the 'i dont give a fuck about being perceived' war. 

but samir is smiling and his shoulders are maybe not as slacked and bored. squared now with a new sense of purpose and open and facing you, like he's giving you the space to be as close as you'd like. like for some odd reason, if you fell into him, he'd catch you better, not that there'd be any reason for that but yeah...whatever, and the buzz is so obviously shaping your blood to run with a renewed sense of unawareness of present situations. thoughts roaming off to weird deep ends before they slip back close to where they belong. sipping at your cup again before you peer up to find him staring. a quick wandering of his earthy brown eyes, maybe at the silver of your necklace or the cup at your lips or maybe even a little below where your necklace dips in. 

samir's eyes bug. an embarrassment clinging to the shape. like he's just snatched himself out of the daze of staring at you. a throat clear that exposes the uncomfortableness in his own body at being made. "what're you drinkin?" 

"it's just juice and tequila, fruit punch i think...", taking a sip. "...beers not my thing". 

"s'not mine either", he gives. looking at his beer bottle unsatisfied. "kinda just grabbed it, cuz it's the only thing here". 

and maybe he'd have more fun if he were where you are? loose and slightly adrift. carefree amidst a sea of people who care too much. "if i say where the stash is, you won't tell right?"

"not a soul". 

your head juts, a motion for him to follow. his steps in rhythm with yours and that cologne staining his skin still flirting with your nose. like a light goading. this silent attempt to lure you into something unfamiliar. because all you know is the cool silver of this necklace, strong teasing fingers and that dark rumbling engine. the nineteen year old boy—who you don't think to name at the moment, not even in the secrecy of your thoughts—this not so true bane of your existence, is still, to you, a great big world of an almost man. tall and surrounding and new and the whole of what you feel for him still uncovered. so maybe it isn't exactly smart—even if such a rebellion lives in the name of a not so odd, half baked, tequila born, self esteem boost—to live so deeply in this state of coyness. a realization, or rather a confession, that threatens the carelessness binding your bones. 

eighteen a little dangerous still, playing loose and a little faster in your blood. because the liquid courage gives you this two-fold, uncanny, brazen sort of awareness. convictions flowing strong, parentally charged in a way that makes your ego break against it in bursting acts of rebellion. the midnight summer air sticky against the skin and baiting. the warmth like a second rushing in, a muggy air of defiance living beside the heat in your belly and the sweet flavor on your tongue. 

you push through that grouping of shrubs, revealing the hefty bottle. 

"shot?", a question but not really. more like a soft demand, styled with a smile and inviting eyes. 

the pour of it playing over samir's voice. a near drown out. "sure", he gives. the cup in his hand already before his decision can come into any finality. "cheers", the words slipping off to linger in the air like he's trying out the phrasing. like he's trying to please your excitement enough to keep it there on your lips. 

you take the stain of it on your tongue quickly. a clear burn that conquers easily on its way down. your throat humming to give it some ease but poor samir is reducing more by the seconds into a fit of coughs. the dry dirtiness of the tequila new for him. not yet to be overcome by the looseness it'll give his bones. 

you laugh. a fit of giggles living a little less than controllable. mixing a more digestible drink into his cup. something more similar to yours. "you don't drink too much huh?"

"nah", his face scrunching. expression embarrassed. "not really". 

"here", passing the cup back to him again. "try this". 

he sips at your concoction. face less screwed as the sweetness of it tempers the bitterness in his mouth. "s'pretty good", natural dark eyes a little brighter. a spark struck across them even. surely not made from janky pool lights that work no better than the old neighborhood street lamps. a courage to him that seems to settle in after he sips again. a courage that leaps with fresh legs. "you have, really, really beautiful eyes", tumbling out. unable to be stopped. the thought perhaps always there but now given the freedom to breathe. to walk and run.

"oh". dumbstruck. a load of giggling that bursts abrupt. not malicious, no. just the sort of drunken amusement caught from the suddenness of a thing. untamable almost if not for the fall of his face. making you feel awful, like shit. "i-..."

samir blinks. like he's just been un-dazed from a dream. "that was corny, i'm sorry".

"no, no, no, it's fine, i just-", your fingers trembling slightly. reaching across the little table to touch him. hands in his, to give him surety "i just-i didn't expect you to say that. thank you". 

"i'm interruptin something?" 

the question teasing as it leaves. flip flops shuffling before they flap down, smacking against the wet cement surrounding the pool. an obnoxious, creeping, entrance. it makes your blood more solid. hearing that mocking tone he gives. roman and the forever glimmer of mischief, spread about his eyes and his lips. like he's hinting the possibility of a storm. gaze drifting over your hands, the way they leave samir's, the proximity of your bodies and the ease of it. a knot in your belly, corralling in with a load of dirty little feelings. roman tall and broad. suffocatingly so. annoyingly so. like a tower. like a mountain that blocks the sun to cast a shadow. that burst of brazenness spreading fun under your skin, now tugging itself along to shuffle back into the dark nothing of a corner. but why should you have to cringe and recoil in and from your innocent fun? why couldn't you delight yourself in a little attention? was that so horrible? your arms crossing over. disruption, childlike and eager, running alongside the bold streak. 

"no". your smile tight lipped. voice bright. "just poppin samir's tequila cherry". 

samir chokes. coughs dangerously hard. roman's eyes slitting to narrow. his jaw giving a small clench before he returns your expression. a mirthless grin. "how nice. i hope he enjoyed it". 

"i think he did". 

roman's brows lift. your audaciousness funny. "lets ask". attention directing itself toward samir, who seems to be the most uncomfortable. 

"i uh", his hand setting the cup down. nervous, antsy and it irks you whole. "yeah, it was. it-it was fine". 

roman hums. shuffles up more till he's nearly flushed against your back. the fabric of his tank top blowing with the heat of the slim midnight breeze, hitting whats exposed of your skin. a reminder. your fists clenching. fucking asshole. the necklace at your chest still cool. in agreement with him. his presence this annoying, territorial claim. possessive and unwavering. your belly empty, your head swimming and frustration clinging to your nerves so well that it's stupid. because this is stupid. because annoyance shouldn't live like this, shouldn't find even ground with enjoyment so well. blood hot, something dizzy working behind your eyes. a complicated, rush of a feeling that has yet to be totally deciphered. 

"you're one of seth's buddies right?"

"yeah something like that". samir appearing less tall. shrunken in and a half step from paper frail. less willing to indulge his eyes. the interest in them gone and refusing to meet your face. and it sours whatever unnamed sweetness held for him. your curiosities gone. because allowing roman to destabilize him so easily. unbalanced and too shy for proper confidence. where was the fun, competitive edge, in that? a bold streak of something uneasy and conflicting and tricky. not simply rolling over and letting him win. thats what this was supposed to be. a riot for some damn reclamation. "i'm just gonna go", samir says. your eyes rolling as he gathers himself to leave the small safety of the table. 

you peer up at roman. the source of all this bullshit angst housed in your person. his face soft but angular somehow. tender lips existing as the object of your lingering desires. his shoulders wide and his body thick thanks to home cooked meals and too much football. your fists balling till they ache. tequila dulling the pain of your nails but doing nothing for the baseless frustration. this boy... this man... this whatever he is, so pretty and exacting and sure all the damn time. always testing and making attempts and looking. your skin less like skin and more like metal. like the tinny cold make of one of his many football trophies. and now you feel no better, no greater than samir. shrinking in and your throat tight again. dizzy and trembly. a leaf in the breeze. like you're back upstairs in seth's guest room, peering into the mirror. eyes yours, but more useful for him now. 

hate isn't too strong a word is it? your father says it sometimes. like the word is venom born, made to poison. says it and then kisses your mother anyways. kisses and hugs her and churns her indifference into pretty, wispy noise. rich and thick. honey inspired. so if that works. venom and honey. both thick and useful. then maybe they're the same. 

"you're such a dick", you cut at him. eyes rolling hard. making to step around him. but he's so tall and everywhere. a world and a half. 

and he laughs. like everything is so funny. like you're funny. a joke. sweetened tequila on the tongue. bathing your stomach. fuzzily in the brain. he thinks you're a joke. 

"how would you know, you've never seen one". 

you gasp. your shoulder trying it's hardest to check him. a barely registered move that gets you past him and closer to the pool. "ass", you yell. loud enough for people to hear. 

skin sticky. trembling still. exasperated. your feet a harsh descending as you stalk to the opposite edge of the pool. the beginning steps of the shallow end. dean there with a cup of beer in hand. hair long and already damp. 

"trouble in paradise?" 

your eyes cut. a sharp look to warn him. a deep breath as you breach the water with your foot. trying the cool of it. "your friend is a fuckin asshole", you give. 

he chuckles. like maybe he knows that to be a little true. "what'd he do?" and when you don't answer, occupied with settling into the chill of the pool, he turns his attention over to his friend. chuckling still. "what the hell did you do?"

roman flips his hand. a 'whatever' motion, like he couldn't be bothered to even care. 

your blood boils. loose and on fire. "what doesn't he do?!" loud and irritated enough for dean to hear. loud enough for roman. for seth and the twins and everyone else in between. but it doesn't stop the party. just adds to the air. to the drone of the festivities. to splashes of water, and the splatting smack of beach balls. to good feeling breezy wind and the thumping bass of music. to guys trying to flirt with girls and girls trying to quell their boyish half baked charms with coyness and shooing splashes of water. the party in full effect and alive. pulsing and balanced. and maybe you shouldn't be in the pool, all loose-brained and dizzy feeling. but the water feels good and the distance from roman is a welcomed addition. gets his cologne out of your nose and rids you of the sensation of his body along your back. 

but his mischief isn't done. stretches with a fresh awakened need to stress your nerves. the pull up and discard of his tank top a sensational performance. like he's mocking and poking and punishing you with the gasp and squeals of girls who pry at him with sharp hopeful eyes. his body dipping into the pool on the deep end before breaching up with his hair slicked back and dusting his shoulders. curling up as it meets the air all finger provoking like. 

you hate him. 

feet splashing behind you. dean stepping to sink further and further into the icy blue of the pool. a quick, resolute voice of mediation. "aaalright...", he draws out. "...none of this shitty, sulky, energy". his back to you, arms stretched out and waiting, like a human pool noodle. "hop on". 

but the water is safe here at the shallow end. close to the stairs and faraway from eyes and his prying little stare that grows more amused by the minute as you fight and fail to ignore it. "dean, i don't think thats a good—", your body up ended. water splashing as you panic. a fast jostling maneuver that forces you to grapple him as he lifts you onto his back. "dean!!!", thrilled and pissed and dazed behind the eyes still. arms and legs wrapping tight about him as he treads into the deep end. 

and he's all smiley, the little shit. "you don't got much of a choice unfortunately".

"i can't swim". 

"i know", patting the clinging wrap around of your arm. reassurance that barely makes a full registration about the body. "i ain't gonna let you drown sweets".

"sweets?"

"new nickname for you", he hums. satisfied with the ring of it.  

and you snort. set your head atop of his as he treads the water. because dean—and though it's unusual for him to fail at many things—is unfailing at pleasing his penchant for nicknaming people. you in particular. a little list of moniker's reflecting the growth of your relationship. from 'sis', at sixteen, to 'sissy' at seventeen, and then a very offhanded 'babe' for sometime. a jokey little term of affection you accepted, because the humor of it proved stupid and weird and annoying for roman. always silently bristling about it. these wordless little shifts in his expression. a disapproval he felt was maybe too childish to name properly. but dean didn't linger on it too long. a little razz of a name before moving on back to just calling you by your government. but 'sweets' is new. promotes something, maybe, a bit more delicate than the others. more endearing. 

"cute", you approve. "where are we going?"

"where the party is". 

your arms grow tighter. cinched threateningly at his neck. his little laughs and the edge of his weight against yours not doing much to make your irritations any true problem. but you try anyways. "i swear to God, and Jesus freakin Christ ambrose...", your voice biting. words slipping through your teeth. "...if you take me over to him on some kum ba yah bullshit, i will drown you. i will use all of my weight and pin you to the floor of this pool...", his sputters, chuckles flaming your blood. "...i will end you. i don't wanna talk to him". 

"you two go at it like a fuckin married couple, just—"

your name shrieks across the pool. a drawl of a mezzo soprano voice. pretty and clear like freshly cut diamonds. sing song like and attention grabbing. enough for dean to halt his treading and pivot. curiosities a shitty merging with some low level form of dread. tequila swimming in your stomach, this large, prong attached battery. a careless, suspicious, jolt of energy about your blood as you get closer to chauncey hayes and her mini crowd of personality destitute friends. and no, the dread doesn't spring off from some shriveling form of a fear absolute, but rather the regular anxieties of interacting with a girl too boy obsessed to think straight. because chauncey still roams free and ditsy-like in the halls of tenth grade socialization. a shark of a particular caliber. too small to be truly frightening but existing large enough to annoy already poorly wired nerves. tonight is not the night for this. tonight is not the night for chauncey hayes. 

"just the girl i wanted to chat it up with", she smiles. a little looser than tight lipped. like the work of ingratiating herself to you is a goal but not a top priority. sincerity casting bright for some seconds as she drops her eyes. "hi dean".

"ladies", he gives, to her and all her friends. polite and smirky like. their reactions amusing. 

"what's up?", you ask. ready to get it over with. your arms and legs clinging to dean still. less vexed. seeking comfort. 

"so um...", a faux bout of rumination. her eyes a light bright warm brown, glowing to contrast the cool blue of the pool. a summery colored bathing suit fitting her skin and her hair loose and curly. "...you're cool with the twins right?", her eyes flicking to jimmy and jey. reverential, bordering needy and crazed even. naomi atop jimmy in a similar fashion to how you cling to dean. but her body proves less anxious, more affectionate. the boys cornered and laughing gut deep with roman and seth. "like...deep family connects and all that good stuff?" 

"how federal of you", dean mumbles. 

and yes, blame it on the alcohol. spirits saturating your veins. curiosities fortified and blindly misguiding. so much so that your clues as to where this might lead are a bit blurred. a nameless teenaged ruin. oh yes, just blame everything on that fruity, semi-acrid taste steeped into your tongue. "i guess you could say that, yeah". 

"so whats the status on them then? ... like, i know jimmy and naomi are connected at the hip but roman specifically...", a rushing in where words intend to flow. heat and blood. the inner parts of your ears muddied with an ill feeling. a disruptive sensation. fingers alive with these little twitches. belly swimming. nausea maybe. a well, wet with liquor and a deep vexing. because what the actual hell? "...like what's his deal? is he taken?" 

dean laughs. from the base of his gut. abrupt and ill-controlled. amusement full in his cheeks. "oh young and the restless, eat shit, this is magic", he barks. 

"dean. shut. the fuck. up", you cut. tongue sharp like obsidian. shifting along his back. re-hooking your legs and focusing your eyes from that loose daze. for what? better posture maybe? a maneuvering perhaps that gives one of your arms more reach, more freedom. a reason unknown really. but your human pool noodle takes it as a sign to tread a step backwards. like he knows something you don't. "why do you ask?", your eyes slitting. no less curious, but the anxieties are fallen away to leave a spark of something vicious feeling in it's wake. an unchallenged sensation housed in your chest. a beating, a pulse. the pump of it venturing out to the center of your forehead and the tips of your toes. a thorough spreading about till you're filled with the brutality of it. a dangerous feeling. whole and sweet and grimy. 

"i mean...what do you mean why?", chauncey flicking her shitty little eyes over to roman. a dazzling appreciation in them that aches your teeth. "have you seen him?" 

you grin. mirthlessly. "what makes you think i'd know what he likes?" 

"you're always hanging around...", a patronizing go of words. her eyes rolling, the thought of it sticking to her odd and unwanted. like your proximity to him is more of a nuisance than a fulfillment of his own wants. of each others wants. "...i figured you had a little insider information". 

and the way your arms wrap around dean for stability, fingers clutching nails into his pale skin. anger attempting to be tempered but proving formidable and real bitchy. his throat grunting as he feels the violence of it. "ouch...", he pats your arm for reprieve. to draw you back off the ledge. that resolute voice of mediation coming back in full stride. awkward and stuttered. "...ok uh, so i think maybe...maybe in the spirit of pool parties and um...buoyancy? ...yeah that sounds right... that we should do a breathing exercise...y'know just something to chill us out—"

you cut off his rambling. "is this you trying to be funny?", his hands digging into your thighs to keep you up as you press forward. "your town cryin ass is always ten steps ahead on gossip but you don't know him and i are together?...", voice louder than before. erupting till its bouncing off pool waves to ripple out to the deep end. "...have been together?" 

she scoffs. fighting not to shrink. "he doesn't even talk you up, i—"

"ok, ok, wait!", dean calls out. bewildered at chauncey's nonchalance. treading back.

"girl are you fucking dense?", you yell. 

"ah shit", dean mumbles. backing away slowing. bones heavy amidst the water. 

but you keep going. laughing with teeth. a mild mannered hysteria. "do you not like your life?"

"are you threatening me?", chauncey shrieks. trembling but warring against it.   

"you know who i am", you give. amused and loose blooded. 

"ok, i think thats enough magic for tonight", dean mumbles. his thumb rubbing into your knee as he holds and carries you to the stairs resting at the center edge of the pool. 

the metal curve of the stepping rods cold to the touch. your bones tired and heavy. skin wet. an empty, drained, sensation coddling terribly well everywhere. that short bout of hysteria dead. the party goers unsure of when or how to resume. awkwardly existing under the torture of your fire. the buzz once sizzling your blood, growing neutral and ill-suited for this new lane of emotion. a merging onto something quiet and dejected. the thump of the music never returning to it's former glory, even as your feet press forward into the house. tracking in wet, an untouched collection of dry towels hanging near the entrance. your hand snatching one up, making a b-line for the other side of seth's house. his kitchen scarce of teenage bullshit—apart, of course, from your own—and the loud song of too trivial chatter. the large towel wrapping your body, a tender lean against the counter, trembling softly, waiting for the chill to stop. 

a gut wrenching sort of enervation plays dutifully under the skin. on cue and terribly in the pocket. a grimace worthy rhythm. it makes a disgusting, beautiful, cruel tune out of your nerves. bursting and wild, like the roar of an old iron made engine. a rumbling orchestra, dirty in its symphony, those residuals of anger oh so noisy in the body. feeling mighty and familiar. a fire and grime inherited surely. because who are you that it'd pass you by without troubling skin and bones and the thoughts made ready to leave your mouth?  and sure, maybe in her mischief, chauncey deserved to be dug into the ground, her knowing bright eyes filled with wanting to tear you apart for the fun of it, but not with the easy mean speak of your father. she didn't deserve the grime and blast of that tough leathery part of his nature. at least not from you. being a vessel, holding this much in the same way, it hurts too badly to keep in. hurts more letting it go. 

and roman is light footed as he steps into the kitchen. silent but full in presence. shaping the room to his body. but then again, everything looks quite too large for understanding when you've gone under such a quick, awful diminishing.

"sober yet?" 

"almost". 

he huffs through his mouth. a deep, amusing breath. "it's always the lightweights causing all the trouble", leaning up against the island that runs parallel to the counter. his eyes stitching to your skin. sewing in and binding themselves. "you gave the normals a show though, they'll have something to talk about for the rest of the summer". 

your eyes roll, turning away from him. opening the kitchen fridge to grab a bottle of water. opening it to take a sip, before the sarcasm drips. "m'so happy i could give your fans free entertainment, apparently the little strip tease wasn't enough for them". 

"takin my shirt off at a pool party is regular shit. i can't help it if girls like the way i look. i can't control how people react...", his face running hot with irritation. his cheeks dusting a faint red. loose curls joining up in his hands as he ties them into a small knot. " ...at least i wasn't baitin nobody. you get a little buzz and forget i exist apparently". 

but samir was an empty rebellion. not forgetfulness. a coup against the self to rid of the overpower of his influence. an attempt at reclamation—of eyes and thoughts and opinions—at not caring and just being. was it misguided? sure, but not malicious.  

"i can't help it if boys like the way i look". 

"you was eatin it up...", he flares. not loud but deep. accusatory and pissed. "...all giggly n'shit, like you never heard a compliment before". his body shuffling closer to gain advantage in your line of sight. "i give you compliments all the time and you act all meek like you can't take it". 

the plastic of the bottle gives a crinkling groan from the grip in your hand. your tired eyes meeting his. those last bits of looseness giving you the wherewithal to speak. "you wanted me to be a dick about it?" 

"have the same energy or somethin", he grits. "you damn near threatened chauncey". 

"she was makin it seem like i barely existed next to you!"

"because...you maybe don't", he breaks. urgent. his shoulders falling, unweighted now. like the thought has lived and shaped well in his mind for sometime. his face closer and troubled. a confusion born from frustration. "you don't want me next to you, you barely want me to touch you, and you hate when i look at you for too long, but you want everybody and they damn mama knownin we together". 

that nausea. dizziness behind the eyes. "thats not true—"

"are we together?" he asks. 

the air feeling harder to breathe. that bottle no longer clutched in your hand but too cold still and your ears flooding to the tips with heat. pressure welling up in your throat too much it starts to ache. fingers gathering to ball, nothing between them but the bite of your nails into the palms. the phantom of a thing they hold against for dear life. eyes prickling with a stabbing pain. the beginning of salty warmth that burns the skin. 

you chuckle. mirthless and panicked. "thats not a real question. you can't be for real right now". 

"you got somethin real to say to me then?" 

and it's all resting palpable at the tip of your tongue. but it lacks the proper brilliance. makes no quarrel with itself of possibly being undigestible. it lives wholly uncomfortable, eagerly so, with a streak of menace. and this, he wants you to spit out? to let fall and burn and weight over the air. displeasure true in the heart of your chest, melted and flamed and dangerous like the inner core of the earth. 

"why you so pressed to hear about what i got to say all the time? always lookin and diggin for stuff that don't matter". 

"if its you, it matters", he stresses. confusion wearing well in his eyes but his words sure. "if it's not, then whatever. i don't care". 

and this must be what drowning feels like. the flail of feet and arms and a hopeless horror. water sucked into the lungs, salty and raging against the palate. sinking the words with an evil diligence. but the body has a way about it. an uncanny, needy, pestering desire to survive. to live. so the drowning is not quick. and you are not overcome quickly. coughing and screaming, skin hot and cold and pale and wrinkling. blurry eyes and a gasp too large to contain for long enough. fingers pushing water to rush it behind, a play at propelling the weight of your bones beyond the surface. to say something, to be asked to speak truth to a wordless dread, is the painstaking performance of drowning. "...you have things... you have the club... all of your friends are my friends... it's easy, you get up one day and decide i'm not what you want, you can just leave". 

"no". an instant thing, thick fingers cradling your face. his eyes frightened and brown and displeased. "no". resolute. always so damn sure of himself. his hands pulling, a soft embrace and gesture, your eyes unable to leave him. frightful of being seen but too weak to leave the meeting of his. "that's not true. and you boxin me in like that, it's not fair". your fingers tired, clutched and nailing into his arms. his face, a world of a thing. freckled and soft and tanned. cutting sharper at the jaw but gentle still around the eyes. mouth and tongue delicate despite the cool edge of him, his nature. "when i said, way back before ,that i gotchu, it wasn't me gassin yah head up. i was being real". 

but he doesn't stop. doesn't drown under the roll in of a tumultuous wave. 

his thumb sweeping your cheek. to soothe the skin. to persuade it of his care. "i'm never lookin at you to find somethin wrong or to find a reason not to look", his eyes a slow wandering pace. brushing smooth over your features. your lips and cheeks blooming with a sensation only admiration can give. "it's hard not lookin at you". chuckling and his eyes rolling. "and yeah the way he said it was corny as hell, but samir ain't wrong. you never not look good to me". 

you can feel his breaths here. the draw of his mouth as his appreciation leads him closer. a bright sweetness on his tongue that quickens your blood. his nose a short dainty nudge into yours. anticipation filling the well of your body. 

"i like being next to you". tall body slipping up calm. closer. surrounding you against the kitchen counter. "i like touching you". thumb skimming along your lips. "ain't nothin awful about all that huh?" 

you shiver. the curl up of it riding along your spine. "no". 

"exactly". convincing brown eyes and an exacting little grin. "and nothin bad is gonna happen either. i gotchu. you're mine".

his words a sweet working spell. lips a teasing slot along yours, but never making the full embrace of a kiss. your desperation for it pure. dampens the odd, dirty, hard to digest ideas. 

he smiles. amused. "i snacked on a mint before i came in here so... you kinda gotta kiss me now".

you snort. slipping your fingers over his arms. holding tighter. the fresh scent on his tongue a gentle persuasion. 

"it's mandatory huh?" 

"yeah cause you been fallin off a lot actually. missin weekly quotas. thats real bad for business". 

"something's gotta be done i guess". 

he hums. planting tender and simple. tiny little pecks that lure you further into the give of his lips. a hand sweeping low, his arm curling about your waist, palms splayed. his fingers there bending and running dull to feel the supple fabric of your swimsuit beneath the towel. touching and testing his limits. seemingly waiting for you to pry yourself away. you breathe into his mouth, the air funneling out of your lungs. teeth a teasing bite into his lip. smiling and falling into him. his other hand meeting the exploration of the first. an unhurried pace over your body, along the line of your back. pressing in as it trails. a gasp melting on his tongue as it sweeps in, holding the tremble of you. "so pretty", he gives. littering your jaw with the affections of his mouth. your everything, feather feeling, weightless, arrested and held up in the strength of him. his smile curving into where he purses into your neck. the rhythm of your pulse playing into his kiss. 

[dark-and-kawaii]

This thought just punched me in the face about Kieran and Rolan...but it might be a bit out there...

I can see Kieran having your face pushed into a wall as he has you bent over in the taverns dark ally. Just being his cocky self as Rolans chastising him about getting caught by someone. That's when Kieran is rolling his eyes (and pounding into you harder because Rolan is starting to piss him off and of course he takes that out on you) "Well if your so worried about it why don't you skip your turn while I finish here. Archemage..." Kireran pinches your clit to make you moan and get your attention, "he doesn't experiment with you much does he princess?"

That's when when Rolan will narrow his eyes at him and pull you from Kireran, with a quick spell Rolans cock is lubed and he starts fucking your tight ass. Kireran lets out a low whistle from Rolan bouncing you hard on his length. "You've prepped her for that?" and Rolan just scoffs "of course I have...she's mine after all." Rolan fucken growls as he tears your ass up. I imagine Kireran doesn't say it but he's slightly impressed he thought Rolan was a bore...this is an interesting development...

Summary: You get stretched, used and abused by your two favorite tieflings.

₊˚⊹♡ Pairings: Rolan x F!Tav/Reader x OMC

₊˚⊹♡ Content: NSFW - Stretched By Two Tiefling Cocks - Your Poor Little Ass - Cunny Being Stretched So Good - Creampie - Asspie - Leaking Cum For Days - Double Penetration - Anal

₊˚⊹♡ Notes: @reverieblondie Please don’t ever stop thirsting for these two men, because my god I read this on repeat babe!!! This was so good and so much fun and I just love you!!!!

The abrupt stretch of your ass had you half screaming and half crying from the pleasure. You were shaking and drooling as Rolan used your tight little ass as his own personal fuck toy. He was so damn meaty, this you knew, and those thick veins- the thick ridges that adorned it only added to his girth… “R-r-Rolan!!! Aha- ah- NGH- W-WAIT!!! S’TOO MUCH- TOO MUCH- AHHH~!!!”

Kieran just chuckles at your broken screams before grabbing you by the throat, “Don't be such a whore, we don't want the whole city hearing you, now do we?”

The look you were giving him was so precious, he only wish he could make a painting of it. Those big doe eyes filled with tears, cheeks flushed, and lips plump and red as you bit your bottom lip. And the way those tits of yours jiggled as Rolan was mercilessly using your ass… It was beautiful.

“That’s a good girl, we wouldn’t want some slimy man stumbling upon us and stealing our treasure would we?”

You whimpered and shook your head as Kieran pressed his thumb against your lip, “Or would you enjoy that? Some man, or a group finding you being defiled by two hellspawns, our cocks filling your holes-“ he forced his thumb into your mouth and watched as you sucked and slobbered all over it, “Is that what you'd like, doll?” His eyes were dark, his thumb pushing further in as you choked on it, your eyes watering once more, “A crowd of men touching themselves, watching you and waiting their turn while you're fucked into oblivion by the two of us-“

“Kieran!” Rolan growled, “That’s quite enough! There will be no others!”

The tatted up tiefling looked at Rolan as he gave a smirk, shrugging while he removed his thumb from your mouth, a line of drool connecting the digit to your plump lips, which were still parted, “I was just asking the lady what she would enjoy. She can't exactly answer anyway, can she? You’re using like some common whore, mage boy~ Cutting off her words and making her cry- what a brute, you should apologize to her.”

Rolan huffed, but then looked down at your face, and how blissed out you were, the way your tongue was hanging out and the way you were drooling before thrusting his hips harder. Kieran just grinned and leaned back, taking in the view of your body being wrecked by Rolan.

He could see the way you were getting close, how you were starting to tremble, how your eyes rolled back and your legs started shaking like a newly born fawn. But just as you were about to reach your high, Rolan pulled out, leaving your ass gaping.

“Awh, now that’s just cruel, Rolan.” Kieran smirked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with his finger.

“R-Rolan?” Your voice was shaky, the high you were riding leaving you confused and dazed, your vision a little blurry and unfocused. The wizard gave you a smile as he rubbed your hips, kissing your shoulder, his lips soft against your skin.

“Trust me, my dear.” He twirled you around, his tail snaking around your leg to help him hoist you up. He pressed his cock against your entrance, feeling the heat radiating from it, your slickness dripping down and staining his robe. With a single thrust, he was deep inside you, the feeling of your walls squeezing him causing him to let out a soft groan. He gave you a moment to adjust before pulling out and slamming back into you, his tail coiling tighter around your thigh, “say my name, darling, I want to hear your lovely voice.”as you sing for me- only for me~”

Rolan was panting as he rammed his hips against you, his pace hard and brutal as he held you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as his fingers dug into your sides.

“R-ROLAN!!~ MM’ROLAN! ROLAN!!! M’YOURS~”

Well that just won’t do…

The cherry of Kieran’s cig flared up as he took another drag before blowing a cloud of smoke into your face. The way you coughed and scrunched your nose up in disgust was absolutely adorable.

Tangling his sharp nails in your hair, he yanked your head back, your neck straining as he kissed you- forcing his tongue to explore every crevice of your mouth. Once you were out of breath, he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before he licked his lips and smiled at you, “whose are you, princess?”

Rolan saw the way Kieran was looking at you… He should’ve known the bastard was up to something…

Taking advantage of that gaping asshole you have, he thrusts his thick cock in and begins pounding away. The noises that fall from his lips are downright sinful. The way your eyes widen and the way you scream out his name, oh yes, now that is music to his ears.

You felt so full, stretched beyond what you ever thought possible, your gummy walls from both holes clinging to the large cocks that invaded your warmth, “M-my- my body! I-it's yours! Ha-Ahh~ It's y-your- ngh-! I-It's y-your toy!!! Mmgh!!~ Y-you can do whatever y-you- hah- want with me- ah~ Rolan~ ROLAN!! KIERAN!!! M’YOURS!!!”

Kieran gave a sinister laugh as he bit down on your neck hard enough to break the skin. Blood pooled in his mouth as his tongue lapped over the wound. You tasted sweet, sweeter than any wine or liquor he's ever had. You were perfect, “such a pretty little cocksleeve” His fingers pinching and pulling at one of your nipples, yanking it to stretch out the sensitive bud, earning a loud cry from you.

You were fucked senseless for what felt like hours… Until finally they both erupted inside you. Rolan’s hot cum filling your womb, Kieran’s searing seed painting your bowels a pretty white… You were filled so full that you could feel how their white messes spilled past their cocks and onto the dank alley floor.

You had been reduced to a babbling, drooling, sloppy mess… Your tongue lolling out still as Rolan and Kieran pulled out, their thick cum pouring out of your stretched abused holes…

Kieran just tapped your cheek thank you for such a good time, and Rolan simply kept you in his arms- covering you with his robe before hoisting you up bridal style so that he could carry you back to his tower…

[supercap2319]

Elias: "There's two hot twin alpha brothers going to our school. You know what this means, right?" *Looks at his older brother*

Stiles: "Let me guess. You're gonna wear really tight booty shorts and a tiny g-string to get their attention?"

Elias: "Actually, I was just gonna go up to them and ask them out like a normal person, but I like your idea better."

Stiles: "Dammit! I shouldn't have opened my big mouth."

[camzkoa]

[himexyandere]

Obedience Is Hard to Come By

Pairing: Yandere Butler x Female!Reader 

Word count: 577

Content Warning(s): Possessive behavior, age gap, brat taming, spanking

A/N: This is a short drabble I had rattling around in my head because I absolutely love the idea of butlers disciplining a bratty princess 😍 Next, I'll prolly upload some misc. yandere HC's!

Your duties as a princess were not too abstruse, nor were they necessarily hard to fulfill. That didn’t make them easy, however. Oh no, they were far from simple, you soon came to realize. Or rather, your loyal and extremely uptight butler did his very best to remind you just how demanding being a good little princess was each night you returned to your chambers. 

“Your posture during dinner was utterly abhorrent, my lady.” The sneer was evident in Alistair’s tone, even if you couldn’t see his middle-aged face, graced with sharp features, a strong, clean jawline, and wrinkles decorating the undersides of his steely green eyes. 

For a man who currently had you laid out over his knee, nightgown bunched around your midsection, and wrists tied at the small of your back, he definitely didn’t act like it. That was the kind of man Alistair was, after all — someone who could maintain his composure in most cases. Well, unless that case involved you openly grinding against him like you did after breakfast earlier in the day.

You had a feeling that your posture wasn’t the only thing compelling him to punish you now...

“And in the presence of a potential suitor... Tsk, you know better, I’ve taught you better than that.” 

Ah. 

Now that you took the time to recall the dinner with the supposed suitor, you should have guessed that it would’ve upset Alistair. After all, your butler wasn’t exactly the sharing type, nor did he ever intend to give you up to anyone. As far as every suitor was concerned, he would find some excuse, some reason to urge your father, the king, to reconsider.

He trusted Alistair’s judgment, as did you, but you did have to admit that it was only a little astounding that all of your suitors so far have had dirt dug up on them, effectively ruining their potential to be your husband. 

You wouldn’t go as far as to say that Alistair was planting evidence, of course — but that didn’t stop you from wondering if your butler was actually a lot more influential than he initially let on... 

“Are you spacing out on me, princess?” The velvety baritone of his voice brought you back to reality as you turned your head to glance at him over your shoulder with a wry smile gracing your features. 

“Not at all, Alistair~ I’m taking this punishment very seriously, can’t you tell?” The brattiness in you was beginning to rise to the placid surface once more, creating ripples and prompting Alistair’s patience to wear thin. 

His reply to your smarmy remark came in the form of his gloved hand swatting at your exposed rear, hard, the impact creating a loud and resounding “smack”. You squealed indignantly, startled but not surprised that he’d spanked you.

Alistair did it often, after all, since your brattiness knew no bounds more often than not. Still, part of you couldn’t deny that you did enjoy the punishment just a tiny bit. 

“I know what you’re thinking, princess—and no, I do not intend to leave this room until you have learned your lesson,” Alistair’s hand was still resting on your ass, which was already beginning to thrum with pain, even after one hit. “Count them.” 

Even though you were certain you would be ending up in the same position again sometime in the near future, it was nice to pretend to be good and obedient… For the time being.

[babygirl-diaz]

In which Eddie has a boyfriend named Alex

Alex: Okay, Buck, fuck, marry, kill. Ravi, Chimney, Eddie. Buck: Fuck Eddie, marry Eddie, and kill you Alex: I wasn't even an option! Buck, whispering: You won't be after I kill you Alex: What? Buck: What?

[sirlsplayland]

been stressed out about the upcoming move, started to draw more nsfw secondo content with my oc Gabriel

[sockslikeautumn]

Please write more of yandere golden boy (Julian Peyton) and his transformation into a golden boy.

Julian Peyton

Yandere golden boy aftermath

Male original character x gender-neutral reader

SFW, 0.7k+ words, kinda angsty, addiction, trauma, reader, and OC are 18+!

Read the first chapter for more context!

Trigger warnings: Suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm, depression, implied turning yandere/obsessed, cigarettes addiction.

The reader has suicidal thoughts mentioned here!

You are entirely responsible for what you consume.

Thank you so much for requesting this! I literally cried when I read it because I had been struggling with writer's block for months. This isn't all that much of a chapter, but it is important so Julian's character doesn't feel rushed or out of place when becoming our yandere golden boy.

Reading the first chapter again, it does feel like I was creating one of those unique-esc OC's, like "Oh, he's also a lost child from the royal family and oh, he's also a half-dragon, half-demon mermaid!" But I rolled with it either way this time even though a part of his and YN's lore felt a bit too inspired by my own life than it should have.

If my one, and in fact, first ever fan and anon that I don't know personally wants another chapter added, I'll make it special just for you :)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Walking into his house didn't feel dreadful for the first time. Sure, the familiar scent of nicotine didn't fail to hit his nose, but he didn't feel like running away instantly. 

He took off his shoes, old and worn-out. His footsteps creaked on the floorboards and he missed the feel of not being barefoot. Vulnerable. Usually, his head would snap to the living room to see if Mason was still breathing, but now that was the least of his worries. The bedroom door shut behind him. 

Trash, musty clothes, and cigarette packs brushed under his feet. It hadn't come to him that he could possibly cut himself on any glass from the empty bottles, without his will this time.

His safe haven didn't feel the best anymore. Something else felt much more inviting and more… pleasant than the feel of his dirty sheets and the darkness around him. 

You. Little ol’ sweet you from class.

What was your name again? He knew the professors often praised your name but he couldn't remember it.

It was average, you were average. Always trying to act like a know-it-all kid, blending into the group of people he never cared to look in the eyes. Though, now you couldn't seem to leave his brain.

Why... Why did you stop him?

You didn't have to, who would've even forced you to help him out? You weren't lying to him, were you?

No. It was too sincere. Too real to be fabricated.

You described yourself as worthless. You had perfect grades, friends, and a family that cared. What would you be struggling with? You weren't poor, you weren't bullied all your life and you didn't have to worry about someday living on the streets. Yet, you were so similar. 

You were suicidal, you were cutting yourself, seen on your wrist, and you were clearly going through a lot of pain. Was that why you felt inclined to help him? 

He glanced at his bed stand where his phone was, sunlight was trying to creep through his window curtains uninvited. With a groan, he went to grab it, the thing feeling like a brick in his hands. His eyes burned under his glasses at the light.

A solid 46% percent was in the corner and after a couple of minutes, he found the Facebook of his school. It didn't take long to find your face posted on the account, his starting to burn.

You weren't average-looking like he previously thought. Dorky smile, pretty eyes, and a diploma stating second place in your hands. It had your name written. 

Y/n L/n...

Blood rushed to his cheeks like never before. An unfamiliar part of him stiffened, a type of stiffness that was itching only for you. Yearning for the first time.

You were so beautiful... You had these sparkling eyes, silky hair, pearly teeth that he wished were like his, and soft lips he'd one day run his tongue over.

“Fuck..” He groaned from the bottom of his throat. He imagined his thumb was running over your cheek and not the many cracks on his phone screen.

What were you doing to him? He's never felt the need to feel someone's embrace, touch them, maybe even kiss them…

Whatever it was, he didn't want it to ever end.

Will he ever see you again? He did have school tomorrow, would you feel excited to know he hadn't killed himself when you left? Would you feel excited to see him?

He knows he shouldn't feel this way, you were just like the rest of them. Making him feel wanted, loved. But maybe now, he'd find a way to keep that love for himself. Keep you for himself.

Maybe tonight he'd finally clean his room, brush his teeth, and clean his messy hair. You'd like that for him, right? You'd want for him to not fetch his favorite razor and watch the skin roll between the blades, right?

His dry lip rolled between his teeth, your voice playing in his head like a broken record.

"Please, Julian, let me help you."

So shaky, like how the touch of your hand felt.

"Please, Julian."

Just his name alone on your tongue would have prevented his death.

"Julian..."

Just his name would do wonders for him.

Masterlist for Julian

I'm open to all constructive criticism, not bullying!