#Subs do not write

[sassypotatoe1]

LMAO my editor just got permission from head office to completely ban the sub-editors (proofreaders) from proofing or editing our English copy because they keep fucking up our copy. Like if you don't have an acute and strong understanding of the language you're editing for don't become a sub?? (hehe sub) Like the last straw was them changing "Amid the dissolution of the board of directors, appointment of an interim manager, and alleged wild parties leading to property damage, the Insert Name Here service center has closed indefinitely" to "with the dissolution of the board of directors, an interim manager alleged that wild parties led to property damage" and then the next paragraph, which they just fucking wrote in, which is not the job of a sub-editor, was "there were allegations of wild parties that were dangerous and disruptive" like babes, not only did you completely change the meaning of the intro, like, completely, like from "there was a new manager because the board was dissolved and there are allegations of parties" to "the new manager said so" which is completely different, the new manager said fuck-all, you also fucking added a completely redundant repetition in the nut graf like??? (hehe nut) And it's not like I didn't explain in the nut graf what these disruptions and dangers were, I laid them out in detail, the subs just felt the need to reiterate for a second time that there were wild parties.

It's also far from the first time there is A List of times they changed the meaning of our English copy completely and didn't even fix the grammar, or even made it worse. How they're still employed as subs is beyond me completely because they are decidedly horrible at it.

[insidilust]

something so precious about puppy boys reaching a level of desperation that makes them try to get off on you during inopportune times.

sitting in a desk working while that clothed tdick ruts against your leg, grinding and seeping wetness through his underwear and onto your pants like hes in heat. little poor thing sandwiching your limb between his thighs and making the sweetest sounds, desperate for some attention and release.

its bad manners, really, but the best part is having a reason to punish him later for it.

[plistommy]

Steve takes Eddie’s virginity by riding the older boy after a long session of smoking and drinking inside the metalheads cramped van.

He’d praise Eddie on how good he’s making him feel, how big his dick is and how he’s so pretty under him that it makes Eddie moan loudly, strong hands roaming and squeezing the fat of Steve’s ass as he begs to fuck Steve harder.

”I need to fuck you, Steve- please, sweetheart-”

Steve would kiss him, sloppy and wet as he whines into Eddie’s mouth when the dick inside him hits just right.

When he pulls back, breathless, he picks up the pace and finally lets Eddie buck up to meet his thrusts.

Eddie would just look up at Steve, brown eyes wide and realize he’s so in love with the gorgeous boy on top of him and he never wants to let go. Never.

[xochimillilili]

Really been thinking about breeding my puppy for hours on end recently like genuinely. Wanna feel his cunt throbbing around my cock as I pump him full, breed a litter into him while kissing and raking my nails along his hips, feel his hands in my hair and legs around my waist.

Imagining how pretty he'd look fucked out and face down in bed afterwards, all nestled in between a nest of our blankets while I softly praise and kiss his thighs and ass, fixing his hair outta his eyes n rubbing his lil puppy hips as I tell him what a good boy he was for me.

Fucking a plug into him, so his cunt and pretty tummy stay nice and full of my cum, though not before softly yet teasingly kissing and licking up the cum that's stuck to his throbbing clit.

That's my baby, such a good baby pup for me sweetie~ Such a good puppy for daddy, shhh shh, just rest for now little one. You've gotta rest for now, you know I need to fuck another litter into you soon, just relax and let me rub and pet your pretty tummy sweetie, feels so good to be full of your dad's pups doesn't it my love?

[b1tchyboyxd]

˚₊‧꒰ა Male wife reader x Husband ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

★ This is going to be short, I'm lazy lolzz ★ There may be several grammatical errors or things like that, I wrote this shit at 4 in the morning during a moment of epiphany, Anywayzzzz, I hope you like it

Tw: none.

Your husband had been away all day, working hard to provide for you. As the evening drew near, you stood in the kitchen, preparing a homemade meal for him, knowing how much he appreciated your cooking. Just as you were about to finish, you heard the front door open and the sound of your husband walking inside.

You continued to put the finishing touches on the dish, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing your husband's face light up when he tastes your cooking. As he entered the kitchen, you heard him let out a weary exhale, hinting at the long, exhausting day he'd had.

You heard your husband approach behind you, and soon felt his strong, comforting arms wrap around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His body pressed against your back, as if seeking solace in your warmth and presence.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the food you'd been preparing. A soft smile formed on his lips as he spoke, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Mmm... that smells amazing." he murmured, his grip on you tightening slightly.

You turned your head to glance at him, smiling at the sight of his weary expression.

"Long day, love?" you asked gently, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He nodded, mumbling a quiet "yeah" before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

The feeling of his breath so close to your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.

"I made your favorite. It should be ready in a few minutes." you said, continuing to play with his hair.

He hummed in contentment, nuzzling into your neck even further.

"Thank you... you know I look forward to your cooking all day." he murmured, his hands beginning to wander over your body, as if seeking physical reassurance that you were real and right there in his arms.

You blushed at his words and the way his hands were now caressing your body, his touches conveying a mix of possessiveness and need.

"You don't have to thank me, I enjoy doing this for you." you replied, your cheeks growing warmer as he traced the outline of your curves with his fingertips.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin for a few moments before he spoke again.

"You're too good to me. I really don't know what I did to deserve you..." he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something almost possessive.

You could hear the hint of possessiveness in his voice, and it sent a thrill through your veins. You turned in his arms, facing him fully as you reached up to cup his face in your hands.

"I could say the same, love." you said, your eyes meeting his in a tender gaze.

"Now go rest a little before the food is ready." You say.

Your husband hesitated for a moment, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

"But... I don't want to let go of you..." he protested, his voice soft but tinged with a hint of stubbornness.

You chuckled softly, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb.

"It'll only be a few minutes, love. Go sit down and relax, okay? You look exhausted..." you urged, your voice gentle but firm.

Your husband let out a sigh, his resistance crumbling as he relented to your request. He released his hold on you, reluctantly stepping back.

"Fine... I'll be in the living room," he mumbled, his eyes still fixed on you, as if afraid to look away.

You smiled at his hesitation, knowing that he would begrudgingly listen to you.

"I'll let you know when dinner is ready," you reassured him, knowing that as much as he wanted to stay glued to your side, he did need some time to unwind.

He nodded, his expression a mix of reluctance and resignation.

"Alright... I'll be waiting..." he replied, his gaze lingering on you for a few more seconds before he finally turned and headed for the living room.

With your husband temporarily taken care of, you finished up the last touches on the dish, feeling a pleasant sensation in your chest knowing that he would enjoy the meal. Once everything was ready, you carefully carried the food to the dining table and called out to your husband.

"Love, dinner's ready!" you called out, your voice ringing through the house. Moments later, you heard the sound of approaching footsteps and your husband emerged from the living room, his face still showing traces of weariness but his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food laid out on the table.

He took a seat at the table, his gaze fixed on the meal in front of him.

"Looks delicious, as always," he complimented, a small smile appearing on his lips. You took a seat opposite him, feeling a sense of satisfaction seeing the look in his eyes, knowing that you had managed to bring a little bit of joy to his weary soul.

He wasted no time in serving himself a portion, his stomach growling loudly, a reminder of how hungry he was. He took a bite and let out a satisfied sigh, his eyes closing as he savored the taste.

"Mmm... it's so good. You always know what I need, don't you?" he murmured, his eyes meeting yours once more.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at his words, and you blushed a little under his gaze.

"It's just some simple cooking," you replied, downplaying your skills. "But I'm glad you enjoy it." you added, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He shook his head slightly, swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

"It's not just the food, though. It's the fact that it's made by you. That makes it special. Everything you do seems perfect to me." he said, his voice laced with adoration. You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, his praise causing your heart to flutter.

You found yourself at a loss for words for a moment, not having expected such a sweet compliment. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine affection he held for you.

"You're... too much, you know that?" you managed to say, your voice a little shaky from the rush of emotions coursing through you.

He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What, for appreciating my wonderful Husband ? I think it's pretty justified." he replied, his tone cheeky yet affectionate. He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, his warm fingers sending tingles up your arm. You looked at him, feeling a mixture of shyness and affection.

"I can never get used to you showering me with such compliments..." you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly again, his grip on your hand firm but gentle.

"I know, but I mean every word." he said, his eyes never leaving yours. He moved his free hand to cradle your face, his touch almost reverent as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You couldn't help but lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily. A soft smile played on your lips, the feelings of love and adoration he stirred within you almost overwhelming.

"You're such a sap," you said, teasing him gently as your eyes opened to meet his gaze again.

He smirked at your comment, unbothered by the light jab.

"Guilty as charged." he replied, his expression playful. He continued to hold your hand in his grasp, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. "But can you blame me when I have the most perfect Husband in the world ?" he said, his voice filled with affection.

Your cheeks heated up at his words, your heart racing in your chest. "You're unbelievable," you mumbled, a mix of amusement and flusteredness in your voice.

"I'm far from perfect, you know that." you added, your eyes lowering as you tried to brush off his compliments.

He shook his head firmly, his gaze unwavering.

"Don't even start with that. To me, you are perfect. And nothing you say will change my mind." he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He reached over and lifted your chin with his fingers, making you meet his intense gaze once more.

You found yourself lost in his eyes, his intense stare making your heart skip a beat. The sincerity and determination in his voice left no doubt in your mind that he truly believed what he said.

"You... you're impossible," you whispered, your voice almost trembling. Despite your words, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered at his unwavering devotion.

He smiled softly, his touch still gentle but possessively holding your chin in place.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't have it any other way." he replied, his eyes flickering with something deeper, something almost primal. He sat back in his chair, but his grip on your hand didn't loosen, his fingers intertwined with yours.

You swallowed, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness under his intense gaze. You knew that look in his eyes, that hint of possessiveness that came out when he was particularly worked up.

"Are you finished eating?" you asked quietly, your voice slightly hoarse from the emotions swirling within you.

He nodded, his eyes not leaving yours.

"Yeah, I am." he replied, his voice low and slightly raspy. He didn't loosen his grip on your hand, his fingers now lightly tracing patterns on your skin. "I'm not done with you just yet, though." he added, a hint of darkened hunger in his tone.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your heart rate quickening. You knew that look, that tone of voice. It meant he had something else in mind, something that didn't involve food or rest. You tried to keep your composure, even though your body was already reacting to his touch and the implication behind his words.

"What do you have in mind, then?" you asked, attempting to keep your voice steady.

His gaze darkened, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke.

"Oh, I have a few ideas in mind..." he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He stood up from his chair without warning, making his way around the table towards you. He pulled you up from your chair as well, his hands on your hips as he pulled you flush against him, his body pressing against yours tightly.

You let out a small gasp as he pulled you close, your body molding perfectly against his. The heat emanating from him was almost scorching, and you could feel the hardness in his trousers pressing against you, a reminder of his desire. Your heart raced in your chest, your breath coming in short gasps as you looked up into his eyes, seeing the mixture of need and possessiveness burning within them. His hands on your hips gripped you firmly, as if he was trying to anchor you in place, as if he could never get enough of you.

He pressed you against him even tighter, his hands moving from your hips to your face, holding you in place. His eyes roamed over your features, as if committing every detail to memory. "I've waited all day for this, you know." he said, his voice low and rough. "For having you all to myself." His lips moved closer to yours, his breath ghosting over your skin as he spoke. His body was tense, coiled with need and desire.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he added, his voice filled with both adoration and a hint of desperation.

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Creativity is gone so that's it lol

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Bye~

[daisies-and-domming]

Side Effects (NSFW)

Guys I’m so sorry I know I disappeared forever ago but I am back! I updated my page, and I look forward to writing for all you lovely people again! I’m back on my same old shit (absolutely vile dom!reader smut) so I hope you’re ready >:) This one's a little softer because I think Nanami deserves a bit of a soft!dom...I hope you enjoy! Feeling a little rusty so sorry if this isn't my best work :/

Summary: Your boyfriend has been on edge recently - most likely due to a rapid increase in curses over the last few weeks - so when you get a call from Shoko, you assume the worst. Lucky for you both, he’s not dead. However, she informs you that he’s experiencing some strange side effects, so you find yourself rushing to Jujutsu Tech to deal with a rather unfortunate… problem.

Warnings: swearing, smut, dom!reader, reader has a vagina, p in said v, subby!nanami, sex pollen/sex curse, semi-breeding kink, nanami gets his shit rocked, begging, overstimulation (reader and nanami receiving), unsafe sex (wrap your wee-wee please), a bit praise, nanami calls reader wife once

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

– – – 

Bzzt, Bzzt!

You groan, eyes tearing away from the screen in front of you. Life had been in a bit of a slog recently - with your boyfriend constantly away on missions and you trapped at your boring desk job, a phone call was a welcome reprieve. What was odd was the fact that your phone was ringing at all - the only calls that can get through when your phone is silenced is your parents, Nanami, and -

Shoko.

Bright letters flash at the top of your screen as you scramble away in a hurry, phone in hand. You mumble some half-assed excuse as you fly out the doors of the office, keys already in hand, and shakily answer the call.

“Shoko? Is everything okay?” you force out, nearly slipping as you speed-walk to the car. “Is he okay?”

“It’s Nanami,” she says, panic evident in her voice. “He came back from a mission today, won’t stop asking for you. I can’t quite get a read on what he got hit with yet, and I’ve never seen him like this, is there any chance you-”

“I’m already in the car, I’m on my way,” you confirm. “He’s okay, though? No obvious signs of injury?”

“Nothing physical, no,” she says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. “But something’s still clearly wrong, and having you here might help me analyse it. Clearly he’s been hit by some effect of the curse, I’ve never seen this man frantic like this in my life.”

“I’ll be there soon as I can. Call me if you have any updates.”

Shoko hums a confirmation and hangs up, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens, and you take in a shaky breath. What could possibly be wrong? Why did your boyfriend need you, right this instant? At the very least, Shoko didn’t seem to think it was life threatening, but what relief was that? Being a sorcerer was dangerous, hell, that was why you and Nanami had quit in the first place, but you always knew he couldn’t avoid the call of it for long. You prayed that whatever this was would be out of his system in no time.

You take the turn into Jujutsu Tech far faster than you should, haphazardly parking your car. You think you hear the beep! of your car locking, but all you can really hear in your head is the pounding of your heart. Weaving across the grounds, you rush to Shoko’s office, almost barreling into her when you throw the door open.

“Where is he? Is he okay? You didn’t call me again so I assume it’s fine, but-”

“Hey, breath,” she says, oddly calm considering her call earlier. “I figured out the issue.”

“You did?” you exclaim, a little frustrated she didn’t call you. It must not be serious if she didn’t call, but still! She could’ve at least sent a text…

She wiggles her eyebrows at you, a smirk growing on her face. “You guys have to bang.”

“What??” you flush, throwing your arms up. “S-shoko, this isn’t the time for jokes-”

“Not a joke,” she says with a grin, making crude gestures with her hand. “You guys have to bang it out of his system. Fuck. Two-man tango. ‘Make love’, or whatever. Not the worst curse to get hit by, huh?”

“You had me all worried for nothing!” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “I thought he was injured, or worse, dying! I could be at work right now, I didn’t even clock out! God, I’m going to be in so much shit when I get back.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. He needs your help,” she explains with a sigh. “The gas that the curse released from its body works as an aphrodisiac, a deadly one. If he doesn’t, uhm…‘mate’ any time soon it could be lethal.”

You flush deeper, blinking at her owlishly. You waited, hoping she was joking, but she was clearly dead serious. “Where is he?”

“He’s got his own room, all the way down on the left,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Don’t ruin my equipment, you hear me?”

You salute, grinning at her, “Aye aye, captain!”

She rolls her eyes, watching you go. It’s going to be a long shift, she thought, rubbing her temples once again. They don’t pay me nearly enough for this.

You make your way down the hall, fluorescent lights flickering above your head. It smelled like chemicals and death down her, a terrible combo. You wrinkle your nose. How does Shoko put up with this all day, every day?

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even realise that you’re at the end of the hall until you hear it. Frantic, almost manic, heavy breathing from the door on your left. You gulp, rubbing your thighs together. Fuck, in all your time with your boyfriend, you’ve never heard him this desperate before. Like the world was going to end if he didn’t get his dick wet. Lord, you haven’t even seen him yet, and you’re already soaking through your underwear, you can feel it. Tugging on the hem of your sleeve, you nervously raise a hand to knock on the door.

“Kento…?” you startle at the sound he lets out at the sound of your voice. It sounded like…a whine?

“Darling, ooh, darling,” he groans, pitchier than you’ve ever heard him. “You shouldn’t be here, love, get out of here.”

“Ken, honey, I can’t just leave you like this-”

“Please, before I do something I regret, you have to go- hngh!”

There’s a wet splatter on the other side of the door, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. You freeze momentarily, not wanting to believe it.

“Ken, did you just…?”

“Fuck, darling, you don’t know what you do to me,” he groans out. You can hear it now - how he’s rutting into his hand on the other side of the door. The wet shlick of dick sliding in his hand, the way he didn’t stop, even after he came. And he’s certainly never swore this early on, before he’s had your hands on you.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” you say, fingers finding the buttons of your shirt frantically. You don’t care that you’re in the hallway, you don’t care that Shoko’s just down the hall - there’s nothing in your head but the needy sounds of your boyfriend on the other side of the door.

“Please, you have to leave-”

“Open the door, honey,” you say, voice syrupy and sweet. “Want you to fill me up so good, can you do that? For me?”

You hear a quiet “Fuck!” from behind the door and the door handle rattles as he struggles to open it in his haze. At this point, you’re dripping, and you reach a hand out to help him. Easing the door open, you can feel the heat coming off of Nanami in waves. There’s a heady scent of pure sex in the air, and you don’t get a chance to take him in before he’s closing the door and trapping you against it.

“You shouldn’t be here, love,” he murmurs against your neck, hot breath tickling your ear. “Please, go before I lose control.”

Without hesitating, you pull him back by the hair and smash your lips to his. He’s motionless against you, for a moment, before his lips slot against you frantically. His hands come to grope your sides, mean and careless with his touch. He slots his legs between yours almost absentmindedly, and his hips begin to cant against you.

You separate, panting. “So desperate you’re already humping my leg like a slut?”

He flushes, slowing his hips down. You could feel his cock twitch against you, and you grin up at his dishevelled state. He’s a wreck - his tie pulled loose from his neck, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his pants not even off, just hanging loosely around his ankles - and you’re grateful, for a moment, for the curse that hit him. 

“S-sorry, love,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. “Can’t control it, please, need you, need you so bad- mngh, fuck!”

You grin, lazily palming his angry cock. “Oh, honey, I’ll help you out. Think you can get on the bed for me?”

He nods, whining softly when he pulls away from your hand. He stumbles over to the bed, losing his pants along the way. He sits and looks at you expectantly, flushed all the way down his neck. His hands are shaking from how much he’s holding back, and he bites his lip so hard it bleeds as you walk over, stripping as you approach. Ever the gentleman, he doesn’t reach out and touch, though it’s clear that he wants to. But right now, you’re in control, and even with the heat coursing through his veins, he lets you take what you want from him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say, voice thick with need. “Gonna let me ride your cock? Let you fill me up, breed me?”

“God, darling,” he says with a groan, a bead of precum running down his angry cock. “Want to fill your pussy up, put my kids in you, make you nice and round- mmph!”

You slam your lips to his, guiding him to lay back on the bed. You throw your legs on either side of his and grind down hard, smiling against his lips at the way his hips twitch up against yours. You reach back, fumbling to grip his cock and guide it to your waiting hole. You’re soaking, and there’s a wet shlick as sink down to the base of his cock.

“Shit, fuck, sorry, honey-” His hands find the plush of your hips, and he holds you down as he cums, hot and warm inside you. Your surprised laugh quickly morphs into a moan as you feel him fill you. It’s neverending - you’re certain he’s never come this much in one go before - and you quickly regain your senses, grinding your hips in slow circles, riding him through his orgasm. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his back is arched as he twitches, but he never softens inside you.

“Already came again?” you mock, looking down at him condescendingly as he blinks back into reality. “Some curse you got hit with, must feel so good to let go, huh, baby?”

“C-couldn’t help it, fuck!” he stammers out, hips bucking into your slow grinding. “Need it, need to cum again, need to feel you cum around me as I fuck you full, please, darling, can I?”

His eyes flick up to yours, desperation evident in his gaze. Your boyfriend, who rarely swears during sex, begging you to cum? You were certainly in no place to say no!

Without warning, you pick up the roll of your hips, holding his hips down so he can’t buck into you. He moans, flush spreading all the way down his chest. His thighs are flexing below yours, aching to buck up into you, but you won’t let him.

“If you want my help, you let me control the pace,” you bluff, trying your best to keep your head with how his tip is brushing against your sweet spot oh so sweetly. “Keep trying to buck up and I’ll leave you here to take care of your little predicament yourself.”

“No!” he pants out, frenzied. “No, please, darling, don’t go, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good for you, please-”

“Yeah?” you say, grin feral as you pick up your pace even more. You’re barely able to get words out anymore, but he’s certainly not faring any better. “G-Gonna be good for me? Gonna- hngh, fuck! - fill up my pretty pussy, give me your- ahn- give me your babies?”

He nods, hand fumbling to rub at your clit. His fingers are mean, out of control, but the rough feel of his fingers against your clit is delicious nonetheless. Your head falls forward, and your hips get frantic, pace inconsistent as heat coils in your belly. 

“Close, ‘m getting close-” you moan out. “Need you to cum with me, make me full, can you do that for me?”

“Mhmm, anything for you, love,” he says, eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself to the feeling of your gummy walls around him. “Love you, love you so much, please, can’t hold on much longer, need to cum- oogh, fuck!”

With a soft ahn, ahn, ahn, you’re cumming around him, grinding your clit down into his hands as he cums, shooting his seed deep into you. You can’t help but keep grinding down, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible. You shakily drag your hips to a stop, head falling forward to knock with his. You let out a soft breathy laugh as you swoop down to kiss him again, his cock finally starting to flag inside you. As you move to get up, he grabs your waist, wincing as he holds you on his cock.

“Sorry honey, ‘m still sensitive,” he whimpers, twitching out a few more spurts of gooey cum into you. “Can- can you sit here, for a little longer?”

“Of course, Ken,” you say, smile soft as you place a kiss against his temple. “Whatever you need. Are you feeling better?”

“A little sore, for sure,” he notes, eyes roaming up your body. “Though you’re probably hurting too, is there anything I can do for you?”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head. Really is such a gentleman, you think as you struggle to control your face. After all that, he’s worried about me?

“I’m okay, Ken, I wasn’t the one hit with a curse, after all,” you note, hands absentmindedly running up his sides. He smiles up at you, eyes heavy with exhaustion, and pulls you down into him.

“Hey, we need to clean up-”

“Just a second, darling,” he says, yawning as he speaks. “Just need a second to hold you, that’s all.”

You melt against him, knowing that you weren’t going anywhere any time soon. As his breath steadies and he drifts under you, you trace circles on his chest, letting your heavy eyes fall closed, too. He’s right, just a second…

– – – 

You wake up with a jolt to a banging on the door, a chorus of voices on the other side.

“Nanamin, I heard you got hit by a curse, are you okay??”

“Be quiet, Itadori, he’s probably trying to rest.”

“Shut up, Fushiguro, you don’t know that-”

“Will both of you shut up?? Either way, he’s definitely awake from all the racket you’re causing-”

You groan, tuning them out as you rub the sleep from your eyes. You glance up at your boyfriend, disagreeing with Nobara - Nanami was still asleep, a little bit of drool coming out of his open mouth. You cringe as you sit up, every muscle in your body burning in protest as you disentangle yourself from Nanami. You wince as you slide off his cock, his release trickling down your leg as you make an attempt to gather dress yourself. Nanami finally stirs awake, groaning softly as his bleary eyes peel open. His eyes find yours as your fumble through the clothes on the floor, throwing his pants to him. He rubs his eyes and rolls to sit on the edge of the bed, watching you intently.

“We need to get dressed,” you say, voice scratchy with sleep. “The kids want to see you.”

“Mm, they can’t wait a little longer? I want some alone time with my wife now that I’m feeling better.”

“Your wife?” you say, grinning at him. “I know I gave you a good time, but you gotta put a ring on it first, mister.”

He laughs, pulling you against him and burying his head into your stomach. Your fingers come up to play with his hair, and he breathes you in, for a second.

Soon, he thinks. Soon I’ll put a ring on that finger.

Word Count: 2675

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

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Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[kaptainkoalaoshiz]

Wangxian plot bunny I may or may not write, but I encourage people to write as well 🫡

Wei Wuxian: I have an excellent idea for people to leave us alone.

Wen Qing: oh boy...

Wei Wuxian: don't you wanna know what I got?

Wen Qing: stupider?

Wei Wuxian: booo! Anyway. I'm gonna send this message at the Great Sects and they'll be so disgusted they'll leave us alone!

Wen Qing: "if you want to keep the Yilling Laozu from doing horrible, ghost cultivation, then send someone as a sacrifice to have nasty, disrespectful sex with him. Those who exceed his expectations will gain everything he owns".

Wei Wuxian: See? 100% guarantie of success! Nobody will take the offer and if they do, I just say it wasn't good enough! Win-win for me!

Wen Qing: so you got stupider. Alright. Scrape that idea

Wei Wuxian:...

Wen Qing: what. Did. You do.

Wei Wuxian: I already sent it to the major sects...

Wen Qing: I swear tO GOD!!

Meanwhile, at the big sects:

At Yunmeng jiang: the message was ripped apart by Jiang Cheng because he knows Wei Wuxian 's brand of stupid and isn't going to fall for it. Also, not willing to send someone to Yilling, like, think of their reputation!

At Qinghe Nie: the message was also ripped apart by Nie Mingju because he thinks Wei Wuxian is mocking them by calling out their righteousness. They're not sending anyone either, but Nie Huaisang 's brain is going "??.. !"

At Lanling Jing: there's a huge debate about which prostitute to send him, how much they'll have to pay said prostitute to keep the Yilling Laozu content and get their hand on the Yin Tiger Tally without sacrificing too much on their side. Everyone is shooting everyone in the foot. Nothing concrete is done.

At Gusu Lan: the message was ripped apart and everyone is shaking their heads at the shamelessness of the Yilling Laozu, they're too "above" to even consider sending anyone. Lan Qiren, knowing Wei Wuxian 's brand of stupid (same as his mother, hmpf!) is nearly ripping his beard off from how mocking the boy is! Lan Xichen is sighing at yet another proof Wei Wuxian has fallen because of his cultivation. He goes to tell his brother not to do anything rash but Lan Wangji is already gone. Oops.

A month later, Lan Wangji comes back with a gaggle of old people and a child. And the Yilling Laozu, dragging his feet and trying to escape. Lan Wangji says "excuse me." at the sentries before walking to the sides in the forest for.. about 45 minutes? and when he comes back, Wei Wuxian is disheveled and loopy. He looks like he's been mauled by a fierce beast. The rest of the Wen group look exhausted and used to it, wishing they could be set somewhere so they don't have to endure their Yilling Laozu being ravished (enthusiastically) by Hanguang-jun four times a day. Wen Yuan is just happy Wei-gege and Rich-gege made up.

[sceletaflores]

i really just need art and patrick in subspace.

they don't normally sub. and they've never even kissed each other. dom reader makes them realize how much they desire the other, and can't help but allow her to slowly leading them into subspace

and all the poor guys can do is follow her like dogs in heat ;((

-🐝

auurrr sub!artrick you’re real to me…

and the thing is that their attraction to each other is so painfully obvious to quite literally everyone around them, but they themselves are completely oblivious.

It's either obliviousness or straight-up repression—a refusal to see what's right in front of them.

maybe it’s for different reasons. maybe art’s religious upbringing is still burned into his mind every time he catches himself letting his eyes linger a little too long on patrick fresh out of the shower, water dripping down the hard planes of his abs when he gets dressed in the mornings. the memory of his sunday school's youth pastor reciting, “it’s adam and eve, not adam and steve.”

and maybe patrick still has his dad’s homophobic rants ringing in his ears when he catches himself staring art’s lips wrapped around the filter of a cigarette. their shared cigarette, wet from art’s mouth when he takes it between his own lips.

but then they meet you. you with your willingness to navigate such a complex situation so delicately, carefully treading along the line of artandpatrick to help them realize that wanting to fuck each other isn't the end of the world. that sharing a girl the same way they share a cigarette is just another excuse to get as close as possible without touching.

it’s a mission, and you’re strategic about it.

you get them in bed at the same time, and they're so skittish. working around each other instead of with each other, but you're patient. you know they're both used to being in control, but they get so fuck drunk. it's like all the blood from their brains go to their dicks the second you drop your skirt, voice soft but demanding as you sit on the edge of art's bed.

"i want you to eat me out, both of you."

two hitching gasps ring out, shaky and broken. they're both hard.

you get them on their knees before the bed, shoulders pressed together between your thighs and matching looks of hesitation on their faces. you smile, reaching out to brush your fingers through their hair reassuringly. slowly, you start to drag art forward by the back of his head, only art.

his nose bumps against your inner thigh, short puffs of breath fanning over your aching core until he sticks his tongue out and lets you drag him wherever you want him.

patrick watches art the entire time, eyes rapidly flicking over his profile like he doesn't know where to look. tracing the bridge of art's nose, the cut of his jawline, zeroing in on where his pretty pink lips wrap around your clit. he's so quiet, the quietest you've ever heard him.

when art gets too into it, moaning and drooling, you pull him back. he groans, leaning forward to fight your grip on his hair like he'll die if he's not fucking you with his tongue. you scratch your nails against his scalp, a placating smile on your face before you're turning to patrick.

he lurches forward before you even get a hand in his hair, dragging his tongue through the mess of spit art left pooling in your hole. groaning at the taste of your pussy.

art watches him, just like patrick watched him. his head resting on your thigh, staring through half lidded eyes with parted lips.

you hold back for as long as you can stand, giving patrick his one on one time with your pussy. moaning at the way his nose nudges against your clit each time he licks a broad stripe over your hole with the flat of his tongue.

when you can feel yourself getting closer, you gently start to guide art's head closer. patrick's hair still in the tight grip of your fist, you're not moving him away.

wide blue eyes flick to your face, hazy and blown out and worried. you smile down at him, 'it's okay, baby."

apparently, that's all go ahead he needs. leaning forward enough to get his mouth back on you.

patrick, who got lost in his own little world, opening his eyes to art mouthing at your clit, lips inches away from his own, has a surprised moan ripping from deep in chest. you feel the rumble of it against your fluttering hole, long and drawn out.

it's like they both have a gravitational pull towards the other, getting closer and closer until patrick's tongue finally brushes against art's. it happens once, twice, three times before they both go still, eyes meeting in a shared moment of realization.

there’s a charged silence, broken only by the sound of your heavy breathing. it’s like the world has paused, waiting for them to decide if they’ll take that last step. you stroke patrick’s hair, steady and reassuring, and he hesitantly leans back in, his movements slow and uncertain.

art’s the first to move, taking patrick's bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a gentle tug. patrick’s eyes flutter closed, a shiver running down his spine. they’re tasting each other now, sucking the taste of you off the others tongue.

it’s hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.

you look down at them, at your boys. faces gone soft, eyes fluttered shut as they make-out over your pussy. heat zings up your spine every time their tongues tangle over your clit, chins messy with their spit mixing with the wetness leaking from you.

the smugness you feel only adds to your orgasm. all they needed was a little push.

[k6tzie]

just imagining sub!ghost having to deal with a dom!reader, and he can't even say no because he hasn't fucked in months :( you place a soft kiss on the tip of his red leaky cock, teasing him as he just squirms around and inches his hips closer to your mouth like a one dollar whore. "please!" he lets out a strained moan as you finally take him into your mouth, licking and sucking, bobbing your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck him off. and he wants to cum on your pretty chest, face, feet - whatever he can get! it seems so sweet until you say no and cut your session off early before he can cum, and he just never hears from you again, quite literally ghosted :'( 

[andi-o-geyser]

everyone say thank you subtitle team

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@croptopjames submission for mr james fleamont potter's birthday<3

2598 words - NSFW - cw: spanking, squirting, dirty talk, lil bit of degradation theyre being nasty idk it escalated

aka feral fucking your husband after seeing him in a shirt that doesn't quite fit like it used to~

“Baby, I’m home,” Regulus shouts after entering the front door, kicking it closed behind him with his foot as he balances the huge ice cream cake precariously on both his hands.

They’ve invited the whole family as per usual, what with their first year with Harry out of the house coming back from uni for his dad’s special day, Sirius and Remus driving down and picking up Effie and Monty on the way. All their friends will come later this week for brunch.

Today it’s just the few of them though and Regulus finds himself with a spring in his step at the thought of all of them together today.

James has taken the day off and Regulus was able to weasel his way into only half a shift today which he nearly missed entirely after the way James had sat down in his lap first thing in the morning and ridden him until he was shaking, cursing and babbling incoherently, all the while his husband was seated on his throne, smiling brightly, happiest man in the world, practically taking the matter of his birthday gift into his own hands.

“Hi love!” comes from somewhere on the higher level of the house.

Regulus brings the cake into the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket and quickly dispensing the celebratory sweet in the freezer before James sees it.

Not a moment after Regulus closes the drawer to grab a bowl of blueberries from the fridge James comes into the kitchen, huffing and cheeks flushed, a presumably heavy box of just…stuff in his arms that he must have gotten from the attic.

“James,” Regulus starts, blinking, “You were supposed to take the day off.”

His husband smacks a content kiss onto his cheek, grinning brightly. His glasses are smudged and sitting crookedly over his nose and Regulus is pretty sure he spotted a bit of spiderwebs in the mess of his hair.

“Ehh,” James makes dismissively, “I still felt restless after I hit the gym this morning once you left.”

He places the box down with a heavy thunk, petting its side like a horse—he’s such a dad, “And we’ve been wanting to get started on these babies after spring cleaning anyway, remember?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, fondness betraying him when the corners of his mouth tug upwards, “Mm, that might be true. Still it’s your birthd—”

Regulus halts.

“Love?” James looks at him inquiringly, hands propped on his hips.

On his very much naked hips. A palm length sliver of skin exposed between the indecently thin and short gym shorts and the—

“James, baby, what are you wearing?”

Oh, Regulus’ mouth is so, so dry.

“Huh?” James looks down at himself, shuffling in place before his head snaps back up to Regulus, “Oh! Yeah I found one of my old shirts from uni.” His husband snickers, giving a little twirl and shaking his hips from side to side like he isn’t currently taking five years off Regulus’ life expectancy.

“You–” Regulus stops again, eyes glued to the small swell of his stomach over the band of the white shorts, the dark hair splattered all over and coiling at the center, carving a path up and downwards. It’s downright indecent. His arms fill out the shirt just how they used to back in uni but with the difference that it’s more fat than muscle now—though Regulus knows well enough from personal experience how strong his husband still is. His pecs are visibly straining the material, the washed out, maroon letters spelling HOGWARTS cracking from the stretch.

Even more so when James leans back on his palms against the dining table, draping himself all prettily against the edge and smiling coyly, blinking doe brown eyes from under long lashes at Regulus as if he didn’t already have him warpped around his finger hook, line and sinker.

“Baby,” Regulus rasps and he barely recognises his own voice.

“Yeah, Reg?” James purrs, tilting his head and exposing the expanse of his neck.

“How long until Harry arrives?”

“An hour or two, depending on traffic,” James responds, voice all husky. Regulus is going to wreck him. Reduce him to a stuttering, squirting mess in the matter of half an hour, take his fucking word for it.

“Good enough,” Regulus grits out and then he crosses the distance in two long strides, already yanking at his tie.

They meet in a mess of parted lips, clicking teeth and tongues nudging, eager as ever, trying to lick into each other’s mouths and taste. Greedy for it, happily swallowing moans and tugging their bodies close. They slot into each other easily, practiced after all these years, decades and Regulus reckons that’s how they somewhat safely find their way onto the couch.

Regulus’ back hits the cushions with a soft oompf, barely time to gasp another breath and reach for his husband before James is straddling his lap, clasping Regulus’ stubbly jaw in warm, calloused palms and pulling him right back into their kiss. They don’t stay there for long with the way James is restlessly shifting on top of him, grinding his crotch right against the bulge in Regulus’ slacks, making them both groan.

At some point Regulus abandons James’ mouth in favor of kissing over the stubble of his cheek and jaw and latch onto his throat while simultaneously trying to get his stupid shirt buttons open. When the takes too long however James seems to grow impatient, batting his hands away and fumbling with them himself while they pant and grunt into each other’s mouths.

Regulus is nipping at James’ lower lip, already swollen and an obscene kiss bitten red and his husband makes a sound. Downright needy and he’s sitting there on top of Regulus, flushed and with that dazed look in his eyes, moaning like a little slut, so Regulus can’t quite help himself when he pulls one hand around and smacks James’ firmly on the bum.

It elicits a gasp, high pitched and followed by a long, drawn out moan and James sinking deeper into his lap, recapturing his mouth and desperately rutting down against where Regulus is hard and already throbbing. It’s a medical miracle, truly, that no matter how many times they’ve had sex, Regulus’ erection is always at its best form for James.

“Mnh,” James makes, their lips parting with a wet smacking noise, “Need you, baby.”

Regulus grunts, fingers digging harshly into the meat of James’ arse, “Slut.”

Just like expected, James whimpers, and so prettily at that. Eyebrows scrunching pitifully and he grinds once more, helplessly, “Please, please.” 

“But of course, sweety,” Regulus relents easily, licking a hot stripe up his neck, along his jawbone and then right across his slack mouth, “Anything for the birthday boy.”

James moans in response, nodding his head frantically.

Regulus nods his head towards the end of the couch where the pillows are piled, “Scoot up.”

His husband does so dutifully and it doesn’t take longer than a second for Regulus to make James lift his hips and rip the sheer piece of nylon off and throw it over his shoulder, not quite surprised yet still horribly taken off guard by the lack of boxer briefs underneath.

Regulus is left with nothing to do but stare at the mess of wet, thick curls and pink fold glistening with James’ slick, spit pooling under his tongue in an instant. He grabs James’ ankles, settling them over his shoulders, trainers still on and letting his hands drive over white tennis socks, hairy shins and strong calves. Digging his thumb in there and relishing in the gasp he elicits from his husband that way, hips twitching with the suspense. Regulus strokes up his boney knees, massages the big muscle of his thighs, the hair tickling his palms softly, all the while letting himself pitch forward, making sure to spill warm breath over where James wants him most right now.

He goes further, letting his hands rake up and over his stomach, rucking the shirt up as he goes and tucking it over the swell of his pecks, exposing him for Regulus to play with.

James is panting, short little puffs of breath, brimming with excitement and barely refraining from whimpering on the way out each time.

Predictably, he breaks once Regulus lazily swirls a tongue around his exposed nipple, holding the eye contact and watching with satisfaction as James’ eyelids flutter. He can’t help but grin, nipping at the hardened nub before he retreats, settling himself comfortably between James’ thighs and without warning diving right in.

James positively screams the moment Regulus closes his lips around his cock, sucking him into his mouth and rolling him around between his lips until the bucking of his hips throws him off. Regulus hoists an arm over James’ hips, belting him down, and wastes no time inserting one finger into James’ searing wetness, sinfully hot inside.

“Ahh yesyes, please more, love, please m-hah—” James babbles, throwing his head back when Regulus drives into him with another finger, crooking them upwards and watching shamelessly as his husband’s precum pools all over his digits before diving back in to lick at his little cock. 

He works them steadily up to each finger until he is four in deep, repeatedly hitting that spot inside of James and sucking and mouthing at the bundle of nerves until James’ noises grow an edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Regulus asks, muffled between licks, jaw aching slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, gonna– hnng,” James breaks off, screwing his eyes shut when Regulus gives a particularly harsh suck, noises obscenely loud.

He’s fisting the cushions like his life depends on it, white knuckling them in his grip, and it only takes a handful more thrusts and licks before James is shuddering through his first orgasm. Breaths coming quicker until he eventually breaks off into a keen, thighs quivering around Regulus’ head, squeezing at his skull and riding it out, grinding his cunt uncoordinatedly forward into Regulus’ face all the while convulsing around his fingers.

He squeezes in waves of pleasure and it makes Regulus so delirious that he blinks and the next thing he knows is him kneeling against James’ ass, belt undone, slacks shoved down just enough and prodding at his slick, puffy entrance with the head of his cock.

James is staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, mouth agape and pupils so dilated they’ve swallowed most of the beautiful, dark chocolate brown.

“Baby,” Regulus prompts, bending James’ knees towards his ears with a grunt, “Jamie, be a good boy and hold these there for me.” His husband slowly blinks him back into focus, silently obliging and hooking his fingers into the bend of his knees—thank the higher powers James still does yoga once a week.

Regulus leans in, one hand holding him up off the couch, the other fisting around the length of him and smearing it through James’ wetness, “Now are you going to be able to be good and keep yourself wide open for me or are you already fucked too stupid, huh? An old man? Maybe we should postpone it for next year, ay papi, what do you say?”

James whines pathetically, rubbing his head into one of the throw pillows, knotting his black hair up even more before he swallows frantically, “No, Reg, pleaseplease, I can take it. Please, love, I’m gonna be good for you, I prom–Aah—”

Regulus bottoms out in one smooth thrust, vision dotting with black spots at the mind bending heat and vice grip James has on him, already pulsing around him shallowly.

He grants James a moment to get used to being full, slowly rocking his hips back and forth and listening for when his whimpers turn into soft moans, turning needy again, and then he reaches up to grip his chin, “Then take it, slut.”

The pace he picks up into is hard, not too fast but unforgiving and steady, a sure way to drive James crazy. Regulus nips his way along his husband’s chest, nuzzling his nose through chest hair and biting and licking at his dark nipples, tasting salt and sweat, feeling his cock twitch at the taste deep inside his husband.

When Regulus feels himself lose rhythm he hikes James’ legs impossibly higher, draping one of them over his shoulder before he starts spanking him again. The angle is awkward but it’s working, going off of the way James keeps jerking at the stinging contact, clenching around the length of Regulus and working himself into a frenzy, gasping and whimpering and groaning like he’s getting the best cock of his entire life. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” Regulus demands, breath stuttering as he watches a fat tear roll down the side of James’ face, disappearing into the shorter hair at his temple.

Regulus keeps James’ thighs wide and open, rolling his hips with abandon, groaning and panting with every thrust, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and desperately trying not to lose control when James snakes a hand between his legs, frantically circling his cock while Regulus keeps pumping in and out of him.

“If you could only see yourself, baby,” Regulus grits out, “Fucking masterpiece, splayed out for me like this. Obliging my every demand, so fucking good, baby.”

James moans happily, tongue lolling out and without thinking Regulus sticks two of his fingers into his mouth, rubbing over his tongue and feeling the saliva coat them thickly.

“Can you go ahead and cum for me again, Jamie?”

James whines an affirmative around his digits, slurping messily, a trickle of drool trailing down the corner off his mouth.

“Think you’ll be a good boy and squirt all over me, baby? You know how much I love when you cum like that, hm?”

James breath hitches impossibly, eyes threatening to flutter shut as he nods deliriously.

Regulus quickly grabs him by the jaw, “Keep looking at me, James. I know you can do that for me, baby.”

And so he does.

On the next thrust James starts quivering again, fingers working furiously over his cock, mouth falling open around a silent scream and gazing Regulus right in the eyes as he pounds into him and James squirts around him. Spraying everywhere, absolutely in all directions and fucking messy, wetting Regulus’ torso and the couch—Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if the carpet wasn’t unscathed either.

That’s really all Regulus can take before his hips stutter in their pace and he buries himself deep inside James, letting the pulsing of his husband’s orgasm milk him dry as he spills and spills his cum into James for what feels like minutes on end.

At some point James lets his trembling legs back down, crossing his ankles tightly under Regulus’ bum as this one keeps jerking into his husband’s hole.

Once they’re both done Regulus is too exhausted to do anything else but collapse forward into James’ chest which he accepts with a happy hum.

They take a few minutes like this, James slowly coming to and starting to play with the curls at Regulus’ nape and Regulus breathing in the comforting scent of James, raking his short nails up and down the side of his ribcage.

After a while James presses a feebly kiss into the side of Regulus’ head, huffing out a big breath that makes Regulus rise with the motion of his chest before he snickers, “Well, happy fucking birthday to me.”

Regulus chuckles into the crook of James’ neck, dropping a kiss there before lifting and staring into his husband’s droopy eyes, “Yeah, happy fucking birthday to you, baby.”

[toreii]

I had a very lengthy discussion with a friend about this moment. While we agree that this is rather impulsive and not well thought out, to be seriously honest, this is exactly what Bi-Han was meant to do. He was prepared for moments like this. This is what he was itching for. Where his purpose was fulfilled as a protector of Earthrealm. For plot purposes, no one else is making a move least of all Liu Kang (who, mind you, should). Bi-Han doesn’t think, not out of stupidity, but out of responsibility. He may have forsaken his oaths, denounced his purpose, but out of instinct, acts exactly as he was prepared to do.

I’ve been mulling a lot of things, scrutinizing every trailer, and trying to make sense out of everything. But, it’s a very poignant moment in Bi-Han’s story (and character), that out of everyone present in that room, for one split second, he acts as he was always intended to do. Liu Kang’s line “This is what you are meant to do. Defend Earthrealm.” if, in fact, he is speaking this to Noob/Bi-Han makes so much more sense and has more meaning.

[xochimillilili]

Why are so many kitty posts about soft shy aloof kitties, where the fucking hell are the posts about needy clingy kitties who meow loudly.

Kitties who pounce on you once you come back home, rubbing themselves against you, scratching and pawing until you go to bed where they climb onto you. Kitties who know damn well what they want, teasing you the whole time as they grope at you

Putting their weight atop you as they bump their head against your face, sniffling you softly before licking and kissing and gently nibbling at your neck as they continue the collar of hickeys they've been working on giving you.

Kitties who whine and mewl and don't shut the fuck up, wanting and pleading for more with the biggest and cutely desperate eyes. Kitties who bap and scratch at you, caring for you with their shakey paws. Kitties who yes, enjoy themselves plenty alone, but adore to be around you.

Need more of kitties who wake you up with bites and kisses a bit too early, who you sometimes wake to find about to sit themselves atop your face. Kitties who do their best to keep your attention, who just want one more minute of play.

More of kitties who just want to be cared for, giving their all with love and energy, who will do their best to do the same for you while not shutting their mouth up the whole time

[b1tchyboyxd]

˚₊‧꒰ა A oneshot for you guys ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Daddy's home kids and I brought the milk 🔥🔥🔥

So this is very bad, it's late and I'm sleepy. I only wrote this because I haven't posted in months and I have to feed you, my children.

Scenario ⊱ ☆ ⊰ :: Your boyfriend wakes you up in the middle of the night to f★ck you <3 (Smut yay!!)

W :: I don't know how to write Smut. It's really shitty, but fuck this shit.

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In the darkness of the night, your peaceful sleep was suddenly broken by the feeling of a warm hand shaking your shoulder. It was your boyfriend, awake and clearly up for something more than sleep. He gently rolled you onto your back, his hand grazing your waist as he straddled your hips, the weight of his body pressing against you.

"Wake up." he whispered, his voice husky with arousal, his gaze intense even in the dim light.

He trailed a finger along your jawline, his touch both a caress and a command.

"I need you," he murmured, his other hand slipping under your shirt to trace circles on your bare skin with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched.

"I can't wait," he continued, his voice a little husky as he began to rock his hips against yours.

His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.

But your body was certainly awake now, responding to his touches.

His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.

His mouth found yours in the dark, the kiss slow and sensual at first but quickly building in intensity. His tongue moved against yours, mimicking the motion of his hips in a slow, torturous rhythm as he pressed himself against you once again.

There was a desperation in his touch that betrayed how much he wanted you.

As if sensing your waking state, his kisses moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of heat against your exposed skin.

His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside to give him better access.

His mouth was everywhere; kissing, biting, and teasing in ways that had you arching your body towards him, wanting to be closer.

He took advantage of your position, pushing his hands under you, palming your behind and lifting your hips to meet his.

You could feel him, hard and eager through the thin barrier of his clothes, his movements becoming more insistent as his lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, leaving marks that would be impossible to hide.

He pulled back for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire.

"I want you so bad..." he whispered, his voice shaky with need. He didn't give you a chance to respond, his mouth back on yours in an instant, the kiss all consuming.

His hands moved to the drawstring of your pajama pants, toying with the tie for a moment before finally pulling it loose.

His fingers dipped under the waistband, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips. He broke the kiss again, his eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission.

Your breathing hitch at his touch, and you nodded, the tiniest movement of your head letting him know it was okay.

He kissed you again as his hands worked your pants down, his fingers caressing every inch of newly revealed skin.

He quickly disposed of his own clothing, his movements rough and rushed, the desire coursing through him. He didn't waste any time, immediately pressing himself against you, his skin against yours.

His mouth found yours again as his hands skimmed over your body, caressing every curve and dip, his touch setting off a trail of heat and desire.

He shifted his position, pressing against you more fully, the contact both comforting and overwhelming.

His touch was everywhere, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that only added to the heat building between you.

He reached down again, gently taking one of your legs and hooking it around his waist, drawing you closer.

He moved against you, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, his breath catching in his chest as the sensation took over.

He needed you, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and hear it in the sounds he was making against your neck.

He moved slowly at first, every movement calculated, every touch deliberate, his lips finding yours again and again, the kisses growing more needy, more desperate.

He murmured words of praise against your lips, his words a mix of praise and pleasure, making you feel desired and cherished in the same breath.

His hands moved to grip your hips, his touch grounding you even as he gradually increased the pace, the intensity growing exponentially. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, a silent plea for more.

His breath hitched against your skin as the waves of ecstasy grew, his kisses becoming more urgent, his touch more firm.

The heat between you was all-consuming, the sounds of your shared pleasure filling the quiet room, your bodies moving in a synchronous rhythm.

His moans mixed with yours, his breath hot on your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

He held onto you tightly, fingers digging into your hips as he moved with purpose, the tension between you mounting.

He reached down, hooking his arms under your legs, changing his angle and hitting a spot that had your back arching off the bed.

A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrated against your skin, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.

His pace picked up, his movements more desperate, the intensity growing with every touch. Your hands found his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you held onto him, the sensation overwhelming.

He reached down, his fingers finding your hand and lacing them together, pinning it to the bed beside you.

His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising, his tongue swiping across your lower lip as he swallowed the sounds you were making.

His rhythm started to falter, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his release, his breath panting in your ear, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I'm close." he whispered, his voice ragged, his words catching in his throat, his hand tightening around yours. He moved faster, his kisses becoming sloppier, his touch becoming more desperate.

"Come with me." he murmured, his words barely more than a whisper, but the command was clear.

He changed his angle slightly, hitting that spot again, and you could feel the tension in his body

The sensation of his body and the words sent you over the edge, your back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over you, your grip on his hand tightening as you rode out the waves, his hand squeezed back.

As you came down, he held you, his chest heaving, his pulse racing. He kissed you again, his touch gentler now, his hand releasing your own to stroke your face.

"I love you ~" he murmured against your lips, his breath still unsteady, his words filled with affection and relief.

He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close. He placed light kisses on your forehead, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin, the after-shocks of pleasure still coursing through your body.

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───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

Goodbye fags, time for disappear for 2 months again

[rosebudprincess]

thinking about femme dom bottom with butch sub top free use where it’s the butch using the femme and it’s early morning and you’re sleepy and your darling femme’s just sleeping next to you. she just looks so tempting that you have to have her right now. you whine in the hopes of waking her but to no avail. it’s only till you make your way down her body and between her legs that you feel a hand go through your hair and a quiet, “that’s a good boy, love” that you get the satisfaction you need and encouragement to take what you want from her.