#THE SLIGHT CURLS IN HIS HAIR NEAR HIS FACE AH

[everwisp]

AS IF THEY WERENT ALREADY PRETTY ENOUGH LIBER WTH 😭

[thinkinonsense]

cw: face sitting, fingering, squirting, slight inspection kink

"c'mon sweets, let me get a good look atcha." logan's voice rang in your ears.

you had been so good for him all day. he asked for one day of relaxation before he had to go on another mission tomorrow with the team. so you made sure that he was well fed for the day, had a pack of cigars ready for him and a new bottle of whiskey in the kitchen.

the two of you spent the day in his room, lounging around in each others arms while he reads and you sit curled up next to him. after hours of you playing with his hair, he decided to treat you for the rest of the evening.

which brings the two of you to this moment where logan's got you bend over face down ass up and spread open for his viewing pleasure. it's obscene the position he has you in. folds spread and glistening in the low light of his bedroom. your sweet arousal holds him hostage.

"please, lo." you beg, arching back even more. "been good for you all day."

"i know you have, baby." he purrs rubbing the back of your thighs. "such a good girl for me."

those few words could've started a puddle underneath you. he's lapping up the slick running down your leg. running his hot tongue over the plush skin.

"prettiest fuckin' pussy i've ever seen." he groans, smacking your ass playfully.

logan adjusts himself under you, letting you sit on his face. he pushes you down on his awaiting tongue, lapping your arousal up like a thirsty dog.

"use my face, princess." logan pleads, holding you down on his face.

"d-don't wanna hurt you, lo." you whimper, feeling his nose bump your clit.

he chuckled before grinding you down harder and licking at your entrance. the second the muscle makes its way past your gummy wall, you can't help but start moving faster on his face, using his nose for your own pleasure.

"oh, f-fuck." you moan, lacing your fingers in his hair and tugging.

logan knew your cunt like the back of his hand. he spent time memorizing every little thing that made you fall apart.

"i'm so c-close!"

a loud squeal slips past your lips when his fingers replace his tongue. fast paced and rough, just the way you like it. filth pours from below, "practically swallowing my fingers, sweetheart."

right on the edge of pleasure, logan flicks his tongue over your bundle of nerves while he nudges your cervix. your hips have a mind of their own as the move across his face, searching for a euphoria that only logan can give you.

a sudden warmth floods your tummy in a way you've never felt before during sex.

"w-wait, lo!" you squeal, afraid of losing control of your own fluids. "need to s-stop!"

despite your words, your lower half only contradicted them. thighs wrapped nicely around logan's head while your nails scratch at his scalp. he's moaning into your cunt, already knowing what's coming.

"gonna- ah!"

a splash on slick covers logan's face, your thighs, and the sheets under you two. he couldn't believe his sweet girl could turn into a fucking fountain just from his fingers. this only further spurs logan on, needing to lick you clean. your thighs tremble and soft gasps pour from your glossy lips.

"need a break, baby." you whine, giving his hair a sharp touch to pull him off of you. or else he would be there all night.

"just a break." he says, moving you down to sit on his abs which only further overstimulates your soaked cunt. "cause i'm nowhere near done with you tonight."

[v3nic3b]

𝓞𝓯𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼

CW: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, oral (f receiving), slight dacryphilia.

Summary: Like you, Stephen is used to spending most of his nights at the newspaper, and he has gotten quite used to making his way to your office.

It was past 8 p.m., and most employees — those who managed to balance their personal and professional lives — had left hours ago.

Exhausted, you rest your head on your folded arms atop the desk, your eyes stinging from staring at the computer screen for far too long.

“I brought you something.” The familiar voice makes you lift your head abruptly. Stephen places a packet of salt and vinegar chips on your desk. “Last one from the vending machine. Thought you’d like it—you’re obsessed with these.” You smile at his gesture.

Like you, Stephen is used to spending most of his nights at the newspaper, and he has gotten quite used to making his way to your office.

Making his way around your desk, Stephen stands behind your chair and leans closer, bringing his face near the back of your neck. “What are you up to?” he starts trailing kisses down your skin. “Stevie, I really need to finish this article.” “I know, angel.”

Despite his understanding tone, you two had played this game enough times for you to know he had no intention of taking your protests seriously. He knew what you truly needed and he didn’t mind manipulating you to make sure you got it.

Immediately, he holds your chin firmly and brushes a deep kiss against your mouth. “Stevie... someone might see us.” reluctantly, you thread your fingers through his hair to restrain him, but his mouth continues to trail kisses down your jaw, making you throw your head back ever so slightly. “Everyone already left, angel, I checked. C’mon, you know you want this.”

In a swift motion, Stephen moves you to your desk and immediately pulls your skirt up your legs, kneeling between your thighs and slowly pulling off your underwear. “My sweet, sweet girl...” He starts brushing off soft kisses on your inner thighs, devotion visible in his eyes. “Will you let me suck you?” You nod eagerly, feeling too surrendered to fight back anymore.

You exhale in relief when he latches his mouth onto you. His tongue swirling against your clit, the warm pressure making you groan deeply. “Mhm–you’re so wet.” He grips one of your legs and hooks over his shoulder, drawing you closer to him. One of your hands moves from the edge of your desk to grip his hair tightly, the action only making him lick you harder.

He slides a finger into you, curling it upwards and hitting the exact right spot, dragging another moan from your lips, his mouth back on your clit. “Fuck, angel.” The pure bliss in his eyes made it clear he was enjoying this just as much as you—if not more.

You are aching.

Minutes passed and you are desperate to find your release. But Stephen doesn’t seem ready to let you go anytime soon, unconsciously slowing down his pace everytime you came near your orgasm. “Stevie— Ah! it hurts.” He finally looks at you, his pants getting even tighter at the sight of you tearing up. “You’re okay, angel. I’m so sorry... gonna give you what you need now.”

Your hips jolt as he presses a second finger inside you and starts pumping in and out in a steady rhythm, his lips sucking your bud even harder now. The searing pleasure pushing you closer to your climax.

“Please cum for me, please, please.” He chanted endlessly. His pleading tone sends you over the edge and your entire soul bursts into flames as you fall apart. Stephen holds onto your hips, not letting you move an inch away, greedily lapping up every drop of it.

As you came down from your high, Stephen stood up in front of you dropping little kisses on your chin, cheeks, and the corner of your lips while adjusting your skirt. “Want to continue this at my place?”

Divider by saradika-graphics

[wreckedandpolemic]

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.  

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life. 

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan. 

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back. 

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

 By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess.  Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips. 

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly. 

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly. 

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour. 

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

[webshooterrr9]

somnophilia [a. ancunin]

Day 2 of Webshooterrr9's Kinktober!

w.c: 1009 words

content warning: somnophilia, handjob (m! recieving), gn!reader, kisses and vampire stuff, nothing too explicit (other than the smut obviously)

He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first.

The two of you had been sharing a tent for the past few weeks - since you’ve finally decided to make your relationship official. It was much easier to just sleep next to one another, since you would’ve ended up visiting each other’s bedrolls anyway.

You were just cuddling; big spooning your vampire lover. Naturally, he ran cold due to the lack of blood flow in his system, and your warm body was the perfect remedy for that. Elves had no need for sleep, but Astarion often took the time to meditate while you were resting soundly beside him. Sometimes, when you would tell him about your dreams, he would recall the memories he visited in his “slumber”. Similarly to dreams, Astarion didn’t have much control over which memories his mind visited during his trance - which often led to restless nights. You were no stranger to being woken up to the feeling of your lover thrashing beside you, haunted by night terrors of his past.

But tonight, you were awakened by a different feeling.

He was… twitching. Ever so slightly. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed the movement had your arms not been wrapped around him. One curled under his torso like a hug, and another resting near his thighs.

Your eyes opened slowly. Confused, you briefly glanced around the shared sleeping space to see moonlight filter through the flaps of the tent. You lifted your head, glancing down at your “sleeping” lover - whose silvery hair seemed to sparkle under the gentle rays of the moon. True to his name, he looked like a star.

But then you felt it again. A slight buck of his hips, just barely rutting into the air where your hand was near. A fond memory, perhaps? Barely-audible gasps escaped the vampire's plump lips, accompanied by a small groan. You weren’t naive. You knew what was happening. Despite the loss of sleep it’s causing you, you much preferred him to be visited by a… fun dream rather than a tortuous one.

Cautiously, you shift your hand - placing it over his clothed groin. You gently squeezed, feeling a slight tent in his trousers. The party would be moving locations tomorrow, and you wanted your lover to be well-rested before the long journey ahead. So you might as well help him relieve himself… purely for rest purposes, of course. Glancing down at the beautiful man beside you, you trailed your hand up his torso, stopping at his cheek to softly caress the skin there. Other than the horrid scars on his back, Astarion was surprisingly soft for someone so well-traveled. You couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up your neck, all the way your cheeks and the tips of your ears, when his brows furrowed - making a face signifying some sort of exertion. You wondered which of your late-night escapades he was dreaming of. A smirk crossed your face.

Gently and carefully, you unlace his trousers - eager to relieve his pent-up feelings of frustration that plague him during his rest. You reach for his cock, freeing the weight from its restraints. A small, pearly bead of pre-cum drips from his flushed tip, practically begging to be touched. Gods. He was gorgeous. You glide your hand up and down his length, occasionally brushing your thumb over his weeping tip. You feel him pulse underneath you with every tug and squeeze - his face scrunching in sleepy pleasure. Part of you wanted to see him come undone completely, writhing in bliss beneath you like he deserved, but the other part of you wanted to keep this discreet - allowing him to remain “asleep” as to not disturb his much needed rejuvenation period.

“A-ah…” Astarion lets out a soft moan, almost undetectable if not for your unwavering focus on his figure. Truly, this man was sculpted by the gods - planes of hard muscle decorated with smooth, pale skin. The vampire’s eyes flutter open as you continue to jerk him, his whines of delight slowly increasing in volume as he becomes more aware of his surroundings.

“Darling,” he whispers, his blood-red eyes staring intensely into yours. His head tilts back, pushing further into the pillow beneath him while he succumbs to the pleasure you’re giving him. “To what do I… o-owe this pleasure?”

You smile down at him, staring into his lidded gaze with adoration. “Just wanted to make you feel good, ‘Star.” you hum, pumping him faster and feeling his dick twitch under your fingertips. He reaches up, wrapping a large hand around your neck and pulling you down to meet him in a searing kiss. Despite his tired demeanor, he pours a surprising amount of intensity into the kiss - reveling in the heat shared between your mouths.

Just as he reaches his climax, Astarion tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth, biting into you in true vampiric-fashion and savoring the crimson liquid that pools from your mouth. It only seems to spur on his orgasm, masking his senses with white-hot bliss while he bucks up into your hand, cum dripping down your wrist and pooling on his abdomen.

Once he has come down from his high, he pulls away from you, leaning back down to the pillow. You lean over him, picking up a nearby wash-rag and gently cleaning up his release before cuddling up next to him. Astarion glances over at you, a spent look of happiness on his face. He flashes you a fangy grin before planting a soft peck on your cheek.

“You’re quite bold aren’t you, darling?” he chuckles, sighing as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Your lover wraps himself around you, entangling his limbs with yours in a deep embrace. “Toying with me during my slumber. Such a minx.”

You giggle, carding your fingers through his white curls, nuzzling closer to him. “Just trying to help you rest, love.”

“That, you did.” he smirks, taking another deep breath before drifting back into a trace - with your sleep following shortly after.

day 2 complete! hope u guys like it <3

divider by @cafekitsune

[soxcietyy]

Train

Yuta x fem reader

Yuta and you are going back home from a long mission but he decided to get back at you for teasing him all day.

You had brought this upon yourself unfortunately. All the teasing and comments you’ve been throwing at Yuta all day had finally come to bite you. You thought it was a smart idea to test his patience today. You would drag your hand on his crotch and simply run away once he would try to grab a hold of you.

"We’re on a mission Yuta! Remember what they told us, no funny business!"

Then you would leave him standing there speechless as he ran his hand through his hair. Inhaling deeply to control the urge to chase you down and pin you to the ground. Like a wolf catching a wild rabbit for its meal.

You breath hitches as his finger slowly lifted your uniform skirt up. Looking down at you with a stupid smirk on his face as he saw you flush from embarrassment. He found it amusing how you were begging him with your eyes too stop. He could have done this anywhere in private but he decided he wanted to mess with you on a train full of people.

It was so packed that you didn’t think you guys were going to even be able to fit. Somehow he managed to maneuver you guys inside having your back on the wall will him caging you. You thought it was so sweet of him to protect you from behind squashed until you realized his true intentions.

Now he had the sly wild rabbit corned.

Once he lifted your skirt up to his desire he slid his his hand down your panties. You jolt as he brushes fingers against his favorite place. Your toes curl in your shoes as you bite in a moan. Closing the gap between you guy he leans his head down to the side of yours.

"Better keep quiet, unless you want people to know that you’re getting off on a train by my fingers." He whispers sending shivers down your spine.

He was right you had to be absolutely quiet because in Japan it was courtesy to not talk on the train. It was absolutely quiet in side of here. One little slip up and you would be kicked off. Grabbing a grip of his biceps you to try and get him off, you even start kicking his shin hoping to make him to stop. You could tell it was hurting him from the slight eye twitch he had just made. If you continued then he would absolutely quit.

Before you could get another kick you felt him quickly turn you and slammed you onto the window. You let out a gasp at the sudden surprise of now seeing the tunnels of where the train went through. Not only that but the reflection of Yuta’s stoic face in the window.

He began to rub circles gently on your heat with his middle finger. Going in a painfully slow manner. Keeping his eyes on how you squirmed under touch. He was clearly enjoying getting his revenge on you. Though would it be enough to please him? Or was he simply preparing you for what he had in store later?

You could feel how you quickly drenched his finger in your juices. How your body craved something more from him.

Another sharp inhale escapes you causing your hands to fly to your mouth when he increase the speed and pressure. Your knees began to buckle as your face heated up more.

You shake your head as you try to fight off any noise that was trying to get past your lips. It was almost impossible to not.

"You’re doing so good." He whispers.

You unconsciously began your grind on him making him groan into your ear. His low deep growl vibrating in your ears.

His fingers moved strategically from knowing how to get you to finish. It was simple from him really, after being with you for so long he obviously had to pick up on it.

You felt the end coming near. So near that you wanted to start sobbing from the extreme amount of pleasure you were receiving. You turn back to look at him with a pouting face. Begging him to stop and to continue when you guys got home. It was cruel to keep you in a position like this in such a public place.

He lets out a smile as he grabs your jaw with his hand.

"Nice try princess, now look straight ahead." He turns you to look back at the window.

When you did you noticed the train began to slow down.

No… he wouldn’t do such a thing, would he? You look outside to see people looking back at you. Trying to see how full the train cart was. At first you thought he was going to stop and then continue once you guys started to move again but you were wrong.

His digits did not stop moving and they weren’t getting any slower either.

You take a deep breath and grip onto the window frame intensely. Eventually you couldn’t hold it anymore and came undone. Letting out a small whimper as you felt your legs finally give up on you. Luckily Yuta was ready to catch you and stand you right back up.

"Why so quick? I was just starting to have fun."

[cheri-2047]

Lyney x Reader who hates their birthday

A/N: Thought of this prompt since my friend who used to hate their bday's birthday is near. Havent written anything in months so hopefully the quality isnt to bad... CHARACTERS: Lyney, TAGS: Angst with comfort in the end. SLIGHT SH mention (scratches). Fluff. Kissing (in a comforting way) btw I think "Cherie" means love or lovely

3....2....1... "Happy birthda-!...Sweetheart.?" Lyney opens the door to your bedroom at 12 AM, a fresh sweet cake in his hands. The house of the Hearth wasn't far and since he was your boyfriend, you gave him the keys. What Lyney didnt expect to see was you on your bed, curled up under the sheets, tears pouring down your face. "Ah Lyney!" You quickly wipe your face, trying to get rid of the (obvious) evidence. You sit up, smiling as you moved to give him space on the bed. "Mon Cher?" He mutters, quickly placing the cake down on your wooden bedside table. He sits on your soft, cold sheets as he wipes the remaining evidence of your previous emotions. "Whats wrong? Did somebody do something? Why are you...?" He looks worried. He frowns as he watches you struggling to not cry. He quickly pulls you into his warm embrace, patting your head as he does so. He mutters against your ear. "Y/N...You can cry, just tell me why?" He says, wanting nothing but to comfort you. He notices the way your red arms weakly hug him back...smiling at the small gesture. He always loved it when you-....wait. Red? He gently inspects your arms, looking down at them without holding them to not shock you. He see's the small red bumps on your arm, when he realizes what it is. "Scratchmarks..." "What?" You mutter, fidgeting slightly with your sleeve in shame. You averted your gaze from the man, subconsciously holding him tighter in a way to hide the marks. "Mon cher why..? Its your Birthday.." You felt a pang in your heart. Birthday... You thought. You despised this day. The one day meant for celebration only brought sorrow to you. Your thoughts running at a million miles an hour as you thought about the horrors of the day. You dreaded it, which caused you to accidentally harm yourself without even noticing. "Im sorry..." "No." Your eyes widen at his refusal, not knowing what to do and only feeling worse. You refuse to look at him, afraid of the possible look of anger and disapointment. "Dont apologize, no apologizing please...Mon Ange, why did you do this to yourself?" He mutters, holding your arm and frowning at the extent of the scratches. You dont see any trace of disappointment, but only worry and concern for you. "You know you can always talk to me right?" Ah there it was again. The one phrase you've heard multiiple times. They offer help but you cant help but refuse it. You've grown to be afraid of opening up. Scared for being perceived as weak, for the fear that you hurt others with your emotions. You never believed that you deserved a birthday, that you only bring harm to others. You're a bad person. You're a bad person who doesn't deserve anything. Nobody should celebrate your birth. You dont deserve to- "Y/N" He frowns, pulling your nails away from your arm. You snapped out of your thoughts, blinking rapidly at the confusion. "Please stop harming yourself" He mutters, rubbing the part of your arm that you didn't even realize you scratched. He frowned, bringing the scratched part to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it. "Please talk to me mon cher...Im worried..." You sighed, tears welling up in your arms. You had feared this, you were scared that he would force you to talk. But as you looked at his deep violet eyes, you only saw worry. Not anger.

You snuggle deeper into his warm embrace. Explaining to him that you never felt like you deserved to be celebrated. He listened, he nodded and rubbed your back as you let out your sorrows. He whispered soft reassurances in your ear. "Please dont believe that cherie...Everybody deserves to be born..." he mutters, fixing your hair, his gaze on the cake he placed on your nightstand. "It pains me to think that you're a monster when all I had seen you do is make others smile.... Sweetheart, you're a good person. Yes, we all make mistakes, but we also do good.." He pulled away, looking at your expression to make sure you understood. "We celebrate births because all of us have a place on earth..You weren't- You AREN'T a mistake. You deserve a celebration.." He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Please give me a chance to prove to you that your life is worth celebrating?" Smiling, he pulls away, wiping the remaining tears. As he watches you (hesitantly) nod, he gets the cake he made.

"Can I perform a trick?"

You see him pull out his deck of cards. You nod, curious to see what was happening.

"Pick a card...Any card"

You picked the card in the middle of the deck. You looked in confusion as he got the card from you. He then quickly pulled out a big box from it, filled with gifts for only you.

"Close your eyes..." You follow, letting him do whatever. He then sings a soft, comforting happy birthday song to you. When he finishes, he lets you blow the candle. and gives you the box of presents "I love you Mon Cherie, Happy birthday"

---

(NOT PROOFREAD!!!)

A/N: ANNNND THATS IT HAHAHAHAHAH anyways I havent written in awhile and im actually waiting for a meeting right now so I dont have time to color code it. Im so sorry for taking so long to write, I couldnt find the motivation and genuinely forgot that this acc existed. Thank you all!!! PS: REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[manmadejoyswithinmycomprehension]

Hiii I just wanted to say from what i’ve seen I really love your work and I was wondering if I could get some smut for Mr.Stitch? Preferably descriptions of male genitalia,If not then that’s fine also!

Hihi! Thank you for sending in a request! I hope I understood your request well, so here we have it :3 I feel like this wasnt up to par, so feel free to leave feedback!

Mr. Stitch x m!reader (NSFW)

tw: mentions of those little ghostly hands in the lake scene (slight spoilers? maybe, idk if it counts)

After another earthquake that switched and destroyed multiple paths, it was obviously clear that the way you came from was now dust, and the only way forward was a small metal bridge that went over the patch of water which you already knew was full of ghostly hands, eager to grab and drown anyone who dared to go near. You loitered nearby the ruins of rooms that once were filled with various objects, when an idea struck you: if you could find a crack in any surface, Mr. Gap could take you away! It felt like a thousand years as you searched for a space big enough to fit you, but to no avail. You slumped against a heap of concrete when heavy knocking and thumping shook up the area. The voice leaking from the other side sounded familiar; so, pointing your dominant hand to the blockage, you blasted it away. Cowering in a corner, Mr. Stitch was shaking like a leaf.

"You good?" Your voice bounces off the walls as you speak, redirecting his attention towards you. A wide smile erupts on his face, and he throws himself in your arms.

"Thing fell my head, me sleep long! Me happy see you!"

...ah, something knocked him out. Explains why it was so quiet before. You reach out and rub his hair awkwardly in an attempt to comfort him. Having released him, you did your best to communicate with him and pointed towards the only available exit. His eye twitched, and he leaned down to take a good look at the water.

"Safe!" He exclaimed before strutting along the bridge. When he hands sprung out and dragged him down, you were quick to pull him back up, water splashing all over the place, the bridge now slippery and mostly unusable.

So, as a last resort, you and Mr. Stitch decided to wait until the bridge was dry again and then run over it as fast as possible. While you were sitting on the cold floor, the man wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled into your neck.

"Bored... Want fun?"

Lower and lower went his hand, slipping under your clothes, starting to tease your cock. His expression was unreadable, mainly because of the hair covering most of his face, but as he started to stroke faster, your mind went blank. The potent mix of frustration, arousal and weariness exploded inside of your body, making your back arch. Mr. Stitch seemed to enjoy seeing you weakened and at his mercy - while you were too stimulated to pay attention, he removed your clothes, and was now actively trying to loosen you up. In response, you collapse on him, your warm cheek resting against his icy chest. Showing no sign of stopping, the ghostly figure shoved two fingers inside of your mouth, poking and pulling the tongue that slithered around them. With a loud pop, he retracted and spat on them for good measure.

For a little while, he let go of your tormented cock and bent you over his lap. Precum pooled beneath your stomach, forming a small spot on the dirty floor. Your knees scraped against the rough material once Mr. Stitch moved you, his big hand now making contact with the sensitive flesh of your ass. An embarrassingly high-pitched squeal rips from your throat, making the other one laugh.

"Fun! You fun!"

You turn your head around quickly, glaring daggers at him. Mr. Stitch smirks, spanking you again with no remorse. Before you could punch him or squirm away, he inserts the two slimy fingers inside of you, relishing the way you reacted. With his free hand, he keeps you steady, as the other vigorously pumps in and out of your now sloppy hole. Your toes curl and your muscles tense, the sensation pulsing throughout your body. The strange man fucks you with his fingers harder and harder, the vibrations reaching your cock and acting as yet another stimulus. Suddenly, he shoves you down on your back, his head now between your thighs. He took your sensitive length in his mouth, sucking on it and teasing the tip with his tongue as he added a third finger. You grasped his hair and tugged on it harshly, unable to think whether you should push or pull him to you. You teetered on the brink of climax, your vision blurry as you clamped your thighs around his face and forced him to take your cum down his throat. Your legs fell limp at his sides, and he snapped his fingers in front of you to catch your attention. Mr. Stitch made a loud gulping noise and opened his mouth, winking at you.

"You tasty! Me good, see?"

You groan at the sight, dropping back to the floor. Your body was shaking due to the cold and the earlier activities, and a sudden clarity washed over you... Did you seriously just do that? With a mildly insane ghost? What is wrong with-

"Up!"

Mr. Stitch dragged you by your legs, turned you around and folded you into a pretzel, until your knees touched your shoulders, and his chest pressed up against your back. You were placed directly above his throbbing cock, a bulging, prominent vein running along his shaft catching your attention. The tall man licked your ear, eliciting a gasp out of you and a shudder. He lowered you onto him with a gentleness which was unusual for his character. As you peeked back at his face, you noticed it was scrunched up in a pleasured expression, eyebrows furrowed and lips shut tight. His cheeks were rosy and his forehead was stuck to the nape of your neck - it was weirdly endearing, seeing him like that. But your fascination didn't last long, the daydream interrupted by his thrusting. The first few movements were to test the waters, and you could hear him whispering "where" repeatedly, as if searching for something. It didn't feel bad, but it didn't feel amazing either, having something poke and prod at your insides. You held in your voice, sometimes breathing out tiny whimpers. It didn't take long for Mr. Stitch to find what he wanted, his feat signaled by a lewd scream coming from you.

"Here!"

He held your legs tighter, now using you like a toy as he bounced you up and down his hardened length. The animalistic pounding against your prostate fueled your arousal, Mr. Stitch's exaggerated moans right next to your ear doing anything but diminishing it. You'd never felt such sensations before, and you desperately tried to hold onto something - anything, your hands reaching back to scratch his waist. Inevitably, you were going to fall. In response, Mr. Stitch brought you closer to the wall separating your small area from the haunted waters. You leaned your arms against it, sliding down slowly as the ghost wrapped himself against your torso. He moved you once again, closer to the water, one of your feet resting on the bridge, the other on a small, dry space between the wall and the murky liquid. Mr. Stitch was now beneath you, thrusting wildly in your abused hole, until you stumbled backwards and relied on your arms for support. Transparent hands shot out from the waters, grabbing your cock and stroking it without mercy, focusing on the tip and the underside of the shaft. Mr. Stitch grabbed your nipples, tweaking and pinching them until they were bright red and aching, now hard and sensitive. Unable to hold it in any longer, you let your moans spill out as you came, milking the ghostly man for all he had. The hands coaxed you through your orgasm, and they would have continued if it wasn't for your partner dragging you away.

Your ears rang as Mr. Stitch dressed you up and threw you over his shoulder, patting your ass for good measure as he walked hastily along the bridge.

"You fun! We stay together!"

Something made you think that this wouldn't be the last time you see him. Just a hunch, though.

[nor-4]

Daemon and Reader as Catherine punishing Peter scene.

"Ah, I wanted to talk to you.." Daemon startledly said as you burst the door open as you walk nearly run infront of him with anger, "I want you to meet the pups I stole" He happily said pointing at the dogs that he recently stole from somewhere in the street.

He opened his mouth to talk again but was cut off by you slapping him enough to make his head move, "This is my court and my rules." You said loud enough for the words to echo around the room.

"I-"

"You fucking killed my guard again didn't you?" You accused him looking at him with fierce he have seen for many times but it still makes him shaken for some reason and horny. "I did. And felt bad about it." Daemon gulped as if he really meant what he said.

"This random violence is not the way of my court." You lowered your voice a bit into normal but the anger didn't leave your tone, "He called me dickhead."

"That is your answer?" You asked him thinking about how stupid it does sound, sometimes you will laugh at his jokes and actions like this. But the fun is dead when he is about to get exiled again if you didn't do a good convincing with viserys for him to stay and give another chance. "I killed a man because he called me dickhead?" You mocked his words into his face.

"Do you hear how that sounds?" You asked once again but it seems like he is not paying attention nor care for the consequences of his actions, "Sounds perfectly logical." He answered which angers you more than you will ever be.

"Violence is not the answer to everything."

"It is a language that everyone understands. You will not get far if you do not come to terms with that." Daemon tried to reason what he did which is your last straw, "Fine. Guards." You called turning your back at daemon just to face the door as you saw ser harwin and ser criston enter the door.

"Beat the fuck out of him." You ordered after facing daemon again, "Funny. You're a witty creature. At times. The point is so slight, one almost does not." Daemon tried joking as the guards starting to walk near him as he turn at the guards stopping from his yapping, "What the fuck are you two doing?"

That's the last words he said before a punch was deliver direct to his stomach, he is near to be called kinslayer but let's not lie he still can't take punches. He only wins a fight when he punch the living demon out of a person without even them getting to touch him.

He was thrown at the floor as the guards starting to stomp him same reasons for aemond and Aegon who are also in the room to stand up but helaena who are in the same room as them just stayed on her seat and drink her tea in silence, she does know how woman's anger can be and truly understands yours. They do hate daemon with the every hair in their skin but that doesn't mean they wouldn't care for him who just got beat up over a petty fight.

"Hey!" Aegon tried to intervene just to get shut down, "Help and you will be shocked. My husband and I are busy discussing an issue." You explained before turning your back at them as they just sat down learning not to also face your anger.

You decide it's probably the time to stop this as you walked near him and bow down just for him to hear your point, "Can you hear me now?" You mocked him.

"Fucking hell." Aegon said in shock with mouth agape, he is a bit thankful that he is betrothed with helaena even though he have fantasies you many times. "Enough." You said after hearing a husky grunts from him, the guards immediately stopped and walked behind you leaving daemon who just curled up.

"All of you, out!" You said as they hurriedly left the room, "What the fuck?" Daemon said standing up to his feet. "Yeah if that had actually hurt. I'd be quite angry right now." He said with wide eyes trying to catch his breath from earlier.

"Is that how you wish me to make my point?" You asked him again discussing your point since he never learn from a simple word, "I said I wasn't proud of it. Clearly it would be better I had not." he reasons once again.

"For you I will try to be better next time. Now I would like to go truffle hunting with my new dog." he said pointing at the dogs again as if he is not beaten, "No." You disagree on him.

"Do not be a bitch. You kicked me and made your point. I've taken it graciously. The difference between lovers." he joked as if anything would be better, "We are not lovers. We will never be lovers. You are bloodthirsty thug, and I wish I had killed you when I had the chance." You spight at him. Daemon already knows that feeding your anger will be worse, he hates how lower you can get when he says something. It can be a joke or not but he knows that everything you say when you are angry is not something serious because arguing with each other is your hobby, for some reason.

"Guards. Grab his dogs." You walked away from him as the guards hurriedly get the dog before daemon do. "Lock him in." You ordered as all of you raced to leave the room as ser criston was the one to leave to fastly shut the door at demon's face.

[elfven-blog]

Let me help

Summary: You put your stepbrother in his place

RE2 Sub!Stepbrother!Leon Kennedy x F!Reader

CW: MDNI, 18+, STEPCEST, fingers, thigh riding (leon), mutual masturbation, slight breeding, female anatomy for reader. Leons a bit of a brat? Readers a little mean, if your squint. If I have missed anything please let me know Credit Inspiration: @angelscoda and @lipglossanon​

Just because I write this does not mean I condone it in real life.

Word count: 2.5K

Your world came crashing down the day your father remarried, not in a ‘she’ll never be my mum!!’ way but more in ‘oh fuck, I’m stuck with that ass as a stepbrother’ way. You really disliked him; ever since high school and it was a breath of fresh air when you moved for university. And then when you moved back after finishing your degree, just until you got your own place you said, you were forced into a house with him.

Him. And his stupid grin, and stupid pretty blue eyes and stupid soft blonde hair that made your fingers twitch to touch it. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t loathing. But these thoughts didn’t mean you wanted to be friendly with him. Did it mean you wouldn’t have minded fucking his brains out? Until he was begging you after you’d put him in his place. Because that’s what he needed, he’s such a brat just because he’s a little older and thinks he can boss you around.

What you’d give to have him whimpering below you, tears falling from his eyes as he bucks his hips up, his bottom lip trembling as he looks at you with pleading eyes to do something, anything. Your head shakes to rid you of the thoughts as you continue to clean the fireplace, until the cloth was snatched out your hand.

You turn with a disgruntled noise, and there stand you stepbrother before you with that smug grin on his face as he holds the cloth far above your head “Awe, what’s up lil sis, can’t reach?” his taunting only made you want to put him in his place more, show him exactly what you could reach. With a roll of your eyes, you lifted to reach for the material, and he pulled backward with a snicker. A scoff left your mouth as you surged forward again, grabbing his arm to pull you up as he moved his arm to knock yours off and push you away slightly.

“Leon, will you just give me the damn thing!” There was an undeniable frustration in your voice as you spoke causing his grin to grow further as he bent his head mockingly at you. He stepped towards you and held the cloth out, a pout on his mouth. You roll your eyes, knowing this is some sort of trap as it always is, but still, something compels you to reach out. And of course, he steps back immediately taking the cloth with him as your face contorts into a displeased frown.

Both of you let out a short yell as Leon miscalculates how far he steps back, his hand reaching to grab at you in an attempt to steady himself but instead causing the both of you to fall onto the floor. “Ah shit” Leon groaned as you landed on him, your own curses falling from between your lips. With an annoyed sigh you moved to get up but were stopped by hold of Leons hand on your shirt as your thigh grazed just between his legs.

A soft moan escaped him, eyes closed as his hips pressed down against your thigh. Surprise flooded you veins at the sound and movement, before you caught your bottom lip between your teeth and pressed your thigh against him more causing more of those lovely sounds to fall from him. His fingers curled further into your shirt before he pushed himself away as if he’d just been stabbed. A bright red blush settled over his face as his eyes shot open “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, we shouldn’t”.

His words floated in your mind as you crawled after him, eye clouded with lust. One of your hands rested near his waist while the other traced lightly up the fabric clinging to his thigh, his breath catching in his throat at the feather touch. The blue of his eyes was being swallowed by his pupils the closer you got “It’s okay, big brother, just let me help” his head fell back against the couch, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he looked at you. The dirtiest thoughts going through his mind as he looked down his little stepsisters shirt, the sight of your tits only causing his cock to strain in his jeans.

Your fingers tracing the outline of his erection was all it took for his mouth to fall open with a groan and he was nodding. His thighs twitching under your touch as you move your thigh to its previous position, pressing close enough for him to feel the pressure and rut his hips down against your own thigh. Attention was focused on the way he pressed himself to your leg before you moved forwards to catch his mouth in a messy kiss, tongue licking into his tongue as the whines leaving him were smothered by your lips.

Leon moved his hands to his zipper, the sound catching your attention as you pulled away and stopped his hands. Eyes darkening as you glanced him up and down “Oh no no” he whined at your words, brow furrowing in confusion as you pulled his hands away and applied more pressure with your thigh “You’re such a fucking brat, you’re gonna cum like this” his eyes widened at the idea, mouth opening with no words coming out before a pout formed on his lip.

He never knew such words could flow from your mouth, but how it sounded so sweet with such honey coated words dripping such sin and God did he want ore, he’d do anything to hear more. His bottom lip trembled as he pouted “Please, ‘m sorry, wanna fuck your cunt so bad please little sister”. The smirk that grew on your face alerted him to how his pleads wouldn’t work, not tonight anyway.

“Awe, my poor brother! Need sisters pussy to cum, huh?” your hand moved to his hip guiding him to fuck against your thigh “prove how sorry you are, and maybe I’ll let you try to fill me up” a sneer replaced the smirk on your lips as you looked at him with dark eyes, only serving to make him grind his cock down onto your thigh as his eyes glanced down your top again “Doubt you could do anything though”.

You watched as his hips moved in a rushed pace, his breath becoming uneven as he humped at your thigh. The fabric of his boxers sticking to him below his jeans from the weeping precum, a dark spot growing on his jeans as his hands clawed to grasp at your waist. His fingers sinking into the soft skin as he pulled you closer “please, I will. I’ll fill you, so good, promise I can”. The words he spoke caused your clit to throb and slick to fill your panties at how he begged and promised.

His hips still pushed against your thigh, the rough fabric giving him just the right amount of friction you guided him with your hand on his hip “Be good, and then I’ll think about it” a low moan fell from his parted lips as his head lolled back on his lip pulled between his teeth. His thighs trembled and his pace stuttered as the dark spot grew larger on his jeans, your grin widening as you realised he came, tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh god, fuck, I didn’t, I’ve never, not that quickly” the words tumbled from his mouth as he looked at you with confusion flooding his eyes, the pink dusting his cheeks grew darker and his hands gripped you that bit harsher. Your tongue darted out to wet your lip as a hand moved to soothe at his cheek, Leon immediately leaning into your palm. He watched as your eyes drooped into a half-lidded expression and something flashed through them before you leaned forward and pressed a hot kiss to his mouth, tongue darting between parted lips.

Leon took your tongue into his mouth, sucking onto it with desperation as he pulled you closer until your straddling him and he’s grinding up into you “I’ve been good, gonna let me fuck your pussy? Yea you are, right? Please, need it, want it” His hands travelled from their place on your waist to cup between your thighs, your own moan built in your throat at the feeling of him palming at you before you pull away and stop his hand.

He pretends to try and tug his hand out your grasp, a fake groan of annoyance leaving him before he gave up and looked at you with a pout. There was something about having your fresh police academy graduate of a stepbrother, whose built of lithe muscle underneath you almost crying for you to just sit on his cock that makes you soak your underwear. “No, I never said I would let you. I said I’d think about it” you moved his hand to slide under your skirt so he can feel the dampness gathered on your panties, the pads of his fingers trace along your lips covered by the fabric.

“But I was good, wasn’t I? Did what you asked and everything, please little sister. Need to cream your cunt, please, wanna breed you so badly. Just use my cock, please.” The sudden words from him caused your eyes to widen slightly before your lips downturned into a mocking pout, much like he had done earlier that night.

“Oh yeah? Wanna breed your little sisters pussy, huh? Think you deserve it after everything you’ve done? Because I don’t.” Leon whined that you were being unfair, his fingers pressing against the hidden bundle of nerves separated by the fabric. You tutted at him, shaking your head slowly “keep whining like this, and you won’t get anything more” that shut him up.

You could see the defiance building in his eyes again as he moved your panties to the side, fingers slipping into the wetness and causing your legs to tense from the sudden touch as you stared at each other, you watched as his mouth opened no doubt with some kind of bratty comeback which stopped in his throat as you palmed at his dick, sensitive from the quickly spun orgasm you had given him.

With the response dead on his tongue, his hips stuttered up again into your palm and his fingers moved to gather slick from your hole before moving to swirl at your throbbing clit causing a low moan to fall from your mouth as you pulled his zipper down and your hand moved into his boxers. Fingers wrapping around the hot wet skin of his filled-out cock, his breath thickening at the touch of your hand as you pulled him out his boxers.

The sight almost had you drooling as you rolled his foreskin back, his head was the prettiest red you’d seen add the ropes of his previous orgasm and you could sit there licking at him for hours. But not today, maybe another you thought as you used the cum covering your palm to move your hand up and swipe over the angry red tip, drawing one of those pretty whines out of him as his own fingers continued circling your clit.

As your hand slowly made its way down his cock, his fingers changed to the same pace, sliding through the wetness gathered to the pulsing hole. You leant forward, legs shaking from the pleasure as his finger teased round the entrance, your head leaning on his shoulder as you squeezed at his base, and he groaned before pushing two fingers into you. “Oh fuck” tumbled from your mouth at the stretch, eyes watching as his cock kicked in your hold and his hips bucked up. “See, knew you could be good if you tried hard enough”

His breath was short in your ear as he tried to reply, fingers working themselves in you as the sound of your slick filled the house, the new pace causing your thighs to squeeze together as you rocked down on his fingers. But not being one to be outdone, you squeezed the base again before shlick schlick shlick rang out and you set a harsher pace that had him almost panting as his head fell against yours. Leons hand moved slightly, and you moaned at the new angle before his palm pressed to your clit and your hips immediately pressed into the friction.

Your other hand moved, causing you to place your entire weight on him as a finger moved to lightly trace at the head of his fat cock, a deep groan rolling through his chest at the feeling, his cock jerking under your touch as he felt the wet of your tongue dart out to his skin “Look at you like” yours hips continued riding on his palm “So pretty and quiet, bet this was all you needed big brother. Someone to take care of you” his nose pressed into your hair as his fingers delved deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside before curling. A high whine leaving you at the feeling of an impending orgasm building.

“No, not someone. Need you little sister, need you to put your big brother in his place” and with the way his hips piston up into your hands at his own words, and the leaking precum dripping down over your fingers you knew he was close again. For a moment you contemplate pulling away, but the way he looks and the dirty words flowing from his mouth stops you. His hand pushes up again as your soft walls clench around him.

“Well, aint that sweet, just needed my help big brother” your finger moves over the head of his cock again and that’s what pushes him over the edge “There we go, that’s it. Let go for your little sister” your attention is on the way he throbs in your hand, hot ropes of sticky cum covering your hand as his head lolls back and he whines deep in his throat. And he just keeps going, thighs twitching next to your own as he covers your hand and his jeans, his hand moves slightly from its position, his thumb coming to play with your pulsing clit as his fingers continue their assault on your soaking hole.

Your orgasm follows not too long after his, gushing out around his hand as it covers your thighs before he’s pulling out. His eyes are still closed as you move to arrange your ruined underwear again, eyes glancing over the way he looks. He feels you moving back and opens his eyes to watch as you stand before his hands reaching for you “Wait, where going?”

A grin grows on your face as you grab the cleaning cloth and throw it at him “I’m going to go shower; you’re going to clean this up before the parents come home” and with that you’re turning on your feet and heading for the stairs. Hearing him yell out that it’s unfair as you shrug and continue to the bathroom.

“Guess you should have thought about that”.

[fantasyandshit]

Whether you like it or not

Type: One shot

Pairing: Eris x fem reader

Based off of this request

I slowly step down the stairs, careful not to trip over my self, I’m dressed in a dark gown, the gold details shimmering in the fae lights, my hair is laying down my back I’m soft curls, my water line shaded with kohl and a slight tint added to my lips. “Ah there she is.” Rhysand smiles, his arm wrapped around Feyre.

“Well can you blame me? This dress was,” I pause to think of the words, “confusing to put on.”

“Oh but you look hot as fuck girl.” I smirk as my eyes find Morrigans, dressed in a fabulous red dress as always, gold details around the edges and a slit straight up the side, a plunging v-line showing off her full breasts and heavy gold jewelry accenting it perfectly.

“As always.” We chuckle for a moment before sighs escape us in unison and we pair up to winnow to the court of nightmares. It was a dreaded but necessary meeting with Eris and Keir. One I hoped would be quick or I may stab myself before the night ends.

I had never had a problem with Eris really. I had been there the day of the incident with Mor and knew the truth, something that still bothered me to this day was her lies but I never said anything. I couldn’t.

———

I file in with the rest of my family stood in between Cassian and Azriel, my heels clacking and my dress swaying. My shoulders were pulled back, my head held high and a near sneer lay on my face as I gazed forward, never to the crowd.

As I take my place at the foot of the dais, Rhysand takes his seat, Feyre on his lap as she commands us to bow. I drop to my knee in respect, only rising when she tells us too. It is then that I catch sight of the fiery red hair in the crowd, unmistakably the prince of Autumn. We make eye contact, his lips pulling into one of his signature smirks before he disappears into the crowd.

The night continues on, nothing of interest happening as I await the time after this “party” for our meeting so we may get it done and over with. As a new song begins, I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a voice I know all too well, deep and gravely. “May I have this dance, princess.” A smirk of my own graces my features as my hand is placed in his.

“I suppose you may.” My eyes track his body as I’m pulled into the swirling crowd. I can feel the heirs fiery warmth against me as we sway and spin to the music. “So why the sudden urge to dance with my prince.”

“Oh don’t pretend- you know I take pleasure in our escapades every time we have to attend one of these blasted meetings.” That was true, me and Eris often sought each other out when we had to attend the same events, much to my family’s dismay. I had gotten into several arguments with Cass, Rhys, Az, and Mor over the years but I couldn’t explain this pull I felt towards the Fox.

‘Fox.’ I had called Eris that since shortly after we first met, his predatory gaze and orange hair reminding me of the animal, along with other things. I just couldn’t explain the reason but this male was just a fox.

“That’s fair. So what have you been up to Fox.”

A long sigh leaves him as he pulls me in for a dip, “oh my gods it’s been horrid, as I get closer to over taking the throne, more and more must be done, I’ve had back to back meetings all week.”

I shudder at the idea of all that- it sounded like torture, “that sounds Horrid.”

“Oh it is, believe me princess.”

Eris pulls me in one more time as the beat starts to simmer out, signifying the end of the song. We’re close enough for our breaths to mix, my eyes meeting his.

Oh

My

Gods

This could not

Be happening

There’s now way. It’s not possible.

But sure enough as I gasp, falling further into Eris’ touch, I feel the snap of the golden string, and judging by his flinch, he does too. It feels like the world stops, everything blurring around as all I see is him.

He’s all I feel

All I breath

He’s everything

We simply stare into each others eyes for what feels like an eternity, our breaths matching, chests heaving in heavy pants. “You’re my mate.” It’s the softest I’ve ever heard the male speak as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I’m your mate.”

A small smile breaks across his face, it’s sincere, filled with emotion. Not like his usual smirk. His eyes are wet as his brows pull up.

“Everyone out.” I’m broken from my stupor by the low growl of my high lord…shit. I move to leave with Eris wrapped around my arm. “You two. Stay.” He looks pointedly at the two of us. I felt like a child about to be scolded. I’d never seen Rhysand so angry. Mor looked on in disbelief, Azriel looked down right mortified, Cassian looked nearly as angry as Rhysand, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared at the heir of Autumn. Feyre looked shocked, scared but she couldn’t fully grasp the situation in front of her. Amren of course hid her smirk behind a goblet.

Me and my mate. My. My mate. My mate. Eris is my mate. Holy fucking mother above. Me and my mate make our way to the front of the dais, facing Rhysand. Eris’ eyes are hardened as he stares at the big lord, his hand wrapped tightly around my waist.

“Reject it.” His tone is flat as he speaks, it terrifies me seeing him this angry, this calm and raging at me.

“No.” It comes out a growl as I address my high lord. I don’t know what came over me but I refused to let him disrespect me and my mate like this. Refused to let him go.

“No?”

“Yes. She said no. She will not reject the bond and neither will I.”

Darkness and night swirl around the room as Rhys ad starts to lose his cool. “Yn please.” It’s a plea from Morrigan, I turn to face the blond who stands in the corner. “You know what he did to me.”

“Oh cut the bull shit Morrigan! You forget I was there! I saw with my own eyes, I’m tired of going along with your half truth! Stop this nonsense!”

Cassian shakes as he looks to me, Azriel looks saddened and Rhysna and Feyre simply stare in shock at my outburst. But I’m not done. Not yet.

“I’m sick and tired of MY MATE being pictured as this evil tyrant of a male! Rhysand, you know most view you that way? It’s a mask- have you ever stopped to think maybe Eris must put one on too. It’s survival! And I’m so sick and tired of Mor claiming pitty over something that is a half truth. Eris saved her. She knows it, he knows it, I. Know it. Now, if you have any issues with my mate then kindly fuck off! I won’t be rejecting this, I won’t be leaving him. He is my mate. Mine. You should be happy I found someone! Rhysand you remember that feeling with Feyre? It’s my turn to have that! My turn to feel that love.”

“But Yn-“

“I think that’s enough Rhysand. Yn has made her feelings very clear. Neither of us will be leaving this. We will both be pursuing this bond whether you agree with it or not.” I look to Eris as he holds me, a smile coming back to his face as we winnow away.

What. The. Fuck have I done?

—————

Thank you so much anon for the request! I hope this lives up to your expectations!

[tenderleavesbob]

For longer than Wild would like to admit, Warriors intimidated him. His armor shone, his weapons and shield were always perfectly maintained, and he always seemed collected and proud even when he was teasing Legend and Twilight. A true Knight, moreso than the silent soldier from Wild's memories.

Wild stirred the soup and couldn't stop grinning as he watched Warriors now. It was the end of a long day, and Warriors had stripped out of his armor. He stood beside Twilight now, chatting as he brushed his hair.

Right behind Warriors, frowning with concentration, Wind brushed his own hair.

Warriors stopped and gestured with his brush. Twilight nodded to whatever he was saying, a smile tugging at his mouth.

Wind stopped and waved his brush in the air. He cocked his head to the side in a motion which reminded Wild of the dogs at the stables. Wild bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Warriors cocked his hip and rested his empty hand on it.

Wind mimicked the motion.

From Twilight's angle, he could see Wind, too. His eyes sparkled and he was losing his battle against his smile. Warriors looked confused and leaned toward Twilight. Wild wouldn't be surprised if he was asking if Twilight was all right based on the look on Warriors's face and Twilight's quick nod.

Wind leaned forward, too, mimicking how Warriors kept his hand on his hip and his brush in the air.

Wild thought he was going to die. He was going to keel over into his soup and die on his choked laughter. How did he ever think that Warriors was intimidating?

Warriors rolled his eyes at Twilight and resumed brushing his hair. Long, smooth strokes which made Wild notice the waves and slight curls in Warriors's hair. Behind Warriors, Wind resumed brushing his hair with the same exact strokes.

Wild's hand twitched. He had to focus on correctly stirring the soup instead of mimicking those motions, too.

On the other side of the camp, Time watched Warriors and Wind, too. He wasn't bothering to hide his smile, nor the adoration on his face. Wild caught his eye, and Time grinned at him before going back to watching the pair.

The soup was almost done. Wild was hungry but would have preferred to watch the pair a little longer. Watching Wind mimic Warriors wasn't just sweet: it was hopeful. It was a reminder that even the Hero of Warriors, a war captain, was more than just a Knight.

It was a reminder that Wild wasn't a failure as a Knight.

"Wild?" Four called. Wild looked away from Warriors and Wind to see Four, Legend, and Hyrule staring hopefully at him. "Is dinner ready?"

Ah, well. He was sure he would have another opportunity in the near future to watch the pair.

"Soup's on!" Wild called.

[tunastime]

A Minute in the Morning

so I started playing pokemon legends arceus. crumples to the ground. (2762 words)

In a hazy, rusty morning light, Ingo wakes up.

It’s a slow start—like his office computer, taking a whole ten minutes to finish booting, enough to stir sugar into his morning coffee and dissect his breakfast sandwich into parts. It feels like it takes just about that much time for Ingo to become aware of where he’s lying, which is in bed. Which is not where he fell asleep to begin with, which means that someone lifted him to bed and tucked him in. Which was rather sweet. Because he’s burrowed into the covers like a happy drilbur, keeping the cold from his fingers and toes and nose. He finally blinks his eyes open, and it’s sunrise that fills his room. Not his room. Scratch that. Emmet’s room. No wonder the blankets are so much lighter than he remembers them being. Nevertheless. Happy drilbur. He weasels a little more into the pillow. From either side of him, something moves. It’s slight, if there, but as he cranes his neck, slow and careful, he can see a dark head of hair on one side, and silver-white on the other. 

Ingo’s heart swells a fraction too big and too warm for his chest as he sighs out.

Elesa and Emmet haven’t woken up yet, which is a plus. If he were to move too much and move them he might lose the warmth from either side. Elesa’s shoulder rests against the crest of his back, and Emmet’s holding onto his elbow with one hand. The grip is loose at best, but the warmth, both from shoulder to spine and hand to elbow, seeps through him.

It’s blurry. Just everything. It kind of mushes together in his brain, like jam. Or maybe jelly. It doesn’t really matter. If he thinks too hard, his stomach starts to twist in knots, and he’d rather not feel sick while he’s trying to enjoy his morning. He remembers falling asleep while the television played the night prior—nighttime skits and commercials he filtered out until Emmet’s shoulder became the comfiest thing. He supposes that sometime between that point, and the point which he’s just woken up, Elesa came in, and at some other point, he was carted off to bed. It’s nice, though. The blankets make just enough weight over him to soothe ache and anxiety, and it’s warm, and he’s mostly thinking about how nice a cup of coffee sounds right now. Maybe a latte. Something warm. He shuts his eyes again.

The light is surprisingly yellower when he wakes up again. There’s still a warm weight on both sides of him, but it feels different than before. It stretches over him, too, more than just the weighted blanket that’s been added on top of him. He peeks an eye open to find Eelektross slumped over him, his large head curled near Ingo’s shoulder and his similarly large eyes shut as he snores. Ingo snorts, trying to shift to his back with the weight over him, without waking Eelektross. He does after a moment, settling once again, only for Eelektross to huff and fix one, tired eye on his face. Ingo smiles, just a little.

Wriggling a hand free, he pats Eelektross’ forehead, a path well pet and well loved.

“Good morning, you gigantic eel.”

Eelektross trills, nuzzling into Ingo’s hand.

“Mm, yes,” Ingo says. “I’m sure that definitely did not alert Emmet that I am awake, meaning I can’t fake any more sleep. Thank you Eelektross.”

The eel gives a happy sniff.

Ingo snorts.

Typical.

The door cracks open a moment later, the wide eyes of his brother peeking through. He raises his eyebrows, looking over Ingo and Eelektross still in bed. It comes with a little head tilt, something Ingo knows is indicative of an Emmet with a question.

“Sleep well?” he asks. Ingo nods.

“I think so,” he says. “I didn’t realize I’d be carried to bed when I fell asleep.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, eyebrows raising. “I made sure you stayed asleep when we carried you in. You’re a very deep sleeper when you want to be.”

It’s getting better, the gaps in his memory. It’s not enough to trust himself to start his duties as a Subway Boss again, but it's enough to have a few doctor’s appointments and to speak with police and his boss and their coworkers. He’s remembered their pokemon, which is why Eelektross didn’t startle him. And he’s remembered enough for him to fall asleep on Emmet’s shoulder with no care in the world. Enough for life to begin to settle from the chaos. Today is Tuesday, which means Emmet has the day off, and Ingo can tell, even as he reaches to wipe sleep from his eyes, that Emmet is still in his pajamas. He opens the door a little wider, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Ah,” Ingo echoes. “Was it Elesa’s idea to sleep in your room rather than my own?”

“It was,” Emmet concedes, smiling. “But I am Emmet, and I make a very good pillow.”

“You are Emmet and you are a very clingy sleeper,” Ingo says, letting his eyes shut again. Emmet makes a startled noise.

“Go-Go, don’t fall asleep again,” he yaps. “Your breakfast will get cold.”

Slowly, Ingo opens one eye, looking at his brother in the doorway. Eelektross snuffs into his shoulder, wriggling off of him. He grunts as the eel’s weight shifts off, leaving him free, but cooler.

“What’s for breakfast?” he says, watching Eelektross wriggle off the bed and toward Emmet. Emmet opens the door a bit further, takes a step back, and hefts the eel into his arms, knees bending with the weight. Ingo watches Emmet giggle to himself, shifting Eelektross in his arms to better wrap around his neck and arms, weight heavy against him. Clearly.

“Pancakes,” Emmet huffs. He’s still smiling, something almost infectious.

“Alright,” Ingo sighs.

“I also cut some fruit.”

“I’m getting up,” Ingo grumbles, rolling onto his side before he peels himself up and into a sit.

“I think Elesa left her nice coffee creamer, also.”

“I’m already up, Em,” Ingo snorts, trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to convince me.”

Emmet laughs again.

“Just adding!” he says cheerily, wobbling off toward the living room. In the open doorway, Ingo can see the sprawl of their living room and kitchen, lit by yellow daylight. Ingo sighs, stretching his arms above his head, twisting around. When the room settles, he stands, and he realizes that the room is warm around him. Emmet must’ve turned the heat on, and it must actually be working. He hums as he combs his hair back, wandering into the bathroom to wash his face.

When he finally makes it to the kitchen table, Emmet is sitting at the table, scrolling on his x-transceiver. He’s changed into a cream-colored, high collared sweater, his hair held back with a small headband. Eelektross is lying across the couch, head resting on the arm. There’s a plate of pancakes sitting in front of Ingo’s seat at the table, and a half-eaten plate in front of Emmet. He looks up as Ingo sits, raising his eyebrows.

“Good morning,” Emmet says. He nudges a cup of coffee toward Ingo. It’s a light brown color—likely the way that Ingo likes it. It helps they like their plain coffee the same way. If it were any other type of coffee, Ingo’s certain there would be some big disagreement—type of milk and way of prep and iced versus hot. But Ingo takes a long sip of hot coffee and nearly sighs in relief. Whatever fancy creamer Elesa buys really does make a plain cup of coffee so much better. He sits, nudging Emmet with his foot under the table.

“What are you reading?” he asks, gesturing with his fork to Emmet’s phone. Emmet holds it up.

“Article on a new electric rail system in Galar.” 

Ingo tilts his head, nodding along.

“Interesting. Any good?”

“Very efficient,” Emmet says, nodding along. He eventually pulls back, setting his phone face down on the table and returning to his pancakes. He takes a large bite, and through it, says:

“Maybe Gear Station should get some upgrades.”

Ingo snorts.

“We’re already quite efficient,” he says. “Do you think our trains could be quicker? Easier to board?”

Emmet shrugs.

“Wishful thinking. They’re already automatically driven, so there isn’t much more, but maybe longer cars to hold more passengers. Our trains are quite small.”

“Sounds expensive,” Ingo says, drinking his coffee. He pulls apart his stack of pancakes, poking at them with his fork.

“Maybe they’ve already got an upgrade in the works,” Emmet says. “It’s been a while since we’ve had an all-staff meeting. Perhaps we should inform the director.”

“Especially since I’ve returned and have about three years to catch up on, mm?”

Emmet smiles. It’s a bit tight, though. Ingo glances away, biting into his tongue. Should’ve kept that thought to himself.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says. “Though I promise you that not much has changed in the last three years.”

Ingo hums. He believes it, that nothing much has shifted. It’s hard to say, obviously, considering he wasn’t there to see it for himself, but his brother was never the type to lie without a reason, and this certainly didn’t have a good one. He takes a large bite of pancake and finds them still warm. It’s a quiet breakfast, between pancakes and coffee and Galvantula sleeping underneath the table. Emmet eventually finishes his food, shoveling large bites of pancake into his mouth as quickly as he can. Ingo watches him swallow with surprising difficulty, reaching for his cup of coffee. It takes a moment for Ingo to stomach the rest of his pancakes. Having this much food is a luxury he had not often afforded a month prior. His stomach still wasn’t used to it.

“Where is Elesa?” Ingo asks after a beat. Emmet talks through a mouthful of pancake and strawberry and maple syrup. 

“Mm, she had four battle appointments today, but she’ll be back around. Probably before two.”

Emmet is the first to finish, setting all his dishes together as he stands. He moves around Ingo as Ingo finishes, collecting dishes and setting everything in the sink. As Ingo stands to pass him his plate, he asks:

“Did you have a plan today?

“Mm?” Emmet hums. “No, not particularly. Why? Is there something you wanted to do?”

Ingo frowns, face pulling.

“Well,” he starts. “I was thinking—”

“Ah,” Emmet interjects. “Your first mistake—”

“I was thinking,” Ingo continues, narrowing his eyes. “That it might be a good idea for us to visit Elesa. I need to ask her for a new coat.”

“Mm!” Emmet startles, turning toward him. His face brightens. “That’s right! You do need a new coat. Good thing she’ll be over later, mm?”

Ingo nods. He fetches his coffee mug, pouring another cup of black coffee to balance the sweetened dregs. He leans back against the counter right as Emmet goes to hand him a dish to put away. They work in tandem for a moment, pausing as Ingo works to finish his coffee.

It’s a slow morning, 8:45am, and Ingo gazes back at his bed with longing.

It’s just. When’s the last time he had such a good sleep, right? On a bed that soft? He’d gotten so used to tatami mats and the grass and canvas laid out on the ground and here was a bed, with thick fluffy blankets and several large pillows and another person taking up space. It was very—stop it, Ingo—it’s comfortable. He hands Emmet his coffee mug.

“Ingo,” Emmet says.

Ingo hums. His eyes have drifted to the couch. Maybe standing is a little hard today. He should sit, shouldn’t he?

“Is my brother still up there?” Emmet asks, tapping Ingo’s head. Ingo startles as he does, turning to him.

“I would hope so,” he says. “Otherwise I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Not here, obviously” Emmet says. He finishes rinsing Ingo’s mug, setting it top down on the drying mat. “Though I’m not entirely sure you’re all there right now, are you?”

“Trying,” Ingo hums. “Too much going on.”

Emmet hums, a bit of a laugh showing through.

“You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I won’t,” Ingo promises.

“I don’t believe you,” Emmet says, shutting off the sink. The clean dishes sit on the rack, dripping water. Emmet wipes his hands with a dish towel. “You know, you should be resting if your engine isn’t working at full capacity. Rest is very important”

“Can’t be a well oiled machine with nowhere to go,” Ingo says, folding his arms. “I don’t understand why I don’t have the energy to move anymore.”

“Does the why matter?” Emmet asks. He’s leaning against the counter now, a mirror to Ingo, like he often was to Emmet. It was a natural progression—one following after the other, a mirror, a shadow, a doppleganger.

“It matters a little,” Ingo shrugs. “It matters to me. It gives me a reason.”

“Your reason is that you’ve gone through a lot,” Emmet says, pushing away from the counter. He scoops up his x-transceiver from the table, moving around it and through the apartment as he talks. “Your reason is that your body is playing catch-up with the world around you.”

“Maybe,” Ingo huffs.

“I am Emmet,” says his brother. “I am tired. I don’t sleep well. Do you think it’s my fault that I’m tired and don’t sleep well?”

Ingo grits his teeth. He hates this part—ever since they were little, Emmet would flip this hypocritical card, showing Ingo exactly how stupid he was sounding. It was good, for the most part, because Emmet was right and next time Emmet did the same thing, Ingo could follow suit with that card. But it was so annoying watching it now, watching Emmet throw open the blinds and shimmy open the window for the fire escape. A tinged-cool spring breeze filters in through the open window, tossing the curtains aside. Emmet keeps moving as Ingo thinks, the gears in his head turning slowly, still dulled with sleep. 

“No,” Ingo says shortly, watching Emmet rearrange coasters on the coffee table, setting game controllers back into their docks. “I don’t think anything is your fault.”

“Well now you are just flattering me, Go-Go.”

“Don’t say that flattery never got anyone anywhere,” Ingo says, pointing at him, waving his finger. Emmet laughs.

“My point is,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “You’re allowed to rest. We can figure out the steps from there, right? Even if we’re sitting on the couch to do it.”

Ingo sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Even if I fall asleep?”

Emmet nods, still smiling a little.

“I will wake you if you do.”

Ingo huffs out a laugh, feeling the edges of his mouth quirk up. As Emmet sits on the soft, corduroy couch, Ingo feels himself pulled forward, as if recalled, to sit beside him. He brings his knees up as he settles into his familiar spot between the back and arm of the couch. 

“Do you promise you’ll shake me awake?” Ingo says, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Emmet scrunches his nose.

“Yes,” he says, knocking his knuckles into Ingo’s knee. “I do. But I’m going to watch Alakazam! so you can think without my talking.”

Ingo nods. The television hums to life quietly in the background.

Emmet always watches Alakazam! at 9am. At least, when he can catch it. Ingo watches the last few minutes of the previous game show, something quiet and low despite the flash of colors and excited spread of energy. As the show starts, he watches Emmet’s face shift, that serious pull to his mouth and the furrow of his eyebrows that Ingo only sees when they’re battling. To see that spark again, not knowing how long it’s been gone, turns a question in Ingo’s mind.

“Emmet,” he says.

“Yes, I am Emmet,” Emmet says. “You are Ingo. What do you need?”

“I think I've got an idea of what I want to do today.”

Emmet turns his head a bit, looking at Ingo mostly out of the corner of his eye. His eyes flick back and forth between Ingo’s face and the television, waiting for his program to start.

“Mm?” Emmet asks. Ingo smiles a bit, a laugh stuck behind his teeth.

He sees the glint in Emmet’s eye before he even asks his question.

“What about a pokemon battle?”

[sky-kiss]

Raphael/Haarlep: Gift

A/N: Yeah, there's no real ending to this. I just wanted to write early days Raph/Haarlep trying to figure each other out a little. Also. The image is a lie, lol, cause this is a pre-glam Haarlep.

R/H: GIFT

He still recalls his sire’s words of introduction: 

Don’t you like your gift, boy?

Gift, said with a smile, hiding the underlying disdain and the most truthful sneer. Mephistopheles watches him closely, chin resting in his right palm, looking the very picture of benevolence to any onlooker. 

Gift, but it’s not a pet, tool, or toy standing across from him—no, his sire was never one for such half-measures. Raphael stares the incubus down, face impassive. They are beautiful, truth be told. Hair the color of burnished copper hangs nearly to the small of their back, skin sun-kissed, features lovely beyond the telling—they are every pleasant summer evening, every whispered dream by the seaside. The incubus is warmth and longing, humid hunger, made flesh. 

Raphael notices none of this—it’s only their eyes he cares about. They are the same hellfire gold as his own, lit with the same fury. For a moment, just the one, he thinks they might understand one another. 

The feeling passes. 

Mephistopheles speaks in a cold tone just above a whisper, only a few degrees above frostbite: “Will you not thank me, son of Hellfire?” 

“My thanks,” he says, and he hates that the response is immediate, that he is still too powerless to risk slighting the Archduke. Raphael flicks his attention to the viper he’s been gifted, “Does my prize have a name, Father?” 

The devil laughs. “Ah, but I hope you of all people shall appreciate this…I took the liberty of renaming it something more to your tastes: Haarlep.” 

Raphael’s head snaps up, lips curling back in a sneer. He opens his mouth to protest…

…and the incubus steps forward, winding their arms around his neck. The unnatural heat of their skin is a welcome balm compared to Mephistar’s unnatural chill. They lean close, near enough for their breath to gust across his lips. “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you? Yes. Oh, and you pout so sweetly.” They shut his mouth with a kiss. 

Raphael hears their voice in his head, a far cry from the empty-headed lilt they’ve spoken with: Don’t give him the satisfaction, little brat—be silent.

~~~~~~

“Is there where you’ve fled?”

“Reside,” Raphael corrects. “The House of Hope,” the cambion holds his arms out wide, gesturing to the banquet hall. It is not half as grand as his Father’s citadel on Mephistar but…suitable. He has carved out a place for himself—it will not sate his ambition for long, but for now, he allows himself to feel satiated. 

The incubus hums, dragging their fingers across the table. 

“You are not impressed?” 

Haarlep laughs, and there is a high and reedy quality to it that he does not like. “Asking me to lie to you already. And not even to the bedroom yet. Tsk, tsk, princeling—we are careening towards disappointment.” 

“You will address me with respect, slave.” 

“But of course, Master.” They croon, eyes blazing with naked defiance. Their wings flick, pinning behind them as the temperature in the banquet halls rises in response to Raphael’s temper. Haarlep bows their head in concession. By way of thanks, they say, “It is warmer than Mephistar.” 

“Too delicate for the cold?” 

They offer an olive branch. “This Home is…comfortable, princeling.”

~~~~~~

Raphael does not let the wretch share his bed. 

If it concerns them, they do not say. Haarlep roams the House, antagonizing the staff. They are never out of sight and just outside of arm's reach. Some evenings, he'll feel their fingers brush across his mind, testing the surface of his thoughts but never pushing. Whatever else the creature is, they are not stupid. 

They want his attention. 

Raphael sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and setting the contract aside. "Ask." 

He feels Haarlep's grin, even if he doesn't see it. The wretch lingers near the corner of his vision, rolling a coin across their knuckles, weaving it through their fingers. "Isn't it more fun like this?" 

"No. If you have a question, ask. Be direct." 

"Oh, but it's tedious. No play, no games…" 

"...no whimsy," Raphael finishes, leaning back in his seat. He knows the creature well enough to anticipate their next movement—they're up from their perch in one liquid movement, sliding into his lap the next. He catches their wrist before they can undo the top fastenings on his doublet. "Ah, ah, wandering hands to yourself, pet." 

Haarlep's lips curl up in a smirk, a note of respect creeping across their features. "You haven't asked why I'm here." 

"Why waste the breath? You are my Sire's spy." 

"Such accusations." 

"Do you deny it?" 

They scoff. "Of course not! No, no, I lie only when it suits me, dear. And I much prefer you know this truth." 

Raphael winds an arm around them, nails digging into their hip hard enough to draw blood. Haarlep doesn't wince. "You're here because he fears me." 

And Haarlep laughs, high and bright, and doesn't stop laughing when Raphael dumps them out of his lap. "Naughty and delusional, are we? No, half-blood, nothing so grand as that—the Cold Lord would distract you. And," they grin at him, cold, wicked, "Forget you." 

"I will not allow that."

Haarlep's eyes light with something like respect, "Good boy. Hold onto that drive. Perhaps one day you'll make something of yourself."

Raphael offers an olive branch—he extends a hand to the incubus. 

Haarlep takes it. 

[allpiesforourown]

I wrote all of this in one sitting. Slight disclaimer I’ve only ever had one migraine in my life and I did no research before or during writing except to look up spellings so take it with a grain of salt. I also haven’t written fiction in a while but eh.

Enjoy this hurt/comfort ish thing I made where you are a peak lord of some unnamed peak.

__________________________________________________

You take your time to the peak lord meeting. You decided to leave early and walk there, it gave you time to think. As you walk you think about your Shen-shixiong. He became so different after the qi-deviation. Almost as if he were a different person. There was always something about Shen shixiong that attracted you, both before and after the deviation. As you approach the doors to the meeting room you spare a fleeting thought as to which fan Shen shixiong would bring that day.

As the meeting progresses you keep glancing over to Shen shixiong. Theres just something about him today that worries you. Maybe it was that his hair looked a bit unkempt or that he kept scrunching his eyes as if he were in pain. You weren’t the only one that noticed, Zhangmen shixiong also kept looking at him with worry in his eyes. If Mu Qingfang weren’t busy with some medical emergencies on his peak he would have sniffed it out like a blood hound.

After the meeting ends Shen shixiong is the first to leave, and you follow right after. You are simply concerned about your Shen shixiong, nothing more. As you follow him to the bamboo hut you notice more things you didn’t during the meeting. The way he sways a bit as he flies, something he shouldn’t be doing with Without-A-Cure, the way his hand keeps making abrupt motions, as if to bring to his face, and that his crown was a different one he usually wears to the meetings.

As you near the entrance to the bamboo hut you hear a small crash from inside, as if something, or someone, fell. Rushing inside you are greeted by the sight of your Shen shixiong on his knees by the table, one hand holding onto the table for balance while the other pinches the bridge of his nose. As he hears you enter he whips his head around before curling in on him self as if having gotten dizzy.

“Shen shixiong?” you ask in a normal yet concerned tone, but that looks to have been the wrong move as he flinches. Lowering your tone you ask again “Shen shixiong, what’s wrong?”

After a bit he uncurls himself before looking to try and resume his more formal persona as a peak lord.

“Ah, apologies for having worried shimei, but this master is alright.” as he makes his way to stand up he sways and starts falling. You manage to catch him before he crashes onto the floor again but you can still feel the way your heart rapidly beats.

As you adjust him in your arms to properly hold he lets out a whimper as he’s moved. You gaze down at him and you can see how his eyes have scrunched shut and how he’s a touch paler than usual. You hold him so close you can faintly smell the scent of the hair oil he uses.

“Come on Shen shixiong, you can tell me, this one won’t judge.” as you coax him into telling you what’s wrong you bring him closer to your chest, holding him in a tight and steady grip. You move one hand to brush over his hair, letting down his guan as you do. Running your hand through his hair you can see his expression relax the slightest bit.

“… migrane.” is what he ends up saying after a couple of minutes. Finally knowing what’s wrong and knowing how to help immediately helps calm some of your nerves.

“Thank you for telling this one, Shen shixiong” keeping your voice low you lean down slightly and press a chaste kiss to his forehead. Looking around you notice how bright the main room is.

“This shimei is going to move you to your bedroom now, alright?”

Giving him some time to register what you told him, you carefully gather him in your arms before moving to the bedroom. You go lay him down on the bed but he seems to have gotten a grip on your outer layer and doesn’t seem to want to let go.

“Shen shixiong, this shimei has to close the window blinds, it’ll help.” Once again trying to get him to let go of the outer robe he lets out a whine of protest, as if he doesn’t want to separate from you.

Chuckling to your self you gingerly pick him up again, tucking him close. He turns his head to rest his head against your shoulder. Getting on the bed you use your qi to close the blinds instead. As you lean back in bed you adjust your Shen Qingqiu to lay down with his head in your lap. As it is now dark in the room you sadly can’t see the fine details of his face any more, even with your cultivator eyesight the moan of relief he makes as you massage his head all but makes up for it.

carrying him to bed and kissing his forehead... thank you for this ....

i used to get migraines all the time when I was young and oh my god the "closing the blinds" made me sigh in relief just imagining it... fantastic job

[stopthatnel]

the throne

eremin x reader smut MDNI!

s: one of your boyfriends just bought a new chair, now both of them are acting weird about it.

a/n: hello?! testing testing is anyone there? two uploads less than 24hrs apart? say thank you and good bye to my ovaries. this was also supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away hehe

cw: voyeurism, choking, overstimulation, polyship, use of ‘princess’ (like once tho), hair pulling. wc: 1.14k

m.list

armin and eren are absolutely in love with you but armin is a goddamn freak. when armin went out and purchased a love seat that was in quite resemblance to that of a throne, you rolled your eyes at the waste of money. you’d grown a little irate when you’d come home one night and see armin and eren trying to carry it into your bedroom, but said nothing of it. armin’s always had these slight fixations in certain things around the house, thinking that this was one of them. it wasn’t until your ass was in the air and your face buried into the sheets did you realize that armin got it for a reason.

he sat on it with his legs spread widely, cock in hand and eyes fixated on the two of you. while you thought eren would be calling the shots most of the time, it was truly armin pulling the strings in the dark. his hand jerks to the thwap thwap of your skins colliding, tightening his grip each time eren would moan, or coo.

he could barely hear your moans, your whines, whimpers. all because your face was buried in those damn sheets. “(y/n),” he’d call for you, a slight tremor in his voice. “let me see you, baby.” you’d pull your arms out from under you, using them to hold you up as you lock eyes with him.

your vision is blurry, but armin’s who wanted to see you in the first place. your watery eyes, smudged mascara, lips red and plump from being kissed and bitten raw. the corner of his lips curl up as he watched your face contort in pleasure, eren holding on to your hips tightly for stability. “rub her clit, eren.” armin recommends.

eren knows it’s not really a recommendation, it’s a command. but he does, hunching his back and wrapping his arm around you. he’s pressing down against your clit, his hips pushing you against his fingers in complete sync with his cock drilling into your sweet spot. you’re choking out a moan, dropping your head down into the sheets once again.

armin frowns, narrowing his eyes at you. but his sickly sweet tone never changes, “i said to let me see you, princess.”

“i- oh fuck- i can’t…” your words are muffled and broken with moans. you can feel yourself unraveling around eren’s cock, squeezing him tightly as you came near. eren grunts at the pleasure, trying his hardest to make sure the both of you would get there first. he shifts his focus from your ass bouncing against his hips, looking up at armin with pleading eyes. armin smiles warmly at him, taking his other hand and squeezing his balls gently. rolling his hips into his palm, biting his lips. he takes that same hand and trails it across his abs, up to his chest. his fingers twist at his own pale pretty pink nipples, furrowing his brows, and not missing a beat.

eren is having a hard time controlling himself, with you clenching around his cock so tightly and armin teasing him from his throne, he whines. “mhm, fuck, yes!”

“that pussy feels amazing, huh eren?” armin asks him, a smirk on his face.

“it’s so fucking- ah- good…”

“yeah, i know it is,” armin takes a deep breath, centering himself before seeing you haven’t lifted your face back up. your hair is pooled around shoulders and splayed across your back. “it feels so good when she comes all over our dicks, right?” he asks, almost rhetorically.

eren still answers, grunting a yes as he drops his focus back into the arch of your back. “but i think it’s about ten times better when you see her face as she comes, huh?” armin continues. you whimper hearing them converse as if you weren’t there. eren nods his head, suddenly getting the hint. he slows down his pace, takes his hand off your hip and runs his fingers through the hair on the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair and yanking you up, a shocked yelp escaping your lips. he’d pulled you up just enough for armin to see you, all of you.

from his seat he could see the way your breasts bounced with each of eren’s thrusts. he could see eren’s fingers now circling around your clit, and best of all: your pretty face. eren eases his grip on your scalp opting to snake his arm between your breasts and hold onto your neck instead, resuming back at his unrelenting pace.

armin smiles widely, pupils blown with lust as he watches eren’s face sink into the crook of your neck, selfishly leaving bites and kisses in his wake. whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you struggle to keep your eyes open. when they do, they fall on armin, who’s hand no longer followed the rhythm of the two of you, but now going faster. he’s sunken into that damn chair, arched back, drool piling into the corners of his mouth. he’s panting watching the two of you, eyebrows knitted, like a bitch in heat.

“like this armin?” you manage, pouty lips and big eyes eagerly searching for praise. “ahh, fuck yes. just like that. let me see you both. you’re both just so fucking pretty!” armin’s rambling. eren’s hand tightens around your neck, still kissing on any skin that wasn’t covered.

“how about you both come for me, huh? i’m losing my fucking mind right now, both of you.” eren’s muttering. it didn’t take long for either of you to do as you were asked. as you throw your head back into eren, a high pitched moan throwing itself out from behind your lips, armin is doing the same.

he’s throwing his head back just enough to keep watching you both, fucking up into his hand as spurts of his seed dribble down his cock. his whines are choked and broken as he overstimulates himself, not stopping until he’s seen the cream in between your legs, a mixture of both yours and eren’s cum. armin stood up shakily, still slowly tugging at his semi erect cock.

he kneels on the bed in front of you both, putting your jaw in the palm of his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek. he places a gentle kiss on your lips, then eren’s. their kiss turned into much more, eren’s grip on your neck releasing and dropping to your waist. you place your lips onto armin’s collarbone, feathering soft kisses across. the sound of their kissing was sloppy, a brief pause when you wrap your fingers around armin’s hand (still covered in his cum). you begin to direct his hand up and down, both you and eren savoring the whines that came from him.

“armin? how about i try the chair next?”