#Peeking Cat Necklace

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

[reaveries]

▬  𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲

gif credit to @robpattinsongifs (much higher resolution on their account)

summary: late-night visits from your definitely human boyfriend

pairings: edward cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (approximately 7 minutes reading time)

a/n:  I’ve had this baby marinating in my drafts since January, when I was going through my bi-annual Twilight Renaissance. I was actually in the middle of writing a RE2R Leon Kennedy fic today and decided to put on a twilight playlist, and then I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my first *published* non-RDR fic heehee (I have so much in my drafts, it’s insane). Anyways, enjoy (pardners)!

masterlist archive of our own

It’s that dreadful time of year again. 

The sun is making its curtain call as students from the nearby elementary school trip over themselves running home. Little girls and boys have sticky remnants of lunch peeking from the corners of their mouths and the grass is still slick from morning showers. But dusk is impatient in February, and its eagerness is encouraged in a town hidden beneath perpetual overcast nine months out of the year.

The school children ran past her window minutes ago when the sky had been painted brilliant indigo. Now, when she looks up the only thing left to see is her own dark reflection and the warm orange glow from a candle on the sill. Its tall flame stutters, collapsing and rising with the damp breeze. 

A page turns, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise that can be heard is a soft pitter of water dripping onto the floorboards from a coat hanging off the closet door. 

She reaches for a mug sitting on the corner of her nightstand and promptly sets it back down upon finding it empty. It returns to its spot atop crumpled receipts and library hold slips belonging to the growing stack of books accumulating dust at her bedside. These books tower over the permanent nightstand residents: lazily discarded beaded necklaces, a sample bottle of floral perfume from Christmas, two little ceramic bunnies purchased from an antique mall in Port Angeles last summer, car keys, and drugstore chapstick. It might be worth convincing her to let go of some of these post-object permanence discoveries, but that is a matter for another time.

In a desperate attempt to comprehend the words she’s reading, she rolls onto her back and extends her arms straight in the air so the book hovers a foot from her face—a change of perspective to freshen the mind.

It does not help. 

No matter how much she shifts or squints, the antiquated prose remains stubbornly uninviting. She can’t fathom why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so archaic and convoluted and furthermore, recommend it as one of their favorite novels.

With a huff, she adjusts the headphones at her ears, hoping the music will clear her mind. But despite her best efforts, the book slowly drifts closer to her chest and her eyelids grow heavier as the music lulls her into a dreamless sleep. 

When she wakes to cold fingers grazing her jaw it’s impossible to tell whether she’d fallen asleep or if she just blinked. The weight of the headphones gently disappears as they’re pulled off and set down on the nightstand. She grumbles incoherently and stretches out her legs, not unlike a cat after a long, difficult day of lounging around. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open and immediately find him only inches away. He’s watching her, peering down with a twinkle in his amber-colored eyes.

“Edward…” she whispers.

“Dracula,” he says, eyebrows raised as he makes the observation. “I thought you didn’t like Gothics.”

She reaches a finger into the book on her chest and folds the page over before tossing it carelessly into the sea of knitted and quilted blankets at the foot of the bed. With the haze of sleep still clouding her eyes, she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“I’m trying.”

He chuckles lightly and brings his hand to her hair again, brushing stray strands off her forehead and tucking them behind her ears before leaning down to place a chaste kiss above her eyes. Though his lips are soft, the icy touch of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. He’s always cold; a result of his anemia, he says. However, the downpour that's dampened his hair and clothes to his skin has chilled him even more so.

In an effort to sit up, she raises herself onto her elbows and catches a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers on her bedside clock.

“You’re late, you know,” she chides, watching him settle uncomfortably at the head of the bed. He sinks down among the pillows, their plushness contrasting humorously with the stiffness of his demeanor. He reaches behind his back and tugs free a stuffed rabbit lodged between him and the headboard, then sets it down softly beside himself.

“I had to make a quick stop. I hope you can forgive me,” he says in a hushed voice, so as not to make too much noise in the resting house. His eyes flit towards the nightstand and she follows them to see a new item sitting amongst the disorder. A tall styrofoam cup with steam rising thinly from the lid. Coffee. 

The mug she just finished sits right beside it. She’d considered brewing more but that was before being rendered unconscious by Bram Stoker nearly an hour ago. Her heart swells at his thoughtfulness, but a more pressing question comes to mind before she can voice her gratitude.

“How did you even climb up here with that?” She asks, reaching for the cup with both hands.

“I’m very…agile.” There’s a look in his eyes that tells her there’s more to it, but she chooses to ignore it for now with a shake of her head.

The taste is immediately harsh, significantly more bitter than how she makes it herself. Any trace of a smile dissipates and is replaced with a pronounced look of disgust.

“Good God, Edward,” she exclaims. “Decaf? What did I ever do to you?”

He laughs and takes it from her hands, leaving her still reeling from the unexpected taste. “As much as I love staying up with you, you need sleep,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You didn’t get any last night and you don’t hide it well.”

He says the last part sweetly, tilting his head to the side and following her motions with his eyes, watching her pick up the stuffed rabbit by its cotton paw.

“Don’t hide it well?” She repeats, the indignation in her voice contrasting with the softness of the toy as she raises it high into the air and brings it down against his chest with a soft thud. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you—weren’t���keeping—me—up—all—night!”

With every word, the rabbit hits his forearms poorly attempting to shield himself from the blows. Edward grins as she attacks him, the soft toy barely making a sound against his arms. He watches as her hair falls across her face in the midst of the unrelenting attack, the warm glow of the candle casting a soft halo around her.

But then, his amusement fades as he sees the exhaustion in her eyes. 

He gently takes the rabbit from her and sets it aside before grabbing her arm mid-swing and pulling her into his chest. She sighs heavily and surrenders, relaxing against him. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll let you rest tonight.”

Despite his tender words, a residual half-baked frustration lingers inside her. “How did you manage to stay awake in class?” she mumbles into his sweater, the words muffled. “I mean, you didn’t get any sleep either.”

He chuckles, as if privy to some inside joke.

“Well, someone had to take your notes for you,” he says, his fingers trailing through her hair in a soothing motion. “And besides, you looked so peaceful drooling away.” 

She looks up at him, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I did not drool,” she insists.

He grins down at her, his eyes alight with fondness. “Of course not.”

She groans and buries her head into his chest, to which he responds by encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“I’m never falling asleep in front of you again,” she grumbles.

His chest rumbles beneath her cheek as he laughs. “Alright, angel.”

He shifts his hand from the crown of her head to the curve of her back, tracing languid circles over the fabric of her t-shirt as the room fills with a comfortable silence. The rain outside grows heavier, tapping against the glass with a more insistent force. Her body is warm against his and he can feel the steady thumping of her heartbeat as if it's his own. A few minutes slip by, and he senses her breathing even out and deepen. Without disturbing her, he reaches for a nearby blanket and drapes it over her, then turns his gaze to the candle on the windowsill.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, as the dwindling flame fades out of focus. 

This is his favorite part of the day.

Vague arrays of soft, muted hues and shapes swirl around in his vision, overtaking the warm surroundings of her bedroom. They morph into recognizable figures after some time, and he can hear them speaking when he focuses. For the most part, they sound as if he’s underwater and they’re conversing on the shore. But every now and then, a clear phrase emerges.

Suddenly, the floating shapes assimilate into a figure resembling him and he realizes what this dream is. It’s a recurring one he’s particularly fond of. He settles in and pulls her closer as the scene ebbs between reality and distortions of the unconscious mind. 

He can’t remember how he used to pass the night hours before he met her. Books, records, films--looking back, they feel hollow compared to nights spent like this. Part of him hopes he’ll never know what it's like to want for this. But these dreams, and her thoughts in the waking hours, assure him he won’t ever have to find out.

[sea-lanterns]

RING SIZES

synopsis: genshin women trying to find your ring size

featuring: eula, yelan, miko, ningguang

rating: sfw (anyone can interact)

warnings: gn! reader, fluff, kissing, affectionate physical touches, slightly suggestive content (miko's), already established relationship, not proof read.

art credits: whisper me a love song

EULA

When you got home that evening, you noticed that Eula wasn’t waiting for you in the living room like she usually did, ready to greet you the moment you set foot through the door. That’s fine, she’s probably somewhere else in the house then, right? Either that or she was still working late and won’t get home until later. You didn’t mind, you could wait for your girlfriend as long as it takes!

See, that’s what you thought at first. However, as you went to set your work stuff down and take off your shoes, you hear rummaging in your bedroom and the sounds of Eula’s frustrated grunts.

“Now where would they…”

Oh, so she was home, she was just in your bedroom! You smiled and set your bag down to make your way over to your room, peeking in through the illuminated crack of the door to see what she was up to. Eula was busy hunched over the dresser that housed all your clothes, digging through a wooden jewelry box you kept atop the dresser, while pushing through various bracelets, necklaces, and other jeweled accessories. 

“Wh-…” you decided not to say anything and settled for hiding behind the door to see what she was doing. Why was she rummaging through all your stuff? She didn’t need to be so secretive, if she wanted to wear some of your jewelry she could just ask…

“Ah…finally…” Your eyes lit up as Eula pulled out one of your rings, admiring the glisten of one of the gemstones and holding it up in the air to examine. “I think this is it, it should be their size…” She smiled softly and cupped the precious ring in her hand, rubbing her fingers over the smooth, worn out metal.

“This time it’ll be a real diamond, my love…”

Your eyes widened at her implications, turning away from the door to quietly walk away and pretend like you didn’t see anything. Was this real? Did you just…witness her plans to propose to you?

You almost let out a squeal of excitement, yet also bashed yourself for having caught her in the midst of it. Whatever! It wasn’t like you knew when she was going to propose…

“Home already, darling?” You heard her say, turning around to face your girlfriend with nervous eyes. “Ah…yeah, I just got home a minute ago. How was work?”

“Sufficient, I suppose…”  Eula smiled and walked over to plant a kiss on your forehead, your eyes noticing her slip the ring into her back pocket. “I missed you, but I need to make an errand now, my darling. I’ll be back soon.”

“Oh? Where to in this late hour?” You tease, folding your arms and smiling expectedly at her. 

“Mm, nowhere too important.” Eula chuckled, picking up your hand and planting a small kiss on your ring finger. “Let’s just say I need to make a special order…”

Your heart hammered at the implications. 

YELAN

Usually you’d go to bed without Yelan. That’s okay, you understood what her job was like and enjoyed the little sprinkles of time she gave to you whenever she was off duty. Though sparse, she loved you dearly, and you didn’t mind too much as Yelan would always try her best to finish missions early so she could come home and snuggle up to you.

Tonight was no different. As you slowly stirred awake at the sound of your door lock clicking, you smiled and tried not to open your eyes when you heard Yelan’s careful footsteps walking down the hall. She didn’t know this, but you made a habit of memorizing her walk patterns. From the click of her heels to the tired yet sexy sigh she exhaled after a long day, you could tell it was her…

Like a cat, she slowly crept into your bedroom, smiling at the sight of your figure all balled up on her side of the bed. How cute, she’d always find you sleeping on her side, a sight so precious she’d often wish she could just photograph it. 

“I’m home…” she’d mutter softly, your eyes still closed as you wanted her to think you were asleep. “…Ah, out like a light I see.”

You resisted the urge to smile as Yelan pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead, the sounds of her rummaging through her closet —presumably to change into her sleepwear— and going to lie down beside you, spooning you from behind. She let out a breathy sigh and wrapped her arms around your waist, you’d think she’d start passing out by now judging by how tired she was, but your instinct told you she was still awake.

That’s odd, was she still staring at you? You wanted to turn around and open your eyes but sleep was starting to slow you down. Perhaps she’ll fall asleep at some point and just—

Then Yelan reached out and gently caressed your left hand, picking it up like it was made of glass. Oh? What’s this…? Your heart sped up as she held your hand carefully, fingers circling around your ring finger as she quietly hummed in thought. 

What was she doing? Her fingers were rubbing at the circumference of your left ring finger as if she were trying to gauge something. Could it be…? Was she trying to figure out your ring size?

Yelan sighed and you could just feel her smile from behind you. Her hand is still holding onto yours while she buries her face into the back of your neck, fingers entwined like a lock while she exhales breathily into your skin.

“I should use paper, it’s more efficient that way…”

With one last sleepy grumble, she finally closed her eyes to let sleep overtake her, unaware of the blushing person who heard her coddled up in her arms.

MIKO

As sly and cunning Yae Miko can be, she was absolutely stumped with how to find your ring size without you noticing. She’s tried countless times to measure the circumference whenever you were distracted, yet your intuitive gaze would always catch her whenever she tried to do something sneaky. Leading to her utter defeat, as it was hopeless to distract you long enough to mark the measurements she needed.

The kitsune huffed and slouched over her work desk with a frown. Her tail wagging sporadically out of annoyance as she wanted nothing more than to just flat out ask you. 

“Hm…how irritating…” she crossed her arms as sparks flew out of her vision with fury, lighting threatening to shoot out if not for the calm and soothing voice of her lover. 

“Morning Miko,” you hummed, walking into her office like you owned the place. “Eh? The air is all dark and frizzy. Did you accidentally get fur in your tea again?”  

“I— no.” Miko chuckled nervously at your statement because while that wasn’t the reason she was  frazzled, she did in fact get some fur in her tea due to shedding season. ‘Now is not the time to tell them that. I’ll just cut to the chase.’

“Morning little one, how was last night’s rest?” She hums, walking over to kiss you lightly on the lips. Enjoying your little sigh of satisfaction, she grins and leans forward to kiss you a little deeper, taking notice of how you grew so lost in the kiss, that your eyes fluttered shut in response. ‘Oh…this gives me an idea…’ 

As you broke away from the kiss to catch your breath, Miko suddenly nudged you back so you would start backing up in the direction of her desk. “Ah…Miko, I can walk you know—”

“I know I know…” was her voice getting…sultry? Oh no, you can’t do it here! You’re in her office! Plus, you did it last night already…

“Miko, wait…we can’t…”

Little did you know Miko had bigger plans…

“Mm, don’t worry, little one. I won’t go too hard on you…” She purred and put on her best seductive facade, reaching forward to grasp your left hand gently. “Just relax…and let me take over…” 

As she leaned forward to keep you locked within a deep and passionate kiss, her hands were busy at work as she had no time to spare! Hands grasping over her desk to grab a slip of paper, she slid it over your ring finger, creasing the edge where the ends meet. ‘Perfect. I got it.’

Pulling away from the kiss with a grin, she chuckled at your dazed face and brushed your hair back to tease you, enjoying the way you whined. 

“I got what I needed, thanks for the help little one…”

NINGGUANG

Ningguang is a busy woman, and busy women don’t often have the time to sneak around to get your ring size. While the thought is incredibly charming, she’d rather find your ring size in a rather…flashy, yet secretive kind of way that only a woman like herself could pull off.

What do I mean by flashy? I mean this woman literally went out to buy a ring of every size from the jeweler and gift them all to you in the disguise of a harmless present. An efficient, yet very expensive move as not only will she be able to figure out your size, but she’d be able to figure out what your taste in gemstones was like…

How clever of her. No wonder Ningguang was such a smart woman.

The moment you entered the Jade Chamber, you were surprised when her three secretaries suddenly pulled you over to a room that housed various shining rings with different little gemstones. These small, little gifts were probably worth a fortune to many, leaving you speechless at the sight of your girlfriend smirking in confidence.

“Hello there, dear,” She waved a hand over for you to join her, “Happy early birthday, I picked some presents for you to try…”

You raised a brow at this and chuckled amusingly at her gesture, finding the whole ordeal rather extreme. Though, Ningguang was a very extreme woman, perhaps this wasn’t so out of character for a woman like her… 

“My birthday is in four months,” you giggled, eying the rings with a peculiar curiosity. “Don’t tell me you’re celebrating it this early…”

She laughs and grasps your hand with a clawed finger, lightly scratching at your palms while she leads you to their cases. “I just wish to spoil you a bit, that’s all. You may have all of them if you’d like, but I’d like you to tell me how they feel and what you like about them.”

She smiles innocently. “Just to know what you like in the future.”

Okay, that was a little odd but whatever, it was common for your girlfriend to spoil you in riches whenever she wanted to. While material wealth wasn’t what made you happy in this relationship, Ningguang always seemed to enjoy it as she adored the shocked looks on your face whenever she’d bring you something expensive. 

“A little too loose.”

“I think it’s a little tight.”

She hummed in agreement when you slipped the bejeweled bands over your finger, taking mental notes of what was too small and what was too large. “And the gemstones? Which ones do you like?”

The moment you listed off the kinds of shapes, colors, and more importantly, the size of what you liked, Ningguang finally had it. The perfect ring for you. 

“Thank you my love, your input means wonders for me,” she quickly plants a kiss on your lips as she rushes to head back to “work.” 

“I best be going now, enjoy the gifts. I’ll be back for dinner with your favorite.” You were confused as to why she left in such a hurry, but just assumed she had some work to catch up with. Oh well, you chose to ignore it and go back to placing the rings back in their cases…

…Little did you know, Ningguang was actually not rushing to work, but to the jewelers again.

[sweetsbfreex]

the silk shirt

summary: it's the brits award 2023 and not only is harry's silk shirt your downfall, so is his drunken state.

warnings: fluff!

pairings: husband!harry x reader

—

“No fucking way,” you sit up when Harry comes out of the changing room. He’s Sexily dressed up in a great in a black suit, but that isn’t what takes up your attention. It’s the silver silk shirt he adorns, unbuttoned enough that you could get a peek of his butterfly tattoo. 

“What?” He looks down at his outfit, “You don’t like it?” He smirks, fixing the placement of his necklace as he walks towards you. 

“I did not say that, don’t be so vain.” You roll your eyes. And when he stands before you, you can’t help but let a hand fall to his bare chest. “You look very handsome.” 

“And you look striking, my love. Very, very beautiful,” he continues on, pecking your lips. “I knew you'd like the shirt.” He teases in between, gently biting your bottom lip. 

Tonight was the Brits! Harry had already walked the carpet in his first outfit and you had opted out, not in the mood to be shouted at from all angles. He also already performed in his second outfit, belting “As It Was” like the star he was. Now, he was in his third outfit of the night.

You throw an arm over his neck, pulling him even closer to you and his fall to your hips in balance. That’s until you pull away, only a breath apart. “You ready to sweep tonight?” 

“Love.” He shys away, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“What? You deserve it.” You tell him softly, running your thumb over his cheek. 

“I know, I know. Just— yea.” 

“I understand,” you chuckle. 

There’s a little pause, just for a second. “How much time do you think we have left?”

“I’ve got you, hm?” There’s that smug look on his face again. 

“Mhm.” 

And you think you’ve got him when he leans down to kiss you again. His soft lips over yours, before he moves to pepper kisses to your cheek and down your neck. You let out a sigh when he tenderly kisses the spot right under the hook of your jaw. And you restrain yourself from running your hands through his hair. His hands slither down to knead your ass. You can feel the pressure of his fingers and the band of his rings. 

“H..” 

You just want to be here with him, as he presses his hips into yours. 

He pulls away, “Not enough time, love.” He breathes out, still peppering kisses on your now swollen lips. 

“Please?” 

You palm him roughly, just like he likes it. 

Harry looks down, eyes blown wide. “Love,” he groans. He’s married the proper definition of trouble, and he knows it. But he lets himself lack for a few more seconds before he’s tugging your hand away and kissing the palm of your hand. 

“I'll give you some proper loving after, I promise.” 

You sigh, “You’ve got me riled up now, you oaf.”

He chuckles at your dismay, “You think I wanna go out like this,” addressing the bulge which stretches the fabric of his pants. 

—

It’s been a great night so far. You’re seated beside Harry, Gemma on the other side. But there’s a heavy amount of anticipation in the air as the nomination for Best Pop/R&B act is announced. 

Harry has your hand held under the table. Though he doesn’t show it, he’s as nervous as a cat on hot bricks. 

“Harry Styles!”

He looks up when he hears his song playing over the arena. Excitement was coursing through his veins. He hugs Gemma and fist bumps his cousin, before turning to you with a beam on his face. He kisses your cheek as he pulls you in a hug. 

—

He’s won Song of the Year and you and Gemma laughed amongst yourself watching Harry take a shot on stage. But it seemed that was all he needed to get his night going as he sips drink after drink. 

But Harry’s an affectionate drunk. And you know he’s quite buzzed when, even in the public eye, can’t resist keeping a hand on you at all times. 

His lips caress your cheeks more than usual at a setting like this. His arm around your shoulder keeps you tucked beside him at all times. And the hand between your thigh only gets riskier and riskier. 

“Baby, drink some water.” You bring a glass of water up to his face once you’ve noticed the way his eyes glaze over. 

“I’m fine, love. Gemma, tell your sister-in-law I’m fine.” 

Gemma laughs at her little brother, “Maybe take a sip or two, H.” 

“See,” you tell him.

“Fine.” He groans like a petulant child. But does as he’s told, downing the glass. 

—

It’s the last one for the night and he’s three for four, at the moment. 

“I love you.” Harry hums against your temple, his arm on your shoulder.

“I love you too, handsome.” You turn to him with a smile, placing your hand against his cheek. It’s just you two in this little bubble, or at least it feels that way with the way Harry looks at you. 

You lower your hand. “You’re a little juiced up, huh?” You tease. 

He lifts up his free hand, holding his thumb and pointer finger together. “Just a smidge.” Before he belched into his fist. “Sorry.”

“Ew, H” 

..

“And your artist of the year is…Harry Styles!”

In a drunken fit, Harry bangs his fist against the table, then shoots up from his seat. He hugs his sister and kisses her cheek. Then turns to you, his wife, who stands beside him cheering him on with unshed tears in her eyes. And in a moment of outright happiness, a fulfilled heart, and a surge of fondness for the women he loves. He sweeps you into a kiss. 

You thought he’d go the proper route, just a hug and a sweet peck at most. But his arm winds around your waist and his hand takes place on your cheek, before he’s sweeping you into a crushing kiss. And who are you to deny the man. 

It’s over fairly quickly, nothing too crazy. He was still on national television, after all, and his mum was probably watching. 

Harry makes his way to the stage with a pep in his step. You watch as he accepts the award, hugging the presenter. 

He clears his throat once he’s handed the mic. 

“What a night!” The room rises in cheers. “I want to thank everyone for listening. I want to thank my mum for signing me up for X factor. My family for their support. Niall, Liam, Louis, Zayn, because I wouldn’t be here without them. And especially my wife: thank you for everything you do. I love you, and don’t know what I'd do without you and your support. Thank you Brits!” He finishes off before waving and getting off the stage. 

—

“Are you having fun?” Harry mumbles into your air. His hands are clasped together in front of your waist, your back to his front, as you swing slowly side to side. 

You're presently at the after party, changed into your second outfit of the night, and Harry into his fourth. You’ve had a few in you too, and the both of you truly just danced the night away and mingled with your friends that were present. 

“The best night,” you drop your head on his shoulder, looking up into his emerald gaze. Harry looks down at you in return, a soft look in his eyes, but you’re pretty sure it’s the alcohol drawing his eyes together like that. 

Harry lowers his head to kiss the tip of your nose. “Enough to head back home?” 

Harry’s question is lined with the offer of a sensual night. 

“Definitely.”

—

a/n: i've missed writing for him!!! i'm so happy i was able to get some inspiration

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback 💗

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pheromones, m | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Just a married couple fucking as they do, passionate and intense, and their cat that does what all cats do – judge. Nyan.

warnings: husband!Yoongi x wife!reader; smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral, ball torture, edging, face-fucking, multiple orgasms, fingering, light nipple play, marking, penetrative sex, hair kink? idk); domestic fluff and a judgy fluff that interrupts (nyangnyang!au but can be read alone) and clearly wiyllt is obsessed with long-haired, sweaty Yoongi, oop

--

Hot.

Wet.

Tight.

And your husband’s palms pressed to the back of your head, his long fingers tangled in your hair, swearing roughly under his breath as you swallowed his hard cock, swiping your tongue along the underside as you ascended, pinching his balls between your knuckles and not letting him cum.

“Fuck…”

You curled your tongue around him and felt him twitch, shiver, growling deep in his chest. He didn’t need to shove himself into your throat. You were already doing that, deep and suffocating, a punishing rhythm that he didn’t want to interrupt, so instead those talented fingers gripped your hair and tried to hold on, biting back any pleas because they both wouldn’t get him anywhere and Min Yoongi was not a beggar.

Couldn’t stop you either though.

You got into, hm, moods and Yoongi would simply have to take it. He wouldn’t admit to it willingly, but there were many reasons why you were married and your moods was one of them.

“Fuck, why are you… so good at sucking dick… fuck…!”

You opened one eye to peek at his body lines. Flexed arms, tense chest, broad shoulders glistening with almost-there sweat. His head tilted back, jaw tight, wild tangles of black waves brushing his neck and shoulders. You liked his hair long so he kept it long. You also liked that he wore jewelry, so his chain necklace was still on, draped against striking collarbones below strained tendons. His earrings caught the light, two hoops on each ear, all of it gleaming silver and perfectly sexy.

You lessened the pressure on his balls and kept moving up and down, up and down, contained wet tightness and tongue all around the head, steady but precise pressure, rubbing your thumbs against his abused balls to massage them.

Yoongi’s chin snapped down, black hair flaring around piercing dark eyes, and he swore very loudly, glaring at you with feral high.

Well, actually it was a combination of your name and cursing, which was exactly the kind of reaction you wanted. His grips tightened but he did not press toward himself, mindful of his movement even as he orgasmed, gasping hotly above you. It was salty and immediate, flooding your mouth, and the taste of his release thickly coated your throat, more than usual because of the edging and the extended length of time that you had kept him in your pleasure cage. You had to tip your head back and swallow quickly, amused as you hard Yoongi’s low and coarse voice above you.

“You’re swearing a lot,” you commented, licking around his cock, tracing the contours, sucking off excess cum and your saliva.

“Fuck off,” was his curt response, pushing your hair away from your face and shuddering, combing his fingers through the crown of your head. Could have been mistaken as cold if you didn’t know him so well.

It was an endearing fuck off, really.

You started again. Slow but persistent. He hadn’t softened this entire time, constantly stimulated by your tongue and your nails raking over his balls. A soft shudder that you felt rather than heard. The pad of his thumb grazed over your temple, following his shudder, keeping your hair away from your face. Usually, you clipped your hair out of the way or tied it up but apparently tonight was one of those nights that Yoongi wanted to mess it up. Your husband had a kind of wordless attachment to it. He would reach over in bed and just run his fingers though the strands. You would be kissing and he would slide his hands into it and pull the silken strands over your vision, then gently brush the dark curtain aside, deep brown staring into your eyes, his lips soundlessly moving against yours.

I love you.

Yoongi looked down at you sucking his cock and you rubbed your tongue against the underside of the swollen head. Raised an eyebrow even, burying his twitching length deep in your throat. He smirked, open-mouthed and devious.

Then he started fucking your face.

Hey, you were married. Nobody said you two were romantic.

Immediately, you stopped your pace and gripped his hips, letting his deliberate and steady rhythm take over, focusing instead on the placement of your lips and tongue. The power was not in his hands but in his lower body, driving forward and back, letting you adjust your jaw and rub your soft lips against the throbbing head when he almost pulled out, twisting his fingers in your hair, pain and adrenaline meshing together, the sensations so saturated that time seemed to slow, potent lust building, your tongue following the veins along taut skin, watching Yoongi throw his head back and his hair flaring out like obsidian flames, groaning your name, throaty and vicious.

You saw the flinch of tension snapping ripple across his chest.

He hissed and jammed his cock straight into your throat, forcing you to still and constrict your neck muscles, clamping down around his jerking length. Thick cum spilling out in hot, tight bursts, seeping both up to the roof of your mouth and below to your tongue.

You collected his orgasm with one expansive lick and swallowed, hearing Yoongi hiss but not move his hands, pinning you to his softening length. Closed your eyes and calmly licked him all over, listening to the erratic heavy breathing above, pretending like you didn’t just edge your husband with ball torture and then make him cum twice back-to-back.

Yoongi didn’t say anything about it.

He did yank you up a bit roughly when you were satisfied with cleaning him up though.

You grinned at him and he kissed you to stop seeing such smugness.

Even under lowered lashes you could feel the sharpness in his stare midst kiss. There was fervor and fondness in those deep brown eyes. Loud desire in the silence broken only by shared breath. There was nothing like this. No one like Yoongi. You could feel it in every electric kiss, every second under his fingertips, every forever in his eyes locked with yours.

He gave everything to satisfy you.

Everything he had to match your energy and burn with you.

His lips against your neck, his chest against your back, his hand between your legs. You sucked in a breath, wary, shivering as his lips grazed your shoulder, his other hand curving around you to cup your breast, rough fingertip pressed to your hard nipple, teasing lightly. You leaned back against him, not seeing the darkness of the bedroom, but instead slipping into the sensations, into the shiver that came from his fingers sliding against your wet slit, into his tongue against your neck, into the sparks dancing over your skin from the light pinch of your nipple, exhaling heavy and slow, murmuring his name.

“Yoongi…”

He didn’t say anything.

He just knew.

His lips curved into a smirk against your neck and he slid two fingers into you.

You half-expected him to use his mouth to stimulate your other nipple, but instead Yoongi stayed behind you, teasing your neck with his teeth, running his tongue over his marks and making your body tense, unsure how to react from the roughness of his thrusting fingers and the swift teasing of your nipples paired with his tongue and kisses, faster, deeper, on the edge as he sucked the skin just under your ear, moans slipping from your tightened jaw.

Your fingertips landed on his forearm.

Shuddering, angling your hips more towards his hand, spreading your legs even more.

His lips curving against your earlobe, serene whispering despite the blinding scorch of passion.

“Look at me.”

You turned your head as he shifted his body. Opened your eyes, vision hazy, but your husband clear, those dark eyes and flushed lips, black strands shadowing his cheeks, the scent of sweet sex drifting up, the sound of repeated, wet thrusts echoing under, your inner walls throbbing around his fingers, sucking him in, pulses of ecstasy drumming through your veins.

Your lips parted, no breath leaving.

Yoongi’s hand left your chest and he gripped the back of your head, dragging you into a kiss.

Fast and hard in the only way he could, inhale shallowing, trapped in lip-lock, closer, hips moving in his rhythm, closer, him taking your breath away, there, moaning, there, your eyes rolling back and kissing Yoongi fiercely, your own hand sliding into his hair and pressing him to you, breathing him in like oxygen, rocking your hips into his hand and riding the high, violent convulsions radiating through your blood.

Fuck, he was good.

Your palm rested against his jaw.

Heat exchanged in breath, touch, and tension.

People on the outside could pretend that they knew what this was, but no one knew the meaning of the look shared between you and Yoongi except those involved – the intensity of fire and flow of water becoming one, burning in churning emotions, tangled in limbs and shadows, a conversation in silence as fingertips danced across smooth skin, watching Yoongi’s eyes close because he couldn’t look at you any longer.

You half-smiled.

Pulled him to you, your lips against his cheek, kissing down in a line, humming against his throat.

“I want you,” he had said to you a long time ago.

You had frowned at him, not understanding. “I don’t have emotional sex,” was your confession.

“I know,” Yoongi admitted. “And I want to love you.”

You understood right away.

Maybe only you could and that was why Min Yoongi had chosen you to call love.

And, sometimes, he just couldn’t look at you because he loved you that much.

Now, you sank your teeth into the hollow of his shoulder, just past his necklace, teasing the skin with your manipulation of tongue and lips. Nails raking over his back, dragging him over the bed, his hand flying out and swiping at the nightstand, your tongue running against the vibration of his moan, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he wanted your hot breath over the red mark you had left on his fair skin.

Your lips moved against the hickey.

I love you.

You parted from him and his raspy murmur followed.

“My love.”

You tilted your head back against the pillows and extended your tongue past your lips, framing your graceful fingers over your breasts like art. The corner of those devious lips turned upward, black hair over his dark eyes flaring with lust. The sound of the condom packet ripping open but you kept your focus on your husband’s face, trailing your hands down to lift your thighs, your tongue grazing over teeth, and you saw the tip of pink trace his flushed lips, Yoongi mirroring your action, leaning forward, pushing his sweaty hair back with one hand as he loomed over your body, casting you both in familiar shadows.

“There is only you,” you breathed into the darkness between you and him.

“Heh, no one else could ever satisfy you,” Yoongi chuckled and thrust into you.

One hand on your thigh, pressing it to your chest, pushing in deeper, making you clench your teeth and take it, not quite relaxing your inner walls because there was no reason to make this easy. And maybe you just wanted to feel his force.

Your husband shoved your other thigh between your chests and bent down, cocking an eyebrow.

“So, it’s gonna be like that, hah?”

You smirked, mirroring his well-known expression.

“Give It to me.”

Not a question. An order.

Yoongi’s calm expression didn’t change. He simply rammed his hips into you and made you gasp with the force, your hands flying up to clutch the pillows, but fierce pace already begun. Your hips immediately followed, lifting up to match his descent, both of you moaning at the sudden intense depth but neither stopping, chasing the power and the pleasure with equal ferocity. You wouldn’t dream of backing down and Yoongi wouldn’t dream of not giving his all even if it meant bruises and soreness, bunching the sheets beside your coiled body and fucking you hard with your legs on his shoulders. Breathing shallow, erratic. Pressure building, pussy clenching around hardness, each thrust shooting through you, up your spine and into your head, thoughts dispersing, heartbeat roaring, burning in the heat, pressing your head back, savoring it, fuck, Yoongi, his name like addictive smoke and sucking the air back in quickly, so hard to breather but so violently alive, closer, closer, husky rasp, I’m close, and your tight hiss, fuck me.

“Fuck me, fuck me, ah, fuuuuck–”

You bit down on your lip and moaned behind gritted teeth, burying your head into the pillows and your hair sweeping into your vision, covering your face as your whole body shuddered, pleasure both a potent venom and an uncontrollable high punching into your lungs, jerking your hips up and squeezing his twitching length. Heady pulses drumming at your temples, gasping for breath, hearing Yoongi groan and flinch against you, pressing deeply, squishing your leaking juices between your joined bodies, his head pitching forward, scalding hot breath against your throat.

For a moment, time froze.

Suspended in the sensations, the ripples of orgasm flowing through him and through you, the afterglow petering in as the blinding ecstasy dissipated. Tingles and prickling racing over your skin. You felt fingertips against your forehead and then your vision cleared, your hair pushed away from your eyes by your husband.

You looked up at Yoongi.

His long hair was all over his face.

You tried to chuckle but you were too breathless and no sound came out. Instead, you also reached over and planted your hand into a sweaty mess.

“You’re sweating.”

“And you’re a slave driver,” was his instant response. There was no malice behind it. More of a matter-of-fact, borderline unbothered if it wasn’t for how hard he was panting. This wasn’t Yoongi complaining. Surprisingly, despite his stern exterior, your husband did, amusingly, whine sometimes.

It was cute.

“We should clean up.”

“Mhm.”

You were getting back into bed when your husband reappeared from his own after-sex routine.

“Nyangnyang gave me a dirty look.”

You frowned. “Isn’t she on her cat tree? I thought she was asleep.”

“I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water and she was judging me from the top perch,” Yoongi sulked. Uh, what was the cat was supposed to do? Give him a thumbs-up?

“I’m sure she’ll show up when we settle in bed,” you remarked soothingly as you slipped under the blanket.

“Nyan.”

“Oh, look who it is.”

All of a sudden, a white furry bullet pounced onto your side of the bed and sat on your arm.

“Nyangnyang, please wait until I adjust on the pillow.”

She did not.

You had to wrestle your arm out from under your furchild and adjust the blankets as impatient paws stomped around your moving hand and then she plopped against your side. Purr-purring away. One would think Nyangnyang the cat owned the place.

“Weirdo.”

“She just loves your pheromones after I rail you,” Yoongi said in the most monotone, unaffected voice ever, which meant he was greatly annoyed.

You nodded sagely. Understandable. “Guess that makes two of us.”

“Don’t make this weirder than it already is.”

“Nyan.”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

“Nyao.”

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[pantherxrogers]

Are You In? - Luca x Reader x Carmy (eventually) 18+ ONLY Pt. 1

Content warnings: explicit language, smut (18+ only), male masturbation, a hint of voyeurism (reader watches Carmy), eventual threesome

Summary: Reader is in an established relationship with Luca and deeply in love with him. But, Carmy comes to Copenhagen and crashes at their shared flat. When she catches him in the act, why can't she get the image out of her mind?

A/N: SURPRISEEEE! :P Part 1 of the (eventual) Reader/Luca/Carmy threesome! Honestly, I might have to make this more than three parts. We'll see how I feel. The full threesome doesn't happen in this chapter (probably not in the next either). We've got a bit of a slow-burn on our hands, which I usually don't write. Let's see how it plays out, lmao!

The sound of breaking glass jolts you awake. Your heart's racing before you take in the familiar surroundings. Stretched out on the couch, Real Housewives reruns play on the large TV in the center of the family room. One of the women just threw a drink across the table, starting a cat fight. You chuckle to yourself, watching as the rest of the scene plays out.

The show actually wakes you up a little bit. As they plan a dinner party, you ponder what you all will eat tonight. Glancing down at your frayed tank top and sweats, you're definitely not getting out to grab groceries. Takeout it is.

Sending off a quick text to Luca, you ask him about Italian food for dinner. He agrees quickly. You figure you'll go ask Carmy if he'll be eating with you guys tonight.

He's visiting you and Luca at your flat in Copenhagen, having flown out to get some inspiration for his own restaurant. As far as houseguests go, he's nearly perfect. He cleans up after himself and always offers to help you guys out around the house.

Slinking off the couch, you head down the hallway towards Carmy's room. When you arrive at his door, it's slightly cracked. There's a possibility that he left to try some restaurants while you were napping, but it can't hurt to peek in really quick. Boy, were you wrong.

It's an erotic sight, and you can't tear your eyes away. Airpods rest in his ears, lewd moans leaking from them.

Carmy's soft groans fill the air. He stands over the bed. One knee propped up on the mattress, while he pumps his aching cock. He's only wearing a pair of black boxers, pulled down just enough for him to stroke himself.

His head is thrown back, showing the veins running along the column of his neck. A thin gold necklace rests there, and a brief image of it dangling in your face passes through your mind.

His tattooed bicep flexes with every pump of his shaft. He strokes himself from base to tip, precum oozing out. When he reaches the tip, he squeezes the sensitive skin, bucking into his own hand.

"Shit," he moans out, clearly in his own world. He uses his other hand to cup his sack, pushing himself closer to the edge.

"Fuuuuuuck," he groans, overwhelmed by the pleasure. Teasing himself, he runs a hand down his abs and back up to tug on his nipple. A light layer of sweat covers his skin. It resembles oil, highlighting the definition of each muscle. The sight goes straight to your clit, causing you to squeeze your thighs together.

Carmy pauses, bending down to push his boxers towards his ankles. He kneels on the the mattress, haphazardly reaching for a pillow. You watch in shock as he bucks into the pillow, working his cock into the cool fabric, desperate for a release.

He's biting his bottom lip, humping the pillow like a starved man. Finding a steady rhythm, his toned thighs tense with every stroke. You can't help but imagine if this is what he would look like while he pounds into you. His strokes are deep and drawn out, making you even wetter.

He pauses his hips, resting back on his heels. Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he spits into his rough palm. You audibly gasp, prompting Carmy's to blue eyes cut into your own.

"Fuck!" he shouts, scrambling to cover himself with the pillow. He quickly stands, reaching down to pull up the plain boxers, unsuccessfully concealing his hard-on.

"I'm so sorry!" You blurt out, too shocked to do anything else. You're looking anywhere but at him, blood rushing in your ears. The only sound is the rustle of fabric as Carmy digs around for something to cover his body.

"I-, I swear I didn't know. I came to ask you if you wanted Italian for dinner tonight," you ramble, ringing your hands as you try to think of a plausible excuse for your behavior.

Rapidly nodding his head, Carmy pulls a t-shirt over his body, radiating just as much nervous energy as you.

"Yeah, yeah, Italian is fine," he stammers out. His cheeks are bright red and it carries down to his neck, made even more obvious by the black t-shirt he's pulled on.

"Shit, Carm, I'm so sorry. I totally shouldn't have barged in like that" you cry out, feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

"No, it's fine, I swear. I should've locked the door," he replies, cheeks still flaming. He's across the room now, digging through the drawers for some pants to throw on.

"No, this is totally on me. I'm sorry, again," you tell him before turning away to hide in your bedroom.

What the fuck just happened?

Is all you can think to yourself as you sit on the large bed in the center of the room you share with Luca. The reminder causes more guilt to well up in your stomach. You love Luca with all your heart and can't imagine a life without him.

Then, why did the image of Carmy jerking off cause you to change your panties?

"Ugh, fuck," you grumble, plopping down onto the soft duvet. Staring up at the ceiling, you know there's only one thing that might make you feel better. You're reaching for your phone before you can think better off it. Of course, he picks up on the first ring.

"Hey Luca," you sigh out, toying with one of your dark curls.

"Hey love, what's up?" You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, likely heading towards the walk-in freezer for privacy.

"I'm so embarrased right now." Your voice breaks, an embarrassed tear running down your cheek. The reality of the moment is sinking in, and the sound of Luca's voice is only making you feel more guilty.

"Woah, woah, what's happened?" His voice is steady and calm, trying to keep the panic out of his tone. He's worried, but he doesn't want to overwhelm you when your emotions are running so high.

"I-, I walked in on Carmy," you whisper, the blood rushing back up to your cheeks. Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you feel like you've just announced it to the world.

The line is quiet for a while, before you're met with a low chuckle.

"Are you laughing right now?" The way your voice has risen three octaves, only makes Luca laugh harder.

"Shit, I'm sorry love," he chokes out, in between bouts of laughter. His reaction actually makes you feel a little better. You nibble on your lip to stop small smile that's forming.

"How are you so amused right now?!"

"How are you not?!" He's nearly hysterical at this point, causing a giggle to slip through your lips.

"Luca, c'mon, be serious," you whine out, fighting back your own laughter. You hear him taking deep breaths, trying to reign himself back in.

"Sorry, love, I hear you. Go ahead," he answers, but you can still hear the smile in his voice. You groan playfully, but continue.

"I swear it was a total accident. I was going to ask him about dinner, but the door was kinda cracked, so I thought it'd be okay for me to come in," you explain, giving him the full run down.

By the time you're recounted the events, he's fully calmed down, knowing you need some reassurance right now.

"Babe, it was an honest mistake. I'm sure Carmy isn't going to hold it against you," he soothes. His deep voice washes over you, slowing down the rapid beating of your heart.

"I don't want him to feel uncomfortable. He's our guest. I totally violated his privacy."

"I know, love, I know. If it makes you feel better, we can all sit down tonight and talk about it, hmm?" Luca suggests, knowing that you'll all feel better if you can address the elephant in the room.

You're nodding your head before you remember that he can't hear you.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," you agree, happy to have reached a solution. You feel relaxed now, grateful to have a boyfriend who understands you so well.

"Good, how are you feeling now?"

"Hmm, I'm better now," you answer honestly, relaxing further into the duvet.

"I'm glad. You sound better," he replies. He feels your own relief in his chest, glad to have been able to talk you off the edge. You two exchange a little bit of small talk, before you wrap up the call.

"I love you. I'll let you get back to work now."

"I love you too, babe. See you in a couple hours," he hums, blowing a kiss into the speaker. Your heart skips at the gesture, blowing a kiss back to him, before you end the call.

You're staring up at the ceiling, with a dopey smile on your face. Luca always knows the perfect thing to say, and you can't wait to see him when he gets home. A quick thought cuts into your head, disturbing your short-lived peace.

Why do I feel excited about facing Carmy again?

..............................................................................................................................

Taglist (please let me know if you want to be added/removed):

@nolita-fairytale @wakandamama @wakandama2 @blowmymbackout @douceurrrr @mercang @eddiemunsonreader @cryobabyy @superhoeva @kdoxkeic @notmocca @live-love-be-unique

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[10:13 pm]

(POOKIE PROPAGANDA!!! Anyway,, cw: this is mostly humor, with a weird smidge of angst)

Situationship!Jaehyun wishes he could focus on the show playing on his laptop. He was in the perfect position to lay back and relax after a long week. He was under his warmest blanket, laying in bed, and had you laying right beside him. He was big spoon as was his usual position when it came to cuddling. However, he wishes he could just put a stop to the constant repetition of the same song playing over and over again kissin’ I hope they caught us, kissin’ I hope they caught us. It was getting on his last nerve. That song paired with your excited giggles were driving him crazy knowing that it was some type of edit. You shouldn’t be looking at anyone else while cuddling with him!

He tried to peek over your shoulder, his show no longer keeping his interest while his curiosity (jealousy) was gnawing at his brain, but you were so curled in on yourself and covered with blankets that he couldn’t see anything. “I’m noticing that the edits are changing,” he heard a man say before Agora Hills started up again. He could confidently say that about 20 minutes ago he had nothing against Doja Cat, but now he could say he hated her. He had nothing against her beside the fact that her song was driving him up the wall.

And really he should have been grateful, the song was better than hearing the guy talk for a whole minute flirting at the camera, ugh how cringe. “Pookie” this and “Pookie” that and “Pookie, Pookie, Pookeh!” Jaehyun had had enough. He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you impossibly closer, “What are you watching baby?”

You hummed before giggling at the video playing on your phone, “my husband.”

Jaehyun froze, his blood ran cold, he tightened his hold, “Who?”

You turned to face Jaehyun slightly, revealing a guy sitting in his car talking to his phone like a total loser, “Big Pookie.”

“Why are you saying all these names like I’m supposed to know who it is?”

“You don’t know Girl Dinner? Pray Pray?” You asked, Jaehyun shook his head, “God, I forget your for you page is aggressively male. You don’t know Prayag?”

“Why would I know him?”

“Because he’s an icon. Here, you have to have seen this,” you reply before pulling up a video where “Big Pookie” waves his hands and shakes his shoulders.

Jaehyun scoffs with an eye roll, “I can do that,” before he sits up and starts doing the most horrendous shimmy and pointing you have ever seen. He smirks, clearly thinking he’s just done something to drive you wild with lust, “does that make you want on your real man now?”

Your mouth closes to a flat line, “You’re not my anything.”

Then you turn over to face away from him again. He quickly turns you around to face him before the man in his car can recapture your attention. “Why would you be laying in my bed if we weren’t anything?”

You shrug, avoiding his gaze with a sudden shyness, “You never liked it when I called you my boyfriend before. You just ask me to come over and do all these relationship things without the commitment and I go along because I like you. I don’t want to lose you so I just go along.”

Jaehyun can feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I should have made my feelings more clear. I was an ass when we first started seeing each other, but if I’m being honest I thought that we’d been official for at least 3 months.”

Your jaw drops yet again, “When did you act any differently?”

“I thought me cooking your favorite meal over a candlelit dinner when I gave you that necklace was the turning point,” Jaehyun replies, playing with the chain around your neck with a very poorly concealed smirk.

You bury your face in his chest and groan out of embarrassment, “I could have been calling you my boyfriend this whole time!”

“Glad we cleared that up, can we watch the show again?” Jaehyun asks, saving you from more embarrassment.

You quickly roll over, facing the screen and Jaehyun feels a sense of ease and calm. Finally, he can relax. Until a few mainutes later when he hears your gasp and “Pookie, I don’t know whose hair this is.”

[geeky-politics-46]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 12

Titty Fucking with Arthur Shelby

"Pearl Necklace"

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Summary: You & Arthur have another afternoon romp in his office

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - adultery/extra-marital affair, jealousy, swearing, pet names, marking, oral sex, titty fucking, handjob, cumplay, pearl necklace, almost facial, little bit of fluff

After that first night you crossed the line, you and Arthur continued your affair with little guilt from either of you. Yes, he was still technically married to Linda; but emotionally and mentally, he was all yours. To the world, you were his in all possible aspects after that night. Something that soon spread to those in the office as well as those throughout Birmingham, and you are sure, got back to his wife as well.

Not that she could really have treated you any worse than she did before your affair started. If anything, Linda's abuse and vitriol towards you had lessened since your real affair began. She knew she had lost the battle that she had created in her own mind. That much was evident by the locket Arthur bought you with both of your initials on it. It was a promise that when business settled down, when the stock market fallout was done, he would leave Linda and make an honest woman out of you. Assuming she didn't divorce him first. He had contacts who told him she had been trying to find a lawyer for a while.

His family pretty much all knew about the two of you, and most of them were supportive. Tommy especially. Which was no surprise, really, knowing his dislike of Linda and preference towards you. He would often say he was sending Arthur out of town for business only to send the two of you to spend a few days locked in a suite at the Midland Hotel together instead. Polly and Lizzie were a little more critical that you two weren't doing more to hide your affair and keep it out of the office. Both metaphorically and literally.

Arthur's office itself still being one of the main sites of your romps. Even now, as Arthur called you into his office, you couldn't help the smile on your face. Your stride became all the more confident as other employees started to move towards the front door. None of them frankly wanting to hear you two fucking again.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby."

You used your sweetest voice as you walked in and shut the door behind you, not even bothering to throw the lock. If someone walked in, it was their own fault. You and Arthur loved playing cat and mouse at the office. A lopsided grin on his lips and a predatory glint in his eyes as you sashayed over to where he sat. An extra sway in your hips as you undid a couple extra buttons on your blouse. Making sure he would get an eyeful of your breasts and peek at your bra, his favorite mauve silk one, when you bent down over his desk.

He immediately grabbed your hand and pulled you to sit in his lap. His face immediately buried in your neck, sucking and kissing at your throat. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hummed happily. Closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of his lips on you.

"Apparently, you left some impressive scratch marks on my back a couple nights ago, love. Didn't even bother making up a lie to Linda when she saw them. Just shrugged. Don't fucking care anymore. Love it when you leave your mark on me, darlin’. Can't wait until I can openly tell everyone you're mine."

His fingers playing with the locket around your neck as he daydreamed about fucking you silly in your wedding dress. He had already removed his wedding ring. He only put it on anymore when he went home to Linda. He hated seeing it and knowing that it meant he wasn't married to you. That he still had to deal with her bullshit.

You could already feel his cock hardening beneath your ass. Letting your hips wiggle against him just a little to let him know you could feel it. He growled low in your ear nipping at the spot just below your ear.

"Well, Mr. Shelby, I did just touch up my lipstick, so how about I leave a new mark or two? Maybe here…"

You tilted his head up and to the side, placing a kiss on his neck. Pulling back to see the red lipstick print you left behind.

"... and here…"

This time, you placed a kiss on the other side of his neck. This time, making sure you placed it low enough on his neck to leave lipstick on his collar. Smiling at the way the bright shade popped against the starched white fabric.

You slithered out of his lap onto the floor in front of him. Your body poised between his legs. Keeping your eyes on his as you opened his waistcoat before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Opening them enough to expose the crotch of his white boxer shorts. Lowering your head until your lips were hovering just over the tent there.

"... and here."

You couldn't hold back a little giggle when you saw your lipstick print over his cock. Oh yes. This was the perfect little 'fuck you' to Linda. Maybe if you made her mad enough she would just leave on her own already. At this point all three of you knew she was staying merely out of spite.

"Fuck, angel. So good to me. Now quit that Mr. Shelby bullshit. At least until I can call you Mrs. Shelby. Besides you know I love hearing you scream my name when we fuck."

You raised up on your knees and drug your hands up over his muscular thighs onto his abdomen. Pulling at his suspenders as you tugged his head down to meet your lips. Nipping at his bottom lip before pulling away just far enough to whisper against his skin. His mustache tickling you lightly as you spoke.

"I want to make you scream my name right now, Arthur. You can make me scream later tonight."

Placing one more kiss on his lips, you pulled away and started working to undo his suspenders from his pants. Wiggling your behind excitedly once you had them undone and could start pulling his pants and boxers down to his knees. A smirk on his face at how exuberant you were to suck him off. He would happily return the favor later.

His cock springing free of it's confines as you settled back down onto your heels. Smiling up at him as you began peppering his inner thighs with lipstick tinted kisses. An almost lovesick look in Arthur's eyes as he watched you. His sweet little angel could be oh so devilish.

“Fuck, love. I can tell you right now I'm not gonna last long. Look so fucking pretty on your knees for me.”

With your most innocent eyes you started to kitten lick the tip of his cock. Lapping at it several times before licking your lips and fluttering your lashes at him. Humming to yourself like he was the most delicious treat you had ever tasted. Thoroughly pleased with your work when you opened your eyes and saw Arthur's mouth hanging open looking totally hypnotized. The lanky gangster may be feared by most of Birmingham, but you had him wrapped around your little finger.

“Love you, Arthur”

“Love you too, sw– ohhhhh”

Before Arthur could finish his sentence you lowered your head and took his cock as deep as you could. His words halting and giving way to needy groan. His head falling back and his eyes closing as you started to shallowly bob up and down on his shaft. Keeping your suction consistent until you decided to pull all the way off his cock with a loud pop.

You began to suckle on the head of his cock as you brought one hand up to stroke his hard length. Purposely licking over his slit and tasting his precum on your tongue. You loved getting a taste of what was now reserved just for you. Purring as you swirled your tongue around his ridge. Letting your saliva drip down his shaft and onto his balls.

Turning to look at the clock over your shoulder quickly while you moved to massage his balls, you realized just how soon Tommy was due to be back in the office. You needed to work fast if you wanted to finish Arthur off before you were inevitably interrupted. A wicked little plan forming in your mind.

Smiling sweetly up at him, you placed open mouth sucking kisses up and down his throbbing length. Your fingers nimbly working to open your blouse even more to completely reveal your chest. Your eyes locked with Arthur's as you pulled the cups of your bra down and let your breasts spill free.

After leaning over and spitting on the tip, you started stroking his cock with both hands. Twisting them in opposite directions on your upstroke. Making sure his cock was thoroughly soaked.

Once you were satisfied you suckled on his swollen head once more. Sucking as hard as you could while your tongue flicked at his frenulum. Pulling off of his cock after earning a shallow buck from Arthur's hips. You knew he was getting close.

Bracing yourself on his strong thighs, you scooted as close to the chair as you could. Letting the head of Arthur's cock rub against your chest. Painting a dribble of precum right next to the locket that bore both of your initials.

Arthur's eyebrow quirked up in question of what you were up to. His curiosity growing when you moved the locket over your shoulder so it was out of the way and brought your hands to your breasts and started toying with your nipples. Spitting onto his cock again as you positioned his manhood between your tits and squeezed them together.

Slowly starting to move up and down you smiled deviously as you saw the light bulb click on in Arthur's brain, finally realizing that you wanted him to fuck your tits. Excitedly he brushed his hands over your cheeks and down onto your shoulders as he gently started to thrust his hips.

“Oh, such a naughty mind you have, lovey. Gonna be wearing my cum the rest of the day.”

“Maybe that's what I want. I marked you, now I want you to mark me, Arthur.”

The visual of his cock squeezed between your beautiful breasts was quickly pushing Arthur to the edge. His thrusts growing faster and harder by the second. His teeth gritting together and a growl coming from deep in his chest when you stuck out your tongue so you could lick at the tip of his cock when it peaked up between your breasts.

His breathing started to fall in heavy shaky blows as he struggled to keep any sense of composure. He looked truly wrecked as you gazed up at him through your lashes. His brown hair falling forward over his face, his mouth hanging open, and desperately trying to keep his eyes on the erotic sight of you before him.

“Oh, fuck love, gonna cum! So fuckin’ good to me. Feels so fuckin’ good! Keep your tongue out darlin’. Here it comes!”

A deep growl and a moan falling from Arthur's lips as his hips stuttered and his fingers dug into your shoulders so hard they were sure to leave bruises. His cock twitching as his cum erupted onto your chest, neck, and chin. The warmth of his thick white spend making you shiver against the cool air in the office.

You couldn't help but giggle at Arthur as he fell back exhausted into his chair. Desperately trying to catch his breath. Leaning forward and placing a few more kitten licks on his softening cock and his thighs before pulling up and refastening his boxers, and lovingly caressing his thighs. Comforting your contented lover.

Suddenly, the door quickly swung open and in stepped Arthur's brother, Tommy. He, in particular, seemed to have a knack at knowing the worst possible times to appear. Startling both you and poor Arthur out of his post-orgasm haze. Arthur immediately moved to sit up and pretend you hadn't both been caught.

As soon as he saw you on your knees and his brother's pants undone, Tommy essentially knew what he had walked in on. He was relieved to see that at least it appeared he missed the main event. He plucked the cigarette from between his lips, addressing both of you nonchalantly before leaving just as quickly as he had entered. His face was unchanged the entire time.

“Clean up. Both of you. Family meeting in five minutes.”

Your cheeks had turned beet red in embarrassment. Unsure of whether Tommy had been able to see your bare breasts or that your chest and neck were coated in Arthur's cum. Suddenly second guessing your decision not to lock the office door after all.

Arthur pulled you up into his lap and started cleaning you up with his handkerchief and laughing at your sheepish expression. He placed a sweet kiss on your lips as he finished wiping you down. He fixed your bra and straightened out your locket, kissing you more deeply before reassuring you his brother wouldn't give you trouble.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. If Tom says anything, I'll just say that he hasn't paid me enough to buy you a proper pearl necklace, so we improvised.”

You threw your head down into his neck and burrowed into his arms even farther in embarrassment. Arthur's arms holding onto you as tight as he could, laughing even louder when he felt you starting to giggle too and placing kisses into your hair. Both of you were aware that even if Tommy didn’t say anything at the very least, John would enjoy giving both of you hell.

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

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[cinnamontails-ff]

Magistrate Astarion Week - Day 4

The Domestication of Magistrate Astarion - aka, he's good at coaxing people into his bed, sure, but when one of them actually stays the night and then proceeds to make him breakfast, he kinda sorta loses his shit.

Day 4: Lifestyle (minor NSFW mentions)

Astarion sheathed his dagger and strode into the kitchen. “Good morning, darling.” She whirled around with a start, one hand flying to the necklace that peeked out of her leisurely buttoned blouse. He remembered looking at it last night when she’d been asleep in his arms, wondering what might be inside the little locket. Surely not a picture of one of her parents. Perhaps one of her cat? Some legal philosopher who had passed hundreds of years ago? “Oh, good morning,” she said. “I … didn’t realize you were up.” “Indeed I am.” He leaned against the kitchen counter with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “And you, my dear, are still here.” He’d meant it teasingly, but her eyes widened in shock. “Do you want me to leave?” “Gods above, no!” He laughed, trying to mask the urgency in his tone, and slung an arm around her waist. “I’d never blame you for wanting the … morning program.” He pulled her flush against himself, one hand dipping lower to where her shirt was ending and her ass began, just as he’d done hundreds of times before. If she was still here, it meant she hadn’t quite gotten yet what she’d come for. Which was honestly a little ridiculous, given how many times he’d made her orgasm last night, but he’d be sure to provide. He’d give her everything she wanted. “Actually …” Smiling nervously, she took a half step backward. “I thought we could have breakfast? I’m starving.” Astarion followed her gesturing to the bowl full of eggs, next to it a loaf of fresh bread that definitely hadn’t been in his house yesterday. “Breakfast?” He eyed her, trying to gauge what this was. A fantasy of being spread out over the kitchen counter as he licked scrambled eggs out of her navel? Not that he’d be opposed to it — the Gods knew he’d facilitated odder fantasies in the past. But she didn’t look like there was anything carnal on her mind. In fact, most of her attention was on the dab of butter she’d deposited in the pan, watching with excitement as it started sizzling. “I went to the market this morning,” she explained. “I hope you don’t mind I brought all this stuff here. I was just really hungry after … you know.” Her blush was so disorientingly pretty, he couldn’t even come up with one of his usual innuendos. He just watched her in dumbstruck silence as she cut the bread into thick slices and poured him a cup of coffee, his hands accepting it automatically. She was still here. He’d fucked her to the brink of passing out and she was still here. Puttering around in his kitchen as if she had nowhere better to be on her day off. As if she was … comfortable. “Could you set the table?” she asked, stirring the eggs in the pan. “I’m not sure where you have your silverware.” Astarion also wasn’t sure, but he was glad to occupy his mind with a more solvable conundrum. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually sat down at the kitchen counter, rather than bend someone over it until they screamed his name. It felt nice.

Excerpt from chapter 15 of "Magistrate's Advocate"

[shuniverse]

rough patch ,,| l.f

🖋️ requested by anon!! this is such a cute idea I love it sm 🥺

1.1k words

💌 gn!reader, hurt/comfort, sad lixie 😭

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

he’d texted you that night, just wanting to talk to you, be able to communicate.

then he called, and you could hear the faint sniffle in his voice as he sent his usual hello. it sounded sadder, more quiet than normal.

after a quite small amount of prying, just a simple ‘what’s wrong, lixie?’, he just started crying. it broke your heart as he poured out what he was feeling, the shuddering sobs wracking your own chest with a pang of sadness.

he’d confessed he didn’t feel confident in how he was performing, and no matter how hard he tried it couldn’t come out like he wanted.

of course, from your perspective, this was far, far from the truth. felix was, and is, and impeccable dancer, rapper, and singer, all on top of his stage presence, and that deep, velvety voice you adore oh so much.

you sighed softly when he’d finished, the teary call leaving a bit of a cloud over head. you told him you’d buy a ticket, leave within the next day or two.

he’d told you you didn’t need to, that he’d be okay, but you insisted. nothing hurts more than the literal sun himself seeming so clouded and sad.

so, with sweet ‘I love you’s’, you promised you’d be in Sydney to see him soon.

now, you’re on your way to him in a rented car, playing the playlist you and him created together. you’ve missed him so so much, and knowing of his struggles wasn’t helping anything.

as soon as you came to the hotel, you’re practically leaping and bounding out of your car, grabbing your luggage and the little cat plushie you’d bought for him, and dashing inside the hotel and up the stairs to his room.

you’re jet-lagged of course, but that doesn’t stop you. you knock softly on his door.

felix recognizes that knock anywhere, and he’s swinging the door open with enough force you’re worried he’ll break the poor thing.

as soon as he sees you, and your pretty smile and luggage and that cat plushie, his eyes well up with tears and he pulls you inside, closing the door, and hugging you tight.

he lets out a shaky sigh, before crying softly into your neck and shoulder, placing lazy kisses on the exposed skin from your tank top.

he moves his head to look at you with a lovesick smile and red, puffy, and wet eyes. you pout a bit, holding his face, brushing your thumb over his freckle-dusted cheeks.

his voice is rough and of a lower octave when he speaks finally. “I.. I’ve missed you, so much.”

you smile and kiss his nose. “I’ve missed you too, my dear lixie.”

he rubs little circles on to your hip with his thumb, and you just happily gaze into his beautiful coco brown eyes, which look so worn.

“my love,” he perks up to pay attention to your voice, ever the soother for him, “what’s got you so worked up?”

he gives a small frown, a cute one at that, and he sighs softly.

“shows have been enjoyable of course, but I’ve been feeling more stressed lately, more.. self conscious. I don’t feel good about what I’m doing and I can’t seem to get out of it. I try so so hard but.. nothing ever seems right. I just wish I knew why.”

it makes you sad to see him feel this way about himself, how he doubts his show-stopping talent. you want to help, and you’re set on doing so while you have him with you.

you kiss his jaw. “lixie, baby, it’s okay. I’m here now. my love, you’re and amazing performer. your vocals, dance, raps, and just raw talent are absolutely breathtaking. I wish I could help, is there any way I can? hell, I’ll even listen to you rehearse, I’ll watch, I’ll give my advice and many many many compliments. alsoo-“ you shut his eyes “- I got you a present, no peeking!”

he giggles, a big happy smile on his ethereal features.

you fish around your suitcase for the necklace you’d saved up to buy a couple days ago, and when you find it you smile, looking back at felix and holding it up. “open!”

he opens his eyes eagerly, but the cute smile on his face fades when he sees the necklace. not even two seconds later, tears are pricking at his waterline, and he pulls you in, sniffling. “oh, my love.. you’re the best..”

he softly cries, happily of course, and you rub his back, kissing his collarbone. “shh, shh, lixie baby it’s okay.. no need to cry..”

he pulls his head up and smiles at you, then looks at the necklace.

engraved in cursive spells the date of your anniversary, with two little hearts on either side. and on the back of the small gold pendant is engraved yours and felix’s initials.

he sighs shakily. “how.. how much was this?”

you smile. “not important, sunshine. let’s get some drinks and snacks, hm? we can watch a movie, relax, I’ll even give you a massage.”

he smiles, cupping your face and kissing you softly. “I would adore that my love, I’ve missed you so much..”

you’re wrapped in one another’s embrace, entertaining, massaging, talking, til night has covered the sky and felix’s eyes begin to droop.

you notice and kiss his forehead as he lays with his head atop your thighs. “let’s go to bed, sunshine.”

he smiles sleepily and nods, sitting up and walking with you to his bedroom. he strips off his big t-shirt, leaving him in only sweatpants, much to your enjoyment.

he smiles at you and sits on the edge of the bed as you strip a garment of clothing off, wanting to be just as comfortable as him. when you’re done, felix holds you and brings you to sit on his lap as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

you both sit in comfortable silence, til he’s pulling you with him so he’s all the way on the bed, his head resting on a soft pillow, his fluffy blonde hair splayed across it. you smile and snuggle up to him, on top of him, and you make your head comfortable in the crook of his neck as your limbs entangle and wrap around one another.

he leaves a peck on your forehead, his voice deep and beautiful as he speaks. “goodnight, pretty. I love you so so much.. sweet dreams..”

you smile. “night-night, sunshine..”

and you fall asleep like that, holding each other, and you want the moment to last forever.

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I hope you enjoyed! also sorry for my hiatus I’ve been busy and tired and stressed 😭

I’ll do my best to keep posting content for you guys :))

[zyonsay]

Hey I wanted to ask if you could write a Yuki Tsunoda X male reader smut? :)

Maybe where the reader helps Yuki steam off after a bad race or something Yknow? I'm sorry I'm not that creative with ideas 😭

I hope you can make sense of it haha And if you don't want to write for him that's okay as well<3 (or if I didn't saw his name in the list for the people you don't write for, I apologise)

Pearl Necklace YT22

fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: Maybe he needs to blow off some steam

Reader: Male

Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Biting, Blood (Everything is consensual)

Now playing: 'Take me to Church' by Hozier

AN: Hello guys! This took longer than expected haha, but im kinda happy with the outcome. idk its 1 in the morning so i might be wrong lol. But anyways, first Yuki content on my blog!! love that <3 This somehow has me thinking of vampire Yuki......

Gloves flew through the garage, one landed on a stack of tires the other fell to the ground and was left there. He ran a hand trough his black strands, muttering something while walking down the pit lane. Some worried looks were thrown his way, but that only made him angrier. He didn’t need any pity, who did they think he was? He could swear that he felt his blood blubber and boil in his veins.

While fidgeting with the baseball cap in your hands, you closely watch the screen, a camera was being shoved in Yuki’s face. God, this feels like watching some stupid drama show and not a sports program. His now ungloved hands were balled into fists and his expression looked sour, or at least the look in his eyes did, since he was still wearing his helmet. With a swift movement Yuki escaped the media and made a run for the team hospitality, where you had been waiting for him. You would’ve watched the race from the pit wall, but a terrible headache had come over you. The sun was cruelly shining, and your headache just got worse, so you retreated inside to take some meds.

The door was closed, not so gently though. You heard muffled steps and the low rumble of your boyfriend. He was easygoing and a fun guy for sure, but he was also very critical of himself. Whenever he didn’t place well, Yuki always thought that it was his fault alone. A few moments pass and a head of raven hair peeked trough the door. With little to no care he slid of his shoes and kicked them aside before taking a few quick steps towards you. Knowing how he must feel you rushed off your chair and immediately into his arms. “Hey there.” The whisper that fell from your lips was very quiet, only you two could hear it. Well, there weren’t many people around anyways, but you still kept your voice low. His shoulders were tense and maybe it was your imagination, but he seemed to be shaking with anger. “I don’t wanna think about this bullshit right now.” Yuki scoffed slightly, his silky black hair was messed up from the balaclava and his eyes darted around the room in a nervous manner. He slid one of his hands behind your neck, like a threatening snake, but you know that he’ll always be careful with you. With a swift motion, he had pulled you into a kiss. It was hungry, even starving. There was a longing sensation in the way his breath trickled down your cheek, he wasn’t begging. He was demanding.

A soft gasp fell from your lips, then a small hum of pleasure slipped out too. His eyes darted up to yours, it almost seemed as if his pupils were dilated like a cat who had just discovered it’s prey. His hand came up from underneath your shirt and gripped your throat. Yuki’s body was pressed against yours, squishing you in between his warmth and the door of his driver’s room. Your blood was stirring and swirling around your veins, a tingly feeling had sat itself in your stomach. Admittedly, you felt bad for Yuki but something about him being furious is so irresistible.  The thoughts in your head were shushed away by the growing feeling of dizziness, his hand hadn’t left your neck yet and you were struggling to get any air. A smile tugged at his lips, before he loosened his grip and pressed a few kisses along your jaw. Heavy breaths made your chest heave and sink, you gently pushed your boyfriend backwards. Your gaze darted towards his dark eyes. They were almost completely black, only from very close up you could see a hint of brown in them.

The back of Yuki’s legs hit his chair, which was pulled out from underneath the desk. He reached back and scooched the chair closer to him, and then sat down. He tauntingly tilted his head, waiting for your next move. His eyes were trained on yours, it almost seemed as if he was testing you. But you weren’t gonna let him have this. You too tilted your head, keeping eye contact with him. The driver’s rooms are small, so only a few steps were enough for you to stand right in front of him. His dark lashes fluttered while his characteristic smile spread over his face. “Come here.”, he whispered while gesturing to his lap. You were about to swing your leg over his, as he quickly turned around you your back was pressed closely to his chest. He reached around your torso and began unbuckling your belt. His lips lingered over your neck; his breath felt awfully hot on your skin. Yuki’s soft kisses quickly turned into love bites and his hand was teasing you trough your underwear. This was too much and too little at once, you could’ve exploded right there. In a swift motion, he had pulled down your boxers. The cold air hit your member and a shiver ran down your back, this made Yuki smile, you could feel it on your neck. His left hand massaged your thigh while his other one gently took your cock and began stroking it slowly. Way too slowly. Out of desperation you bucked into his hand, earning you a chuckle and a light slap on your thigh. A sweet whine escaped your throat, and you leaned your head back against Yuki’s shoulder. Your boyfriend hummed in approval, “Does that feel good?” Yes, it did. God, it was fucking incredible. Caught in a haze, you could only stammer out what seemed to resemble a weak ‘yes’. Soon after he sped up his movement, tightening his grip around your dick slightly, shortly after being rewarded loud gasps from you. He was enjoying this scene, it put him at ease. You were melting like putty in his hands, in moments like these he could do anything with you. This sense of control pleased him tremendously, but this was a mutual game.

Yuki bit down on your shoulder, leaving deep teeth marks in your skin. One day you would have to get those trending bitemark tattoos for sure. But for now, the pulsing raspberry redness was more than enough. Once again, he sped up and kept kissing your now sensitive, irritated skin. A hot, sweet feeling was pooling in your stomach. A stinging sharp pain surged through your neck. And before you knew-

-it had stopped. Yuki’s teeth were sunken deep into your skin, when he let off small droplets of blood began pooling in the dents his teeth had left. They were crimson red and looked like beautiful red pearls. You whined and winded in his touch, from pain, frustration but mostly from want. He delicately hummed before gently licking a long stripe from your shoulder up to your jaw, savoring the iron-like taste of your blood. “Love you.”, he whispered before he began jerking you off again.

[partyanimal167]

Dance with Me- Miguel x F!Reader

This total blurb got thrown together because I saw this beautiful art by @satoshiiarts (girl the way you drew him. the way i'd fold) and I needed to write something to calm this cat down so~

CW: fem reader, implied slight age gap, author knows some Spanish, hot fluff, afro Caribbean reader in mind

(A/N: before y'all get on my throat, I know bachata isn't Mexican, but New York irl is diverse so just follow me here and see the vision)

You somehow let your friend convince you to go out even though you worked the dinner shift. She made a good point saying that by the time you'd be off and arrived the clubs would be at it's peak vibes. You really just wanted to lay down and have a drink, but it had been awhile and even though you weren't going to a fete it would still be nice to let loose.

So you threw on that outfit that had been sitting in the back of your closet, grabbed your black mesh boots, took a shot for courage, and headed out.

There was a reggaeton-dancehall mash up when you and your friends arrived, and it immediately helped you relax. Your group found a spot to peek around--trying to decide on getting a drink or jumping on the floor. Drinks won, and first round was on you. Thankfully, the bar wasn't super crowded (no college kids), so it wasn't hard to get there. You two-stepped your way through, but accidentally bumped into someone who was reaching for their Modelo.

You gasped and placed your hand on the person's arm. "I'm so sorry! You didn't spill your drink, did you?" You absolutely hated when that happened--drunk people that needed to go home, but you were just a little clumsy tonight.

"Oh no need to worry."

Holy fuck. Holy fuck! Your brain short-circuited. You had to take a moment to breath, and prayed to God your eyes weren't bulging out of your head. The man was taller than you and gave you a soft smile despite the hard features. His cheeks were sharp. His eyes burned red. The gold of his earrings and necklace beamed when the club lights caught on it. The few gray hairs made your brain flash to dangerous places. The black dress shirt was filled, and you were so tempted to just steal a glance at whatever piece of chest you could get.

Say something! You giggled stupidly as your face was warming up, and you quickly turned to the bar hoping to have not looked like an idiot.

You shouted your order over the music to the bartender before patting your pants for your card. An arm reached passed you and placed a bill on the counter. "Here you go," the bartender took the money and went working on the drinks.

You tensed for a moment before turning and looking up at the man. Now he was grinning. "Uh, thank you so much." you smiled.

The man shrugged. "Here's your change, Miguel."

"No lo necesito." the man replied. You weren't sure what to say so you gave him your name. "Miguel, nice to meet you. Hanging out with your friends?"

Drinks starting getting placed in front of you. You nodded as you glanced at your friends who seemed to start feeling the music. "Yeah it's girls night."

The man raised his beer and winked. "Well have fun tonight, then chiquita." and he walked away.

Why is he leaving! You squeaked internally before grabbing the drinks ready to point out the man to your friends and get the night going.

...

You were feeling loose and happy. The night had taken a turn and the bachata mixes were starting up. Your friends were quick to partner up and get to stepping and swaying. You all moved throughout the floor, twirling before finding yourselves with a new partner and rhythm. It had taken you awhile to get to the point where you'd be okay dancing in public, but it had been in your blood and soon you embraced it. Most people kept it fun and light-hearted which was always nice.

You had found yourself alone for a moment and just as you were about to dance your way back to your seat, you felt a confident pull of your hips which had you leaning against someone's chest and a hand holding yours. They took the lead easily, and you took in how smoothly they stepped before spinning you and pulling your in close.

It took everything in you not to fumble your steps, but maybe the man noticed your bit of surprise and chuckle. "Is it okay if we dance?"

"Yes," you squeaked out.

Miguel grinned as he continued to move you around the floor. "Sorry, if I came across too forward. You just looked so good dancing. I wanted a turn." God, this man needed to stop talking. You were going to freeze up any moment if he kept going on with that voice of his. "I hope I'm a good enough partner for you bebita."

You laughed nervously and shook your head. "Oh more than adequate. I'm sure everyone wishes to switch places with me."

"Hmm, maybe the other way around. We probably look good out here."

"You certainly do." you replied with out thinking. "Oh wait, I-,"

"You flatter me." was all he said though you could tell he didn't necessarily disagree.

Soon enough, you got over your bit of nerves and continued dancing with the man. Though you would normally only dance with someone for a song or two, it quickly became three or four with Miguel. He was probably dancing just as long as you, and you were starting to get a little winded though you wouldn't let him escape again.

"Ah me olvidé, it's girl's night. Let me get you back to your friends, hermosa." the man paused by the wall and let go of your hands.

Not yet! You waved your hands. "I'm sure they're fine...unless you have someone you need to get back to then no worries!" you tripped over your words.

Miguel huffed a laugh and scratched the back of his head. "Eh not really. I came with my brother, but who knows where he is?" you both turned hearing your name called, and you saw your friends waving and whistling you on. Your face flared up. I'm going to kill them! The man could probably tell what was going on and smiled. "Hehe, go have fun tonight bebita and get home safe." he handed you a card before bringing the back of your hand to his lips and placing a kiss. "We'll dance again some other time."

Watching him walk away was only a little painful considering the view, but you silently cheered before going back to your girls to gush over the last hour.

You guessed it did pay to leave the house every now and then.

I actually wanna go dancing now that's crazy! But there's no Miguel for me to run into 😭😭😭😭

Thanks for reading!

border by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms]

All’s Fair In Love and War || Part One ||

Requested: Hii can you do a "enemies to lovers" trope with max and reader imagine? :)

You’re a well-known thief, always able to steal whatever target you’re given. When you’re hired to steal a ruby from the Metroburg Museum, you come face to face with the famous ThunderTwins. Who, having been defeated for the first time in a long while, are determined to take you down. But you can’t help catching the eye of one Max Thunderman and him yours. How will things work out when you’re on opposites side of the playing field?

Pairing: Max Thunderman x Reader

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, she/her pronouns, violence/fighting, mentions of blood/bleeding

Words: 2.3K

A/N: A while ago I made a poll for something and everyone voted for Max, this was that something. Inspired form the Spider-Man/Black Cat relationship I made this for the lovely person who requested it. This is going to be several parts, so I hope you guys enjoy.

|| GIFs not mine, Black Cat GIF is just a reflection of what your villain suit looks like not your actual self ||

It was late into the night, most of Metroburg was already sound asleep with a few exceptions of course. The few villains who were out and about, and the heroes who were trying to stop them. You, being one of them, stood on the roof of the Metroburg Museum; right by the ventilation system. You were pulling it apart, tugging the cover off the vent and throwing it to the side. You snuck in once it was off before falling through the vent and landing on your feet. You landed crouched down, leaning forward and placing your hands down in front of you before you started crawling. It was a small, narrow crawlspace, barely enough room to get through it.

There were a couple turns here and there that followed, taking each one as you had memorized it beforehand. Then coming to a stop above a vent cover and peeking through the blinds, spotting what you’d come for. You smiled to yourself, crawling back a few paces before moving to rip the cover off. Throwing it aside once you did and slipping through the vent hole. You fell, a small rush of air hitting you in the face and sending a shiver of excitement through you as you landed on your feet. The fall was rougher than through the vent, causing you to land crouched with your hands planted down for support. Lucky for you, you always landed on your feet no matter the height.

You straightened up after, rolling your neck once and relaxing your body before taking a glance around you. You were quick to catch what you were looking for, a glint of red hitting your eye. Turning full face towards it, a grin appeared on your lips, stretching wide and almost Cheshire-like. Just a few feet away from you stood a bright, red ruby encased in glass. It was called the heart of the museum since it was a literal heart shaped necklace. The ruby had been kept there for years, rarely ever shown to the public since it was worth millions. If it were to go missing, it would certainly strike disaster in all Metroburg. It only made you want it more, and in turn you could sell it for so much more than it was worth. After all, there were plenty of people willing to pay top dollar for it. More so, the person who hired you in the first place.

The hard part of it was slipping it out of the box without sounding the alarm. You didn’t need to alert whatever supes were patrolling around the museum. Approaching the case, you reached towards your tool belt and pulled out a spray can. Uncapping it, you were quick to spray all around the case, showing the censored lasers that surrounded the ruby. There was more than you imagined, making you sigh as you looked for an opening between the glass and the censors.

When you found it, you slipped your hand through, being careful not to move your wrist. You laid your fingers against the glass, outstretching them some and watching as your nails grew long and pointed. You pressed them tight against the glass, turning your wrist after you did and watching as they cut a perfect circle through the glass. Once it was done, your nails retracted back, and you laid your fingers back on the glass. Twisting your hand around slowly and turning the circle until it came off. You pulled your hand back with the glass, being careful not to touch the lasers again.  

After that, you crouched down, setting the glass on the floor and reaching for your tool belt again. You pulled out an object, one that weighed the same as the necklace. You were sure there was a pressure censor on it, knowing that if you just snatched it up, the alarm would sound. When you stood back up, you reached your hand back in and towards the necklace. You had to time it right to set the figurine where the necklace sat and pull the necklace away.

You took a breath, steadying your hand as you set it on the display plate and slowly inched it to the side. As you did, you pushed the necklace along and stuck your pinky out. You hooked it around the band, pulling the rest of it out and letting it dangle off your pinky. Once the figurine was set down, you pulled your hand out of the case, grinning once again. You’d done it, you managed to steal one of the most valuable items in the world. You slipped the necklace into one of the pockets of your utility belt, ready to go on your way.

“That’s far enough,” you heard a voice say behind you.

You scoffed at the impeccable timing, standing up straight and rolling your neck before turning around. Behind you stood Max and Phoebe, the hottest superheroes in metroburg at the moment. They had risen to the top faster than any superhero ever had, given their own task force before even becoming full-fledged heroes. Though you hardly saw them as a challenge, knowing about their numerous failed missions from before. They were messy, which meant you could escape them easily.

“Well, if it isn’t dumb and dumber,” you said.

You smirked at the looks of offense on their faces, mirroring each other in a perfect twin sense.

“Okay, that was rude,” Phoebe scoffed. “No matter, we’re still going to take you down.”

“Sure, give it your best shot,” you mused out as you reached into your belt and threw something at them.

It hit the ground a few inches in front of them, exploding and releasing smoke. It clouded their vision immediately and you took the opportunity to run away. You didn’t want to deal with the pesky telekinesis they both had. You could hear coughing as the smoke invaded their lungs, but you didn’t look back. Instead, you took a turn and ran for the exit you had planned. You were avoiding going through the front, knowing there would surely be police waiting for you.

“Not so fast,” you heard from behind you.

“Shit,” you mumbled out, feeling a force acting from behind you.

It was Max who spoke, using his telekinesis to pull you back as you fought against it. It won in the end, he managed to pull you back enough to try and capture you. You didn’t let him though, turning around in a roundhouse kick. One you managed to land, kicking him in the stomach and watching him fly back against the wall.

“Sorry, pretty boy, but I have somewhere to be,” you told him before trying to run off again.

“Think again,” Phoebe said, appearing at your side.

She threw a punch at you, but your reflexes allowed you to evade her punch. You let out a breath of air as you stepped back, irritation slowly rising inside you. You really didn’t have time for this, you had somewhere to be, and they were getting in your way.

Just as you had deflected Phoebe’s punch, Max had recovered and jumped back in. He threw a punch of his own, one he landed square on your jaw and sending you flying back. This time it was you who flew into the wall from the force, an ache growing on your jaw. You steadied yourself against the wall, looking up and sending a glare Max’s way. Now you were pissed, it was rare for a superhero to get in your way. You were an excellent thief, always able to get in and out without trouble. Except for now.

“Tch. Pesky wonder twins,” you mumbled again.

You straightened up, looking between both twins and trying to come up with a strategy. They were both in fighting stances, ready for whatever you were going to throw at them.

“Give up, you aren’t getting past us,” Phoebe told you.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” was your response.

You went for Phoebe first, knowing you could take her down faster before focusing on Max. You threw a punch at Phoebe, watching her evade it like you expected. You didn’t let her recover before your leg lifted and made contact with her stomach. You kicked her down, watching her land roughly on the floor and holding her stomach. You knew it would take her a while to get back up, meaning you could take care of Max in the meantime.

You turned to look at him, just in time to step back before he hit you. You shot him another glare and went in for a kick at his side. He dodged it and grabbed ahold of your ankle before pushing you away. It caused you to lose your balance, falling back on your ass. You clenched your jaw, looking up at Max and the smug smile on his face. You hated it, you wanted to wipe it off his face, but there was something about it. Something that caused a stir in your stomach and sent a tingle down your spine. For the enemy, he was so damn hot.

That wasn’t the point right now, you couldn’t let your thoughts distract you from escaping. So, you stood back up, along with Phoebe who had recovered. You were back to facing the two of them. You shook yourself off, arms outstretching at your side and claws extending out. They were long and sharp, enough to leave deep wounds if you really wanted to. You didn’t wait for either of them to make the first move, stepping forward and striking with one of your hands. You went for Max first this time, claws barely scratching his suit as he leaped back.

You took a swing at Phoebe next, hand going to her face and managing to scratch her cheek. You could feel the skin split open against your nail and watched blood seep through. Phoebe’s hand flew up to her face, gloved hand rubbing at her cheek and wiping away at the blood. She looked at her hand, shock on her face as she looked between you and her palm.

“Woah, that is so not cool,” she scoffed out.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” you asked, feigning remorse.

She shot you a glare, not appreciative of your sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I’ll return the favor.”

You faked a look of fear before rolling your eyes and retreating your claws back. You’d gotten what you wanted out of them, and they weren’t exactly your favorite to use. You dug a hand in your belt, pulling out a device and throwing it at Phoebe. It attached itself to her suit and distracted her as she tried to pull it off. It was too late; the device activated and shot an electric pulse over her body. It wasn’t hurtful but it was enough to knock her down and let you leave.

“Okay, that was kind of funny but dude, that’s my sister,” Max yelled out, holding back a laugh.

“Sorry, like I said, I have somewhere to be,” you said, once again feigning remorse.

He rolled his eyes this time and shot forward, swinging recklessly as if he were tired of fighting and just wanted to knock you down. You dodged each punch he threw, stepping back to create some distance so you could strike back. He wasn’t letting you, continuing to swing at you and hoping for the best. You had to give it to him though, he was persistent which sort of made him hotter.

“You know you’re pretty cute for a superhero,” you told him.

Your words caught him off guard and he stopped, looking at you like you grew an extra head. You took this as your chance, dropping to the ground and placing your hands in front of you. You used them to balance yourself before extending your leg out and sitting back on your heel. You spun around after, aiming for Max’s ankles and using your leg to swipe him under his feet. You managed to hit him clean through, knocking him off his feet and onto his back.

You smiled to yourself, standing up and looming over him, looking down at him. He groaned in pain, slightly curling himself up into a ball which only made you smile more. “But you’re not my type. Until next time, pretty boy.”

With both twins finally down, you took the opportunity to make your escape and disappeared before their eyes. Phoebe regained consciousness and sat up, hand against her temple to soothe the building headache. She looked over at Max who was lying next to her, staring up at the ceiling in defeat.

“She got away,” he mumbled out bitterly.

“You let her get away?” Phoebe shrieked.

“It’s not my fault, she got the better of me,” he answered. “But damn, she was hot.”

“Max! She stole the heart of the museum, and you called her hot?” she continued to yell.

“We’ll get it back, we can find her,” he said, sighing out heavily.

“You better be right,” Phoebe grumbled out.

She stood up after, hand outstretching towards Max and helping him up too. They were going to have report this back to the president, ashamed that they would have to admit defeat.

[formulapookie]

💚💛

Sweet sound of you -> Under the cut franky/mig, 2.9k words smut

It’s been a long day.

Really fucking long day.

There were problems with a location for a concert, they didn’t want them to perform no more after their last show at Wembley Stadium, where Diggia decided bringing on an italian flag with written on it “It’s coming ROME” was the perfect idea in front of the british public.

God he’s gonna kill him.

One day he’s gonna kill all of them for all the headaches they cause him.

Bez and his stupid cult-like friends, Pecco with his “I’m not good enough if I don’t get the song right at the first try”, Enea and Diggia - he doesn’t even want to begin listing all the trouble they put him through, 

The only decently calm and collected ones were Cele and Luca.

Until they fucking decided to come out to the world as a couple without telling him first and he had to manage the situation.

As the manager of the band he was always overwhelmed with problems and issues coming from everywhere.

“Mig you need to book one more date” “Mig you need to order new instruments Bez smashed the last two guitars”

“Mig we need you to book better hotels these are shitty”

“Mig put me in the room with him, not with the other”

Blah blah blah.

All fucking day and night.

Now he finally has some time to himself.

Note really himself cause he’s sharing the room with his boyfriend but still close enough.

He wants, and needs to relax and he knows nothing gets him more relaxed than having a weed-powered orgasm, and dating a weed-smoker guitarist comes with a few pros in that field.

Mig drops his backpack next to the entrance, says hi to the cats and takes off his shoes.

The jacket gets unceremoniously thrown to the ground next to the backpack, he’ll think about it later.

He needs a shower.

As if God finally decided to listen to him, he hears the faucet opening, Franky must be getting ready to shower as well.

What convenient timing.

He almost trips over the guitar he left laying around as fucking always, and actually walks over some music sheets he’ll have to approve of later that week.

Last time he didn’t look at the song it was basically a porno, obviously Diggia had written it, God knows for who, and it fucking described a blowie.

“Franky? I’m back”

“Oh be careful with the guitar eh” “Yeah yeah I know”

Mig is taking off his cap and rings, doesn’t like to get 'em wet under the shower.

When he opens the bathroom door to shoot his shot and flirt his way into the shower he fails miserably, staring mouth agape and probably drooling even at the sight before him.

Franky, completely naked, which yeah, makes sense if he wants to take a shower, already half soaked from the water, hair loosely around and fucking drenched, a joint hanging between those lips who made him scream so much under the covers, hands fidgeting with the lighter they bought in Miami and he could just have a peek of what he needed more in that moment.

Franky sees him and smirks, managing to flick the lighter on and light the joint.

He always manages to get excellent weed somehow.

“Care to join me Andre?”

“Yes”

It’s pathetic? Yes He’s impossibly needy right now and just needs that dick inside him? Also yes Franky’s gonna tease him about it for years? Yes

“Hurry or I’ll finish the joint myself bimbo”

God he hated that pet name, just because he was a bit - ok no a lot - shorter they all messed with him.

“I’m - fuck come on come off - almost done”

He’s struggling with taking his shirt off, it got stuck in his necklace, he’s scrambling to get it off.

Suddenly there’s another body near him, pulling the shirt up without breaking the necklace and throwing it on the bed.

Mig lets out a small whimper when he sees Franky looking right at him.

“Hi” “Hi”

“Want a drag?”

“Yes please I almost killed myself today”

“Let’s not ok? Still need my favorite manager with me”

Mig blushes, because Franky might seem calm and shy and all those things, but as soon as they’re behind closed doors he shifts to this and he surely can’t complain.

He takes the joint and takes a few drags, the smoke hanging heavily in the stiff air of the room.

“Come on, get naked and join me in the shower”

“Can be a bit nicer about it”

“You like nice? Since when?”

And Mig blushes again, and takes another drag as he takes off jeans and boxers.

He leaves the joint in the ashtray and gets in the shower.

He barely makes it inside that Franky is already kissing him, warm water running down his back as he gets backed up against the wall, cold blue tiles in contrast with the heat’s pooling in his stomach.

“I love you”

“Mh love you too”

Franky moves so so slowly Mig thinks this could be torture, and gets into kissing his neck, soft plump lips against his skin, and it’s boiling hot at this point.

“Can I?”

“Yeah go on go on”

Franky always asks for permission to leave marks, especially if on his neck, he’d never want to do something which could upset the younger.

The only thing that could upset Mig now tho would be them not fucking, because he really needs a release and knows Franky probably does too, it’s been a week full of rehearsals for the Tour, and Franky has also been working on a few new songs.

“You smell nice”

“It’s the cologne you bought me”

“Yeah I know, that’s why you smell nice”

“You smell like weed”

“Mh you don’t like it?”

“Oh no I love it”

Franky smiles against his neck, kissing it again, before letting his hands wander all over Mig’s body, pressing his thumb right on the hickey he left on the younger’s hipbone in the morning.

“Don’t - fuck - not there”

“Why? It gets you horny”

“It gets you horny”

“You want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare Franky”

He presses his thumb on the bruise once more before pulling Mig closer to him, their cocks brushing against each other at the move, making both of them moan.

“Can’t” Franky smashes their lips together again, moving a hand behind Mig’s thigh and pulling it up “stop wanting to kiss you”

“Please don’t”

They make out for another good five minutes, during which Mig gets shamelessly hard and his need just multiplies. 

“Do you think you need lube or are you still ok from this morning?” “I’m ok I’m ready Franky just fuck me. I need it”

“As you wish”

Franky lifts Mig up, it’s no big deal, like at all, not because Mig is not muscled or something, but he’s definitely smaller in height and frame, and it’s really easy for Franky to pick him up whenever.

And Mig fucking loves this. He’s always felt like being shorter and smaller was a disadvantage, something to be ashamed of, but with Franky he just felt protected by their difference, and he honestly couldn’t hide it was hot how Franky could basically lift him up with one arm.

The older pushes his dick inside, slowly, he knows despite going in the morning already Mig always needs some more stretch before actually getting fucked.

He feels so good, he’s basically built for him.

“Fuck”“Ok? Can I keep going?” “Yesyesyes please”

Franky thrusts up, it’s not comfortable per se as a position, but he knows Mig loves when he holds him there like he weighs nothing and just fucks him stupid.

Mig moans and to him it’s more beautiful than any music he can make with his guitar.

They kiss again, Franky picks up the pace and in a matter of minutes the only thing they can hear are each other’s moans, their skin slapping and the water running warm on Franky’s back.

“You’re big fuck”

“You never complain”

Mig laughs, and it gets interrupted by a louder moan once Franky moves to suck a hickey on his neck, marking him more than he did in the morning when he left marks all over his hips and thighs.

“I love -fuck- love how you get my mind off things” Mig’s breath is hot against his skin, hotter than the water dripping down his back, he’s got his arms thrown around his neck, hands holding on his back, trying to not slip away from the hold Franky has on him.

“You’d look sick with a tattoo on your back, you know that? Or if you actually got up the courage to pierce your dick. I’d suck you off every fucking day for eternity, you’d be so fucking hot”

“So I should get my dick pierced just because you’re a needy little boy and you need my dick to keep you happy?”

Mig whimpers at the words, he can feel Franky inside him and it’s so good, he never wants this to end.

Wants to get pinned to the bed as soon as they get out of here and get fucked again, he wants to forget all about work and the problems he’s got and just get fucked by him to an inch of his life.

“Please yes” “You know I’d do anything for you”

They’re kissing again, much more passion this time, much more raw need, much more excitement.

It’s not easy or practical to fuck like this, they both know, that’s why Mig would very much like for them to somehow have enough brain to at least move out the shower so Franky could bend him over the sink and fuck him there.

But right now none of the two is willing to separate, not even for a millisecond to breathe in some oxygen, they’re both running solely on lust and need.

“Don’t hold back Andre, I love how tight you get when you’re close, makes me go fucking crazy”

“Harder. Harder please”

Franky doesn’t wait to hear it a second time, he’s thrusting deeper, touching spots inside him that make Mig see stars.

He bites at Mig’s collarbone and draws out a satisfied moan, which just gets to his brain as a signal to keep going, harderdeeperfaster.

Mig’s hands move from his back to tangle in his hair, tug at them, play with his curls as he gets louder and louder with his moans.

God how he loves Franky’s hair.

When he cut them off two years ago he wanted to kill him.

He wants to have something to play with, needs to have them through his fingers when he gets fucked to an inch of his life, or when they lay in bed smoking and chatting.

He knows he’s close, he always gets there before Franky, but that just means Franky can still fuck him after he has came, and he wants that to happen so fucking bad.

“Close Franky so close fuck” “I know baby I feel it, what do you say I keep fucking you on the bed after you cum now?” “yes”

Franky smiles again, fucking into him enough to tip him over the edge, making him come all over both their abs with a chocked scream from Mig.

They untangle, Mig letting his leg slip down, his feet touching the ground and for a second he limps, he can feel his thighs shake, but he manages to gain back control immediately, starting to walk out the shower.

“Can you reach it on your own? Or do I have to help you?” “Not made of glass I can walk”

“I was just making sure I didn’t fuck you too hard”

The motherfucker is smiling, moving a hand on the small of his back and slightly pushing him towards the bedroom.

“You’re too nice to actually fuck me that hard” Franky raises an eyebrow in surprise, he’s never made Mig actually unable to walk because he doesn’t want to embaraìrass him in front of the others.

But if he asks. Who is he to say no?

“I wouldn’t talk like that if I were you, I just fucked you in a shower and you were already moaning like a bitch in heat”

“You can’t do any better? Fuck me properly until I can barely say your name?”

They’re close to the edge of the bed, Mig knows perfectly what game he’s playing, and honestly Franky doesn’t have time to play it, he just wants to fuck his boyfriend until he can’t speak anymore.

“Come on big guy you want to do something?”

“Get on the bed”

“Make me”

The half ounce of self control Franky still had in him gets ripped from his body as he not so gently throws Mig on the bed making him squirm.

He kisses the younger with force, almost imposing himself in a way he doesn’t usually do because he fears it’s too much.

But the way Mig acted earlier made him send his thoughts to hell and actually act on his wants.

And what he wants right now is Mig moaning and being completely helpless under him.

“Come on fuck me” it’s the only thing Mig manages to say in between kisses, or more precisely whatever they’re doing, Franky is basically eating his face and he’s just whining and complying.

Franky doesn’t even ask, he just brakes away from the kiss and flips Mig so he’s laying on his stomach, he does it as if Mig doesn’t fucking weighs more than a feather and it gets the younger lightheaded.

He feels a hand lifting up just his ass and knows he’s in for a really hard fuck.

Maybe he’ll get stupid enough he’ll actually forget about his problems.

Mig barely manages to realize the position he’s in that Franky is already pushing his dick inside him, they’re still wet from the shower, the sheets will be drenched with water but neither cares right now, they both want the same thing.

Mig whimpers at the sensation, and starts to moan right away as Franky moves, setting a deep and fast pace from the start, holding Mig’s hips up with both his hands.

The younger loves to feel smaller but god does the other love feeling bigger, broader, basically towering over Mig, who’s currently moaning at every thrust Franky does, hitting his prostate everytime.

“Mo-re please”

If Mig is still able to talk it means he isn’t doing a good enough job of keeping his mind from running around like a pinball, so he thrusts harder, tightens the grip on his hips.

He’s gonna leave a mark for sure, both there and everywhere he kissed before.

He moves a hand so it goes to rest on Mig’s nape, and at first just leaves it there, a warning he can do whatever he wants to him and he better be careful.

“Is it enough? Or you want more? You need me to fuck you more?”

The only answer he gets is a mess of moans and whimpers, meaning he’s doing great, but he still wants to remind Mig he shouldn’t disrespect him like that, and that in the end he’s the one getting fucked, not the other way around.

So he pushes Mig’s face onto the mattress, letting him just enough freedom to turn his head and breathe, before fucking him like a man possessed.

The only thing Mig can feel is pure pleasure and that slight side of pain that comes with Franky being big even once he’s stretched properly.

He can just moan and hope this goes on as long as possible, he wants the others to know Franky is with him, they all stare a bit too much when he takes off his shirt, they need to know he’s his, only he gets fucked like this by him.

He wants the marks to last forever, like tattoos on his skin, he wants to feel this sensation for days, going around knowing he made Franky snap and finally fuck him as he wanted him to.

He knows his boyfriend is getting closer to the edge, he can feel it in his moans, in the way his thrusts become irregular, understands it because Franky lowered himself to suck at the skin on his shoulder blade, and is grunting in his ears.

Mig is close too, so fucking much, he’d just need to hear Franky’s voice and he’d cum on the spot.

And that’s just what happens, as soon as FRanky gets closer to his ears and whispers the words “beautiful”, he’s coming, he’s barely got any voice left to moan properly, he just whimpers at teh release, and clenches around FRanky, who simply can’t hold back anymore, and comes buried deep inside Mig, still holding him face against the mattress as his mind clears in the post sex clarity.

He lets go of him, sees the mark he’s left.

It’s fucking red.

“sorry baby I didn’t mean to hurt you” “you didn’t - ah - you didn’t hurt me, you made me see fucking starts”

Mig sits up, turns towards Franky and he thinks he’s just fallen in love once again.

There’s a moment where they just look into each other's eyes, before kissing once more, sweetly this time, slowly.

“I love you” “Love you too”

[straykids-97]

Vermilion

“Why do we offer vermilion to God?”

Chan likes when you make him feel powerful. And one thing he likes to do is hunt… you. 

Warnings: cat/mouse dynamics/primal play, (Chan hunts y/n through a crowd of people), brat taming, dom/sub dynamics, fear play (Chan enjoys terrorizing y/n. A literal menace.) Sensory play, (Chan’s senses are heightened so the reader uses them to try and mess w him.) Blood play (duh. Chan’s a vampire.)

Word Count: 3.7k 

Pics below are how I imagine Chan looks at the reader when he's annoyed and well. The second is just hot heh.

You and Chan had been planning this excursion for weeks now. There was a festival happening near where you lived and you were dying to go. Chan, of course, being the protective boyfriend he was, didn’t like the idea of you going alone. There, however, was one small problem. 

Chan wasn’t human. He hadn’t been for at least 100 years. So, being a vampire, existing around a crowd of humans was difficult. Even though he was by your standards, ‘old’, he was still a young vampire to his Coven. But, you made it more manageable; you grounded him. 

“Did you remember your suppressing necklace?” You questioned, peeking up at him as he pivoted awkwardly. While Chan was graceful in his age, he sometimes appeared awkward around you. Especially when he was experiencing something new with you. It made him apprehensive, defensive even. This was something he hadn’t done since he was a human. And it made him uneasy.

He adjusted his dark shirt, his hands anchoring on his belt as he tightened it, “Yep. Going to get it now.” You fluttered your eyes a few times. Your mind went numb by observing your boyfriend do something as simple as adjusting his belt made your brain short circuit. “I’ll see you when you get home then?” You breathe out. “See ya.” He gave your forehead a quick peck before dipping out of the kitchen where you were standing. You cleared your throat, “Damn.” you bite your lip and watch him close the door behind him. 

After collecting yourself, you remember that you need to get prepared for the carnival while Chan was out. He’d be taking you directly after he gets home. So, you had approximately an hour to get ready. You intended on wearing a no-frills green summer dress with a deep V. You smooth the dress out and rush to the washroom to curl your hair in delicate waves. Just as you finish applying mascara, you hear the front door open. “Y/n?” Chan’s voice calls into your home, “In the bathroom!” You answer, as you unplug the now cooled-off hair machine and begin to wrap the cord around it. 

You bent over placing the curler beneath the sink when you hear Chan take a resonant breath, “Are you wearing a dress?” You turn to glance at him, brushing the hair from your eyes, you nod. “Yeah. Why, is it too much?” You question, looking down at your outfit. You peek back up at him with big eyes, hoping that he’d cave and let you wear the dress. Chan shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath before taking one long step toward you. “No. Please change. I’ll meet you in the car.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and left you to stand there bewildered. 

Did he really just say that you couldn’t wear this dress? He literally bought it for you? 

You grit your teeth as you put your cosmetics away, “No? I’ll show you.” You grumble, tossing the last thing into your bag of makeup before tucking it away on your side of the sink. You toddle angrily to your bedroom and grab your jean jacket, “I’ll show him.” You fluff your locks onto your shoulders, jerking your jacket into place, and you stare at yourself in the mirror in your shared bedroom. With a definitive huff, you seize your phone and bag and marched to the door. 

Chan was too engrossed with his phone to detect that you hadn’t changed, “Ready?” He questioned, putting the car into drive. You simply nod and stare out the window, your heart racing. You hoped that suppressor was powerful enough that he couldn’t hear your racing heart. Normally, if Chan said to do something, you obeyed with no objection. Maybe it was because of what he was, maybe this suppressor was stronger than either of you realized…

After 30 minutes of driving, you reached the bustling city center where the festival was being held. Chan effortlessly found parking and got out to pay for the meter, you slowly get out of the car, adjusting your jacket and putting your purse across your body. You began to fidget; Chan was about to see that you hadn’t changed. You hoped that he wouldn’t take you both home. He totally would and you knew that. So you prayed he would have a change of heart for tonight and deal with you later when you got home. 

You wait patiently by the end of the car as Chan approaches you and you hold your breath as he takes your hand. “C’mon.” He nods his head toward the festival that was in full swing ahead of you. He offers your a soft smile as he steers you forward, and you feel a little better; maybe Chan doesn’t care as much because of his suppressor? You considered as he lingers near one of the stalls that had several different kinds of food. “Which one?” Chan asks, taping the glass that divided the food and you. 

You take a deep breath and tilt forward, gazing at the different kinds of corn dog choices. You bite your lip, deep in thought. You decide on the mozzarella cheese one, “I’d like to get the mozz-” you stop talking when you notice that the man behind the booth was shamelessly staring down your dress at your exposed chest, only glancing away awkwardly when he was caught, “-arella cheese one.” You stammer, glancing at Chan. He undoubtedly witnessed the man staring, and that you hadn’t changed. Chan’s gaze bounced between your breasts and the man’s face, who looked utterly petrified; a normal reaction when Chan was enraged near humans. “Coming right up!” The man squeaked, turning away and hastily getting your order ready. You gaze up at Chan, who narrowed his eyes at you for a beat before shifting to pay for the food. Shit. You thought as he calmly takes the food without thanking the tender, quietly handing your food to you. 

Chan takes your hand in his and guides you further into the festival, enjoying his food as he peeked around the throng of people. “Chan…” You trail off. He didn’t reply but you knew even if he didn’t have his superhuman hearing, a normal human could hear with how close the two of you were as you moved through the crowd. “Chan-” 

“We will talk about this later.” His tone was low and absolute. He didn’t want to talk about this here or right now. You drop it instantly, not wanting him to snap and get him into trouble with his Coven. You sigh and look over to a booth, “Oh!” You point frantically in the direction of a stall that had several kinds of stuffed animals. Chan chuckles, “Alright. Alright.” He sighs, permitting you to tug him toward the booth. After a few tries, Chan manages to win a medium-sized stuffed animal. You were happy, but Chan was aggravated. “If I didn’t have this ridiculous suppressor on, I could have won more than one of those dumb things.” He griped. “Well, I like the penguin you got me, thank you.” You squeeze the stuffed animal and pause to look around to see what to do next. Your eyes bounce over the different stalls that lined the street, “Oh, look at that one!” you go to grab your boyfriend only to grab nothing. You do a 360, discovering that Chan had kept wandering, leaving you alone to be shifted around in the crowd. 

Your heart rammed in your chest, panicking, you call out, “Chan?!” you curse to yourself. Chan wouldn’t be able to hear you with that suppressor on or smell you. Not that he could, there were probably too many scents that it would be hard to find you. Just as you sensed your chest constrict, you feel your phone vibrate in your purse. You frantically search for it, immediately answering, “Hello?” 

“Where are you?” Chan’s voice was calm, but he too sounded frantic. “I don’t know. The crowd moved me around, I have no idea where I am.” You confess, glancing around. “Do you see anything? What booths are near you?” He asked. You glance around, “Um… A few that are selling like necklaces and stuff?” Chan scoffs, “That’s nearly a dozen places. What else?” 

“I’m just trying to help.” You say, feeling irritated, “There’s a food vendor selling cakes.” You offer. Silence before you hear him sigh, “Do you see any carnival games?” He asked. “No. I don’t. Chan- I don’t know where I am.” There was a long pause. “Y/n, I’m taking the suppressor off to find you. Don’t move. Stay on the phone with me. Please.” He requests. You take a deep breath, feeling irked again. “You’re being awful insisting today.” You grumble. “Oh? How so?” He asked, the sound of carnival games playing in the background of the call. “First I couldn’t go with you to get your suppressor from the Coven,” you begin to list of things that he demanded of you, “and then you told me to change. You bought this as a gift. Why can’t I wear it?” You nearly shout. Your frustrations were aired out, and though Chan would most likely be upset, you felt better knowing that you had said them out loud. 

“That’s what this is about? Isn’t it?” He asks. “What?” You scowl. “That’s why you ran off? Because you’re upset that I asked you to change?” You groan, “No. I actually got lost, Chan. I’m not doing this for attention.”

“A likely story.” He scoffs. You grit your teeth and begin to wander away from the spot, not wanting Chan to find you just yet. Normally it wouldn’t bother you so bad, but after a long day of being ordered around, you could just scream. 

“I’m serious. I stopped to look around at the stalls and then you were gone.” You walk up to a stand where they were selling bracelets and various other items of jewelry and begin to speak to the vendor. “Y/n.” Chan sounded out, clearly annoyed. “I’ll take this one.” You point to a black bracelet, “Thank you.” You smile at the woman and continue walking away. “What?” You hiss. “You didn’t say that I couldn’t look around at the vendors.” You roll your eyes and begin to make your way through the crowd, looking around the various different stalls. You find one with a few sweets, “Oo!” You cry excitedly, “What? What happened?” Chan demanded. You stay silent as you near the stand, “Y/n, I swear to God-” 

“You shouldn’t swear to things you don’t believe in, Chan.” You chastise, rolling your eyes. “What flavors do you have.” 

“Jesus Christ- Y/n. You’re going to throw me into hunting mode if you keep acting like that.” He warned. “Maybe you’d find me faster.” You grumble, thanking the man as you shuffle along. You hear Chan hiss, “I’ve had about enough of you-” 

“Then hang up.” There was a long silence before Chan speaks. His tone his cold, making you freeze on the spot. “If you move anymore, you’ll have some significant consequences… Brat.” Chan had to have taken off the suppressor. He was hunting now. He was hunting you. He was no longer in the mood for dealing with the brat side of you. Part of you wanted to obey him so that you wouldn’t be in trouble, but the other part didn’t care. “Or what? Chan?” You dare ask. What was wrong with you? Did you have a death wish? Chan let out a dark chuckle, “Keep playing your games, little one. You never win. And there’s a lot of people… And I don’t care who sees. Just remember that while you’re running away.” You gasp softly, your skin heating up. He lets out a chuckle, “Run. Run. Run, little one. I’ll find you. And when I do…” He trails off, taking a deep breath, “You better hope you’ve managed to get away from people.” 

You instantly begin to run away from the booths, knowing full well that Chan will keep his promise and deal with the consequences later. He was old, his acquaintances were older and he had friends in high places. There wasn’t anything that Chan couldn’t do and get out of. So whatever he wanted to do to you at that moment was the least of his worries. 

You managed to get away from the busier part of the festival and began to catch your breath. After a few moments, you put your phone back up to your ear. To hear where he was or if he had hung up. You were on the outskirts of the festival now, you could make a straight shot into the walking trail conveniently a few feet away. That way you could at least run into the woods and lead Chan away from the people, preventing some nights from being ruined. “Where have you gone now?” He hummed, “You’re wearing my patience thin, y/n.” He tsked. “You started it.” You countered. Chan lets out a humorless laugh, “And how so?” 

“By being so bossy. You’re always so bossy for no reason. And now you’re blaming me.” You rolled your eyes, you shift to see a woman handing out free lollipops. You try to refuse, but she won’t let you. You thank her and look down at it as Chan replies, “Blaming you? Of course I am. If you would have just listened, our night would be going smoothly.” 

“If you weren’t so territorial of me, then we wouldn’t be in the spot we’re in now.” You roll your eyes, testing the lollipop. It was sweeter than normal, but you enjoyed the flavor. You decide to stand here for a moment to catch your breath. “You’re the one who put me into hunting mode, y/n. You know it’s dangerous around other humans.” He breathes into the phone receiver. From your perch near the sweet stand, you can see Chan perfectly; annoyed, hot, and bothered. You could tell by how tightly he was grasping the sleek, black phone in his hand.

“Me?” You scoff, “hardly. You started this this morning, Channie.” You tease. A soft breeze blew over your shoulder, causing your hair to fall into your eyes. His head snapped to you, “I most certainly did not, brat.” He seethes. You giggle, popping your lips around the lollipop in your mouth, “Oh? I was hoping you’d come finish it.”

“I plan on it.” Your face drains as he begins to stalk toward you. You drop your phone and sprint toward the woods. You could hear Chan growl behind you but that doesn’t stop you as you sprint off the trail. Your heart was ramming in your chest as you left the people behind in favor of the quieter woodland area that now surrounded you. You risk a peak behind you to see that Chan was not chasing you. You slow, glancing around to see if you could hear him prowling near you. But you could hear nothing as you stalled to a stop. You were lost in the woods; in your panic, you didn’t think about the possibility of ending up being lost. 

You take a deep breath and begin to slowly traverse the forest, wrapping your arms around yourself and glancing around. “Hello?” You call into the night. It was quiet, eerily so. It made you even more on edge knowing that the reason it was so quiet was that Chan was nearby. Woodland creatures ran away when supernatural beings were close, that was the only indicator that you knew he was following you still. Enjoying watching you squirm as you glanced around, panicked. “Alright. You can come out now. Before someone else finds me.” You raise your arms up. And then a plan forms in your mind. 

You stop speaking, taking off your jacket, “Would really hate if some other vampire or vampires were to come to find me… All alone and defenseless!” You toss your purse onto the ground, reaching underneath your dress to your panties, tugging them down your thighs. “Or for someone to find these.” You swish your panties on your finger. 

He wasn’t taking the bait. 

You sigh, slingshotting them off into the shady forest, “A real shame. Little, naive me.” You step away from the pile of your belongings and keep walking through the forest, “All alone, with no one to protect me from the large, powerful, unholy beasts out there!” You shake your hands for emphasis as you step over a fallen tree, making sure to drag your skin across the bark. You hiss at the sensation of your ass being rubbed raw but keep going forward, “Be a real shame if someone,” you run your hands through your hair, shaking it and wiggling the loose strands that fell out of your head onto the ground. You knew that your hair and blood held the largest amount of your natural scent and it drove Chan insane when he was frenzied. If he was really nearby, he wouldn’t be able to help himself much longer. “Big and strong attacked me right now. Especially if my boyfriend lets it happen. Might just have to break up with him for allowing such an atrocity-” You pause hearing something snap behind you. You gasp and whirl around, expecting to see Chan behind you. 

But there was nothing there. Your heart began to race, maybe Chan wasn’t actually there. Maybe it was someone else… You turn around to keep walking forward to see on a nearby branch your panties draped leisurely across the wood. Your heart thumps wildly, was someone else hunting you? Chan wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t leave your panties out like that. It made him angry knowing your scent was anywhere other than on you or him. Normally he’d grab them and tie your hands up with them later-

You whirl around, “Chan, this isn’t funny anymore.” Your voice falters slightly as you turn back around to see that your panties were gone again. You wheeze, fear gripping you. Whoever it was was closer than you wanted them to be. You took a step backward, bumping into something. Someone. You held your breath as whoever it was gently brushed your hair over your shoulder, “How cute.” a deep voice mutters. “Are you scared?” Your lip trembled but you couldn’t reply. Chan never let it get this far. He wouldn’t allow this to happen. 

You whirl around to see that no one was there, making you immediately twist around to see Chan standing a few feet away, his vermillion eyes watching you intensely. “Well?” His voice was that of the one you had just heard, making you feel leaps better, but the adrenaline still pumped in your veins. You feebly nod your head, and within a blink of an eye, Chan was standing right in front of you. You gasp, “Chan-” You begin to say but you were pressed against a tree, “Shut. Up. I’ve heard enough of your mouth tonight.” With that, he stuffed your panties in your mouth, growling in your ear as he unbuckled his belt. “If I hear you even make so much as a peep, you will not cum for a week. Do you understand me?” You nod your head. “Excellent. Pleased to know we understand each other.” He snarls, thrusting into you harshly. 

His red eyes flared with desire, “Look at me.” His fingertips dug into your ass cheeks, holding you in place as he fucked you against the tree. “You cum before I say, you’ll be in more trouble than you already are. Do you understand?” You nod your head frantically, tears welling in your eyes as you try not to moan. Chan’s rough, fast pace made your head spin but you tried your hardest not to make a noise. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears falling down your cheeks. You feel Chan’s tongue lick up the tears, a hot groan leaving his lips, “So sweet.” He moans into your neck, thrusting harder before yanking out your gag. “Fucking moan for me, princess.” He grunts. It only takes a few strokes before he has you screaming with pleasure. “Ch-cha-chan!” You cry, feeling your orgasm fast approaching, you knew you weren’t going to be able to fend it off. It was like he was setting you up for failure. 

Almost. 

“My baby wants to cum?” He coos, a wicked grin spreading across his features. You could see his sharp incisors on full display as he bares his teeth at you, “Hmm? You wanna cum for me? Like the sweet, little-fucking-brat you are?” You nod, “Yes. Yes.” You chant, holding onto his biceps, “Please. Please, Chan. Please.” He closes his eyes and reopens them, a new heat replaced in them. It was almost like the red in his eyes was burning brighter now. “Listen from now on?” He asked. You nod. “Obey me?” You nod at his request. 

He leans in, “Cum.” You gasp, as if you were his own personal puppet, your high came crashing down on you like ton of bricks, causing you to shriek. Chan groans, holding your hips and picking up his already inhuman pace, making various animalistic grunts and growls. “Fucking. Fuck. Fucking brat.” He groans one last time before stilling. You both pant for a moment before he gently places you on your feet. 

Your legs fail you like a newborn baby deer and you nearly fall to the ground. But, Chan catches you, chuckling, “Too much?” You look up at him sleepily. “Awe…” he coos as he bites his wrist. He helps you up, holding his arm out to you, “So you can walk out of here without an issue.” He watches as you lick his wound. It closes within seconds and you were able to feel the healing effects quickly. You could see a dribble of his own blood on the corner of his mouth, and he smirks. “I won’t afford you the same luxury when we get home.” He says as he hands you your belongings and your phone. “Here. You dropped these.” He helps you stand up, seeing his blood on your lips made his now dark eyes flash red, “We best find the car? Unless we desire to offend the family walking home? Hmm?”

tags: @anyamaris @vibessonvibes @whatudowhennooneseesyou@s3onghwaswifey

let me know if you want to be tagged!! Anything regarding The Red Saga can be found by the tag!

©️straykids-97

[bellysoupset]

it’s @lisupanddown - laughing at myself because I thought that was only part one! It didn’t feel too long at all, it was perfect. Ignore me saying I can’t wait for part two, unless you want to write a bit with Wendy coming later to comfort Vin. But no worries if not. It was sooo good. Just really flowed well. I could feel Vin’s misery and determination to hide it.

Honestly I just can't help myself, I needed to add some tiny Wendy/Vin sweetness to close the deal.

----------

Vince groaned as he felt something cold press to his face. He was no longer warm and comfy, cuddled up by Luke, and his head was throbbing so much he felt sick.

"Little sip," someone held the back of his head, pushing him up just a bit and then a bottle met his lips and some water pushed back the horrible taste in his mouth.

Vince drank greedily, he hadn't realized how parched he was. He let out a whine as the bottle was pulled back and he fell back against the pillow, "Luke- More..."

"Later," Wendy's voice interrupted him and Vince snapped his eyes open, before letting out a loud groan.

Wendy was leaning over him, with a soft, concerned smile on. She still wore the necklace he had given her and her hair was still all dolled up, but she no longer had any make up and was wearing what he thought was pajamas. A Mickey Mouse hoodie.

"Noo," he whined, rolling away, "what are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here..." Vince curled up and then heard a scoff, Wendy's small hand coming to cup his chin and forcing him to look at her.

"Quit that," she glared at him. Today her eyes, normally a dark almost hazel green, were very light. Probably due to the smeared kajal surrounding them, "Luke said it was one hell of a flu."

"Was?" Vince scoffed, pushing himself up on the bed, "he'll probably gonna have to burn these sheets."

His girlfriend let out a cackle, a hand rushing to cover her mouth and Vince smiled fondly at her, letting his head hit the headboard.

The bedroom door was open and he could hear soft voices down the hall. Luke and Bell's house was so tiny that if Vince paid enough attention he probably could make out exactly what they were saying in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize you were sick," Wendy sighed, scooting up on the bed and grabbing a humid washcloth, running it over his face, "I was so in my head-"

"Did you have fun?" Vince interrupted her, kissing the inside of her wrist when she brought her hand to wipe at his prickly cheek. Wendy nodded, blushing, and Vin let out a happy sigh, "then it's fine."

"It's not-"

"Wendy," he sighed, "I wanted you to have fun. You deserved it," Vince let out a little groan as his stomach rolled again, realizing the water he had pushed in it. He grimaced, trying to focus on anything but the queasiness, "what time is it?"

"Around nine," Wendy watched him intently, still looking a little sheepish and almost embarrassed, “party ended at 1 AM, but Jon, Babs and Bell came to my place and we were drinking until almost 3, I think…”

Vince grinned at the mental image of drunk Jonah in the middle of the girls, “you’re not hungover?” he asked with a yawn, pushing a strand of hair behind Wendy’s ear and she shook her head no, while Bella’s voice interrupted. 

“Only because she kept passing her drinks to Jon,” Bell said, leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, her arms crossed to her chest. Unlike Wendy, who looked like she was a kid coming back from Disneyland, Bella looked like she was a 12 year old boy pretending to be a rapper, with a huge tank top from Luke draping on her frame, a sports bra peeking out, and basketball shorts. Vince chuckled at the sight of her. 

“You were?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Wendy lied, her cheeks turning pink and Bella rolled her eyes.

“How are you, big guy?” Bella yawned, resting her head against the door, “burial or cremation?” 

“Bella!” Wendy cried out, while Vince’s smile only grew and he let his eyes slip closed for a second, basking in the lighthearted atmosphere. 

“Burial, I’m catholic, remember?” 

Bell snorted at his response and Wendy let out a huff, leaning in to kiss his forehead, “let’s go home?” 

Vince frowned, opening his eyes. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome at Luke and Bell’s, but then again, might as well quarantine him there, no? 

As if hearing his arguments, Wendy shook her head, “I don’t care,” she glared at him, “let’s go home. Please? As my birthday gift?”

Vince wrinkled his nose, “that’s one hell of a gift, a sick man in your house,” he scoffed, then played with her necklace, “and I gave you one already.”

“I feel like I deserve at least three,” Wendy smiled, squeezing his hand, “c’mon, it’s not fair only Luke got to cuddle with my boyfriend.”