#You are shoving that mirror in their face

[babblingfawn]

lift me out of my own skin

Ghost has always been a dog. rough, stubborn, never willing to back down. It's what helped him rise through the ranks, get his name to leave trembling lips so often. TF141’s mad dog.

so, when he first saw you at a pub Johnny dragged him to with the rest of the lads, he suddenly didn’t regret allowing the eccentric man to get in his head. beautiful– no, more than. Simon wished he had the words to describe you. You were everything he wasn’t. Elegant, soft-spoken, a meal he was beyond hungry to get a bite of. and then, that familiar feeling of need . possesiveness . want . it seeped all the way deep into his bones. dug itself and stabbed daggers into his ( barely there ) heart.

like all mad dogs, you can't give Simon Riley a toy and expect him to not ruin it. gnaw at it- sink his teeth into it 'till it breaks into pieces and he has the duty of putting it back together while the ichor trickles down his chin.

he wanted you, badly. wanted to bite into your neck ‘till the blood spills and his room (could it really be called one?) mirrors a crime scene. He'll make you his– make you know you’re his. Simon knew you belonged to him already from the moment he saw your eyes, and that ass. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck–

he just had to make you accept it. 

And that he did. He never was one for failure, no. wouldn’t let himself be- especially not when you were the prize. He wasn’t fond of approaching anyone. That's why, when you slid and sat next to him while smiling like a sly fox, his lips twitched beneath the mask.

Good girl.

So, maybe you knew you were his all along.

but for good measure, he made that as clear as possible. kissing down your neck, aggressive, animalistic. spit exchanged, tongues intertwined. he shoved his large hands beneath your skanky little top (he’d have to keep that in mind, his girl can’t wear somethin’ too revealin’.) and began kneading your breasts while you lost your breath to his kisses. He kissed like he was dying, like it was his last second on earth, and your body was his savior. His angel. held onto your ass while he fucked you so deep in the bathroom stall of that shitty pub, your pretty little face covered in his shoulders. all red n’ cute from the pleasure. "Ah, Ah, fff–fuck! s-si.." you cried. no, no, no. he was so deep in, too far, you thought. could feel him in your tummy. he lets his hand splay over your stomach.   "You got it baby, i gotchu. fuckfuck..so tight..all f’me, yes? gettin’ all bent for me, hah? couldn't even wait an hour before fuck-- before bouncin' on me, hm?" you nodded fervently, desperately chasing the orgasm you were building up. he laughed. mean. he was mean, you noticed. but he fucked so raw-- " Y-yes, ah..m’God.."  "No, hun. Jus’ simon, yeah? c’mon, say it. you’re mine, sweetness. all fuckin’ mine."

He didn’t bother letting you rest after fucking you stupid on his cock. he went down on his knees, one pretty dainty leg on his shoulder while he ate you out like a starving man. he was dying of thirst, and that sweet pussy was his pure water. he lapped up your juices, fucking his tongue into you as you grinded and grinded and pulled on his hair so weakly while telling him that No, simon-- 's too much.. fuck! h-hurts...

Ah, Simon wasn’t letting you go. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

[penelopehere]

Sub HCs With Huntrix

Rumi

A bit of a masochist, enjoying how pain intensifies the pleasure she feels when she gets close to climaxing

Getting bitten- especially on the neck or thighs- is one of her favourite ways to feel this way

Gets a rush of adrenaline the harder you go; arching into your touch, letting out a something between a whimper and a moan as she cums

Spanking is something else she’d want you to do

Isn’t big on punishments so she wouldn’t want you to degrade her during it

However, she will lie over your lap with her hands tied behind her back and take as many hits as you gave her

Would take a lot for her to beg you to stop, more likely to just break into gibberish and breathy moans near the end of it

Also enjoys this kind of thing cause she loves having you leave marks on her, making her feel more secure in your relationship

Extremely touchy because of this as well, literally grinding on you most of the time when you guys makeout

Also loves being collared, loving it when you tug at the leash to bring her closer

Would purposefully ask you to pull harder so she can get bruises around her neck from it

Huge on praise, wanting you to tell her what a good job she was doing

Calling her good girl, my love, pretty baby etc

Even doing it in a teasing way will make her feel flustered

Loves looking at you and making eye contact when you guys have sex

Cause of this she’ll grip onto you by having her arms around your neck, or wrapping her legs around your waist

Huge on shibari and being pushed to her limit; would basically turn into a contortionist with the way she bends and stretches for you

Would be a service sub, wanting to pleasure you however you wanted

Gets wet from the idea of her eating you out from under the table; a spider gag forcing her mouth open and handcuffs stopping her from touching you

Would gladly suffocate between your legs

However, if you allowed her, she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off you and do everything you could to make you feel good

Running her hands up and down your body as she focuses on the way you tense and moan under her touch

Gets really good at using vibrators, loving the ways the settings got different reactions out of you

Would also enjoy having them used on her, but would prefer for you to be touching

Very into overstimulation, practically screaming and spasming when she dry cums over and over

Also enjoys mirror sex; watching the way she submits so easily to you and unravels for your touch makes her head feel so foggy and hazy

Mira

Enjoys resisting, getting extremely turned on when she fights back and you put her in her place

Won’t go easy on you when trying to regain control, charging at you and throwing things until you bend her over the nearest surface; face pressed down, hands pinned behind her back and legs shoved apart as you press yourself against her body

Wants you to manhandle her into position, forcing her body to bend in ways that make her tense up and hold back a whimper from the pain

The only way to calm her down would be to either edge or overstimulate her

Slowly pumping your fingers in and out of her pussy, abusing her sweet spot until she can’t think of anything but how good it feels; weakly cursing at you as she subconsciously moves to push you deeper inside her

Would also respond well to being punished, however it takes a while to get her to her breaking point

Denies how wet she gets when you spank her, despite you feeling her slick all over your thigh as she instinctively grinds against it

Would be the type to try and muffle her moans; biting her lip or pillow

Gets so embarrassed if you put something like a spider bag in her mouth, exposing all the little noises she makes

Has a bit of a humiliation kink, wanting you to do whatever you wanted with her so she’d be forced in submission

Therefore degradation would be a huge turn on; saying she’s a slut or teasingly saying she looks pretty while she’s dry cumming

Would also get brain broken if you overstimulated her, become putty in your hands if you did

Very into bdsm gear; leather restraints, straps, sex toys etc

Is particularly responsive to nipple clamps, as well as items that make her choke like collars and dildo gags

Speaking of which, she’s also really into breathplay; wanting you to wrap her hands around her throat as you thrust in and out of her

Would also get turned on if you ignored her; placing her onto your lap in full bondage gear and a vibrating dildo inside her as you scroll on your phone

Or having her tied up on the ground next as you sat in your chair, petting her head as she’s forced to hump your leg if she wants to cum

Would also be into vanilla if she’s feeling particularly vulnerable, hearing praises as you gently finger her and bring her closer to climax would tie knots in her stomach

Enjoys being called my love or darling during this, wanting to feel secure in your relationship

Zoey

Her favourite thing is overstimulation and experimentation, wanting to try out all the different ways you can make her cum

Loves getting to the point of dry orgasming, her mind becoming so broken that all she can do is concentrate on the pleasure and pain spasming through her body

It takes a lot to get her to this point since she has a high sex drive

Because of this, she’s also really into quickies, making risky public play another kink of hers

Would give you head in a dimly lit restaurant while she hid under the table if the two of you were horny enough

Open to doing almost anything once, especially if it was something you had an interest in

Some of the more freaky things she’d be into would be shibari, pegging and electrocution

Is extremely flexible, needing really complicated poses for her to even begin to struggle

Enjoys the feeling of being completely helpless and under your control, her stomach tying into knots as you run your hands over her bound form

Because of this she’d also love it if you had a strap or dildo, abusing her hole as her body bounces against it like a rag doll

Also likes being spanked and/or bitten during these moments, her head getting more foggy as her senses become overwhelmed

Gets really turned on by more intense forms of pain play, such as electrocution

Will almost cum on the spot at the feeling of her entire body tensing up in spasms

Enjoys breatheplay for a similar reason, especially if you push her to the point of drifting in and out of consciousness

Prefers that you do this by using a collar, pulling on the leash hard enough for purple marks to bloom around her throat

Would get really turned on if you forced her to crawl while using the leash

Loves being manhandled and having you play rough with her, your grip leaving bruises all over her body as you hold her by her throat against the table

Really likes praise, wanting you to compliment how cute she looks while she came or calling her babygirl

Is open to being degraded, however it’d have to be in the form of a compliment; pretty slut, good cocksleeve etc

Sensory deprivation is something else she’d enjoy, with all her senses being put on high alert if she was bound, gagged, blindfolded and then stuffed with vibrators

Doesn’t mind it if you do your own thing while she’s like this, however, she’d prefer it if you were touching her in some way

Worships any touch you’d give her, especially in this state

[wonderjanga2]

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Two

Waking up the next day, you felt like garbage. Garbagé if you will. You were face down in bed, faced pressed against your pillow. You closed your mouth to stop any drool from leaking and shifted around until you were on your back.

How did you get back to your room?

Your body felt achy, like you’d run a marathon you were soulfully unprepared for. Not only that but your eyes felt achy from staring at a large, torn piece of paper plastered to your ceiling. How in the world did that get there? It was of your dad. Someone took a sharpie and scribbled some rather crude drawings over him, forcing Bruce Wayne to looked like a big-chested pirate.

Who left that here?

You should probably take it down. If Bruce of Alfred ever came into your room that’d be awkward to explain.

Getting up was a task in itself. You were so tired, your eye bags probably had eye bags. You kicked off your sheets and trudged to the bathroom. When you looked in the mirror, you did indeed look like you pulled three all-nighters in a row. You did the usual brushing teeth, doing hair, just all around making yourself look presentable. As for clothes though…

You walked to the closet and opened it. You blinked and a bunch of money sprung out of it and piled all over the floor and over your legs. It had probably been hastily shoved in judging by how much burst when the closet door was opened.

You stood in silence for a few seconds before carefully grabbing the first shirt and pants you laid your eyes on and hurling them onto your bed before stepping out of the pile. Your shoe rack was covered in money and you didn’t want to make the venture to find it. You probably had a pair lying around though.

You proceeded to spend about five minutes shoving all the money back in.

All of the bills were Benjamin’s too!

Getting dressed, you looked at your rather… distasteful outfit (distasteful for a school like Gotham Prep anyways) and sighed. Blue pajama pants patterned with rubber ducks and a wife beater. Before you could work up the courage to open the closet again to find better clothes and have to shove the money back in, you grabbed the jacket draped over the back of your chair, pulled on some socks (you went and grabbed the duck-patterned ones too, even if they weren’t rubber ducks. Might as well be consistent) and slipped on the only shoes available that weren’t in the closet. Pink, fuzzy slippers.

While debating your life choices as you head to your door, you heard some scratching and whines from the other side of your door.

Ace!

You opened the door and swiftly picked up the German Shepard. It was a little comical that a dog that size was wagging its tail and hopping around slightly for “uppies” but whatever. Ace is your dog. Your baby. Heck, you literally built up muscle so you could keep carrying the dog. He’s your pride and joy.

You walked with him to the kitchen as he licked your cheek. He was barking every now and then and you nodded along. So far, you were pretty sure he was telling you about a squirrel he chased around the barn. “That’s great buddy.” You said as you put him down conveniently as Alfred was filling his, Titus’, and Alfred the Cat’s bowls. Titus, while being Damian’s dog, is also your dog (in spirit). You gave the Great Dane some pats too as you headed to the coffee machine. You made the pot, and after some careful consideration, took the entire thing with you, because like you said earlier, you’re tired.

You said bye to Ace, Alfred and Titus as you headed to the door. You picked your backpack out of the pile everyone threw their bags in near the door, slung it over your shoulder and were off.

School was a long walk and two buses. Sometimes, you considered taking the limo with the rest of the family, but then you’re reminded of how out of place you feel in their presence.

Like you don’t belong.

Like how you’re not supposed to be there despite having been there since a little after Dick first came.

But anyways, here you were at school! If you were ignored at home, it was a little better here! You had friends, were the student council’s treasurer, and all the other titles you held and so on.

You were in the walking period to second block that Tim suddenly jumped out of nowhere, wagging his finger in your face.

“[Name]!”

“Uh— yes?” You were extremely confused. You couldn’t think of a single time in the multiple years that you and Tim had gone to school together that he’d ever approached you, let alone looked your way, while at school. (You figured it was because he didn’t want to be seen with his older sibling at school. He was a Junior, you’re a Senior.)

“Where’s the coffee.” He paused for a moment. “Also, what are you wearing?” He looked you up and down. You supposed that was fair. Gotham Prep had a dress code, and you clearly weren’t adhering to it. You’d already taken the warning from Mrs Sharpay, the front desk lady. You were lucky it was only a warning too and that the lost and found had been recently emptied lest you wear someone’s dirty clothes. (She gave you a wink at that and slid you a Hershey Kiss as you went on your way.) You’d probably be showing the little pink slip she gave you to all the teachers, hall monitors, and janitors in the building so they wouldn’t write you up again.

“It’s trendy right now.” Was the only thing you could pull out of your behind.

“Do you actually believe tha— never mind. Coffee.” He made grabby hands for the pot in your hand. It was about a quarter full. You’d really overestimated how much coffee you could drink in one morning.

You hesitantly handed it to him, scared he might bite your arm off with the way his eyes looked downright feral. “It’s cold bu—” You were cut off by Tim, throwing his head back and chugging the entire thing. “Oh okay.”

You both stood in silence for a bit as Tim wiped his mouth and handed the pot back to you. He made grabby hands again. “Fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Fifty bucks. I forgot my wallet at home because I was super tired and I want to get several cups, purely filled with espresso shots.” He said, stone-cold serious.

“Isn’t that extremely unhealthy for yo—” You were cut off again by your little brother.

“Fifty. Bucks.” He emphasized each word, keeping that serious expression.

You stared for about a minute before you sighed and walked to a trashcan, not to the throw the pot away but to simply put it down on top of it for a moment. You got out your wallet and fished out two twenties and a ten, leaving you with a sad little five, and handed it to him. “At least get a croissant with those cups of expresso shots. Maybe it’ll soak up all the expresso-ness and not give you a hard attack.” You spoke shoving your wallet back into your jacket pocket, feeling the folded note from Mrs Sharpay as your hand brushed against it. You picked the coffee pot back up.

“You seriously underestimate the capability of my heart.” Tim said, eyes not leaving the bills he counted before walking off. You watched him go, sending a silent prayer to whatever deity can hear you so they can make it so that Tim doesn’t end up as a news story.

You continued walking to second block.

Wow, that was like the sixth conversation you’ve had with Tim in the nearly five years of you both knowing each other.

It was during third block that you heard about that new rogue. It was science class and the teacher was playing a movie— Jurassic Park actually. A classic, honestly. You and your lab partner, Samantha, or Sammy as she let you and her other friends call her, were sharing a piece of paper riddled with tic-tac-toe columns. She’d used the same strategy three times in a row and you’d also lost to her three times in a row. As for the reasons of your embarrassing losses? The girls behind you were whispering a little too loud about said new rogue so you were distracted.

They talked of a green-faced freak with cartoon powers, dressed in a polka-dotted suit. Now if that doesn’t just sound ridiculous, you don’t know what is.

…then again, you were pretty sure you had a dream of being that rogue…

Eh. It was probably just a coincidence.

Then, they started talking about how the rogue set the Joker of all people on fire.

Huh. That was similar to your dream too.

Then about how they robbed a bank immediately after.

…okay, you remembered dreaming about that too. Was that where the money in your closet came from?

Nah, there’s no way. Duke or Steph or maybe even Damian probably just withdrew way too much money and thought your room was a storage room, and the closet, a storage closet. Thats it! Probably. Hopefully. Maybe. It’s not like that hadn’t happened before. One time, (this was after he’d nearly beaten you to death) Jason stumbled in super bloody and put a bunch on guns in your closet before leaving. That encounter had you hiding under your blankets like it was boogieman instead of him. You don’t even think he noticed you. (He’d later came by when you weren’t home and took all of them back except a pistol wedged at the back of your shoe rack weeks later. You still have that thing. It’s at the bottom of your bedside drawer, buried under miscellaneous items such as chapsticks and pens. It’s for just in case the man loses his mind again and tries to kill you once more. You won’t have a repeat of that night. No siree.)

He probably had a concussion. Either that or maybe he was delirious from blood loss.

But the point is! Whoever put the money there thought it was probably storage. Hopefully.

Though, as their conversation went on, and Sammy scored more wins, you heard about how the rogue ripped off a piece of a billboard with your father’s face on it. How they would spin around like Taz from Looney Tunes. How they gave several police officers wedgies. Overall, how they were an all around a chaotic, kinda horrifying individual.

And you remembered doing all of that.

The billboard thing was also likely the picture of Bruce stuck to your ceiling.

As soon as you got home you needed to burn that. No way José were you having a connection to the newest rogue in Gotham.

That is, if these girls weren’t (somehow) messing with you. (There’s like no way you accidentally sleepwalked to one of their houses and they FaceTimed it to one of their friends and now they’re just messing with you, right?) You quickly tossed Sammy the packet of peanut m&ms she won form all the rounds of tic-tac-toe and pulled out your phone to look up what they were talking about. It didn’t turn on. In fact…

You pulled off your phone case and screen protector. Some water droplets dribbled down onto the desk. It was still wet from last night.

You stared at it.

Oh right, you fell— or were pulled into the water because of a wave. You don’t ever remember charging it during the… dream, let’s just call it that for now, either. So, it was either dead from battery loss or fried from the radioactive Gotham water.

Darn it.

You shoved it back into your pocket and looked to Sam who’d just finished her m&ms. “Sammy, can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?” She asked suspiciously. Oh right, that thing was her baby.

“Cause I need to look something up and I think the school computers have the Gotham Gazette blocked.”

She squinted at you before putting her hand out. You slapped another little bag of peanut m&ms into her hand before she handed you her phone. You typed into the search bar, clicked the first link, waiting for the crappy signal to do its thing and load the page, and started reading.

That science class drilled into your head that last night was in fact not a dream at all.

The sun was starting to set as you made your usual speedy trek home. The earliest you got out of school was five. This is because of all the clubs you’d joined so you wouldn’t have to go home so early like said previously. The latest you could get out is six. The reason you couldn’t go any further was because the bus lines shut off at seven. You didn’t want to walk all the way home. You’d rather bus a chunk of the way and run the rest.

That’s how by 6:37. You get out of school by three by the way. So you’d shaved off three hours of time in family vicinity.

Now to trudge to your room to avoid the rest of them.

As you entered, you watched Ace pad over. You picked him up again, your head pressed into his chest fur as he licked your hair. You walked to your room, still carrying him.

“Hey, Dick.” Someone said as you passed by them.

Both you and Ace let out a confused noise but kept walking. You deposited Ace on your bed and threw your bag near your bed. You sat down, feeling the mattress give under your weight before you did a double-take at something you say on your nightstand.

It was a mask. Wooden, said wood was greenish in color. Where did this thing come from? Your hardest to remember when you’d gotten it, but nothing.

Unless…

That night in the water… the blob. That had been a mask. It’d stuck to your face and turned you into that rogue.

This can’t be that mask, right?

Right?

You’d picked it up and slowly brought it to your face. You sat there for a few moments until Ace let out a confused whine. You eventually let it rest in your lap again.

“Maybe it only works at night.” You murmured staring at the mask. It didn’t have that glowing you remembered from the night before. Neither purple nor green.

Nah. There’s no way. It was probably just a one time fluke and all the magic in the mask is drained now. Yup. Totally. You open the window near your bed and threw it out like a frisbee, making sure to grab Ace’s collar before he would lunge at it. With that settled, you turned around to open your book bag so you can finish your homewor—

Thunk

Something hit you in the back of the head. “Ow!” You exclaimed as you turned around. It was the mask again. It was laying innocently on your bed, its little wooden smile mocking you.

You repeated your throwing it out of the window three separate times, only for to smack you in the head three more times until you gave up and just placed it back on your bedside table.

You swear its grin got more mocking with each smack to the head. Ace just looked at you with as much confusion as a dog could muster.

You were later laying in bed when you decided to put the mask on for a second time. You’d been staring at the ceiling, at the place the picture of your father used to be. You were desperately trying to ignore the—

Put it on.

Put it on.

Put it on.

—being whispered into your ear. The ear that was closest to the mask. You wouldn’t. Why? Well because everyone thinks you’re a rogue, of course! And sure, while everything was so freeing and colorful and fun— you didn’t think you’d felt so much of that in one night— You also lit the Joker on fire, and while that itself isn’t bad, you really don’t wanna do that to someone else. What if you did that to a mother, a husband, a child?

“But— but it was just so… so freeing,” the voice whispered. “Can you even remember the last time you felt like that, [Nickname]?” It hissed as your eyes slid to it, drawn to it. “Come on. It’ll be just us! You and Masky, having endless fun and mischief.”

Your hand moved. You couldn’t stop it. You knew this was a bad idea. A horrible one even. But just the thought of feeling like that again…

Put it on.

Put it on.

Put it on!

The voice sounded like it was chanting at this point. You picked it up and held it above your face, you could already feel your skin, pulling itself forward to the mask. It was shimmering once more. It was almost hypnotizing.

When it stuck to your face again, you clawed and struggled just like you did last night and soon you were spinning and spinning and spinning.

Bruce Wayne - The Batman POV

Bruce landed on the next rooftop, taking cover behind a ventilation unit to look down below in the streets. This was the street. This was the street that the Riddler had planted bombs in. Yet, instead of Bruce being the first to engage with the man, it was instead the green-faced rogue from the night before.

The one he and his family had spent the entire night chasing after.

He’d gotten Oracle to stream the conversation to him using a camera they were close to.

“Well, this is new.” Nygma mused, rubbing his chin. “Are you the one who decided to test tempt fate, because I hate to say it, you don’t look like an intellectual.” He started leaning on his cane as he spoken his usual condescending tone.

Bruce took his time to examine the new rogue. They were wearing something different this time. A royal blue three piece with orange wavy lines for the pattern. The tie was orange. They were wearing a fedora this time too. It had a peacock feather attached.

The new rogue gasped at this. “I’ll have you know I am quite these esteemed scholar with over 800 years of experience, bub!” The green-faced flicked their wrist, and a cane slid out of their sleeve. Black with their head at the top of it their cane. They leaned on it in a similar way to the Riddler. Bruce blinked and they had glasses which they pushed up dramatically. “Try me!”

The Riddler rattled off a riddle—

Try saying that five times—

Which had the new rogue freeze. Their cane then suddenly broke, and they face planted before shooting back up. “Okay, I’ll admit, you lost me. Now where are those bombs?” They asked looking around, pulling large binoculars out to look around the buildings. Bruce was sure he was hidden enough.

“I suppose you’ll just have to find out.” The Riddler said smugly as he press the button on one of his watches. Soon after that, a timer, started to run on one of his other watches. Oracle reported that it was counting down from five minutes. The Riddler’s words seemed to make the new rogue sigh and toss their comically large binoculars to the side. They almost landed on Nygma, and would’ve if he hadn’t stepped out of the way.

“Indeed! Looks like this is a job that needs to be done manually!” The new rogue exclaimed as they started spinning and spinning until they were straight out of a cartoon spinning around bursting through building doors, and from what Oracle reports, spinning through each and every single individual room.

And if a room had a bomb in it? It grabbed it.

In every room it entered, windows shattered, furniture was thrown about and floors were ripped through. In fact, when it first started spinning in the street, it tore through the concrete with the road. It went through every single building in that street until it came back with five bombs, all deposited in front of the Riddler.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. They can’t possibly eat it, right?” The green-faced rogue said with a grin as they tied a bib around their neck and pulled some utensils from somewhere. Contrary to its words, Bruce, the Riddler, Oracle, and everyone who watched this recording later for review, watched as it scarfed down each of the bombs, unhinging it’s a jaw to shove each of them in. When it finished with the last one, Edward’s timer ran out and they all seemed to explode. Its stomach inflated for a moment before deflating as the rogue let out a large burp.

“Smokey.” It drew the word out as it then started laughing and spun off to somewhere else.

Just as it left, both Robin and Red Robin arrived. Bruce directed Tim to arresting the Riddler while Damian was ordered to come along with him so they could chase after the creature. Imp maybe? Its powers sort of aligned with an imp. Less theorizing more catching up to it.

When Bruce got to the scene…

…Of course it was forcing an entire street of people to tap dance with it… Because why not?

And when he tried to apprehend it? Well, he got his cape wrapped around him and tied into a little bow before being pushed over to fall on ground. Robin got the same treatment, but instead of a light push, he got more of a shove.

And of course Jason was the one who found them like that.

The next morning, you were crabby to say the least. You were also watching cartoons too before you had to leave for school. It was around five in the morning right now, and as for why you were up and dressed (in your actual uniform this time. Were those five minutes shoving the money back into the closet really worth it?) so early? Well, after you came back from being a rogue, you collapsed in bed at around two in the morning. From there, you got about an hour of sleep. Then, at like 3:30, you woke up and stared at your ceiling for another hour and a half before finally getting ready.

Ace was across your lap, getting dog fur on your clothes, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were petting him until someone slid onto the couch next to you.

Are you joking right now? Damian? Are you fu— freaking serious?

The kid went all but a couple seconds before making his demand. “Put on Animal Planet.” He spoke in his usual stoic tone. This really should not have been so irritating (you were honestly surprised you even got irritated at him in the first place) but… then again it is five in the morning.

“Damian, I don’t want to.” You tried your best to sound polite. Can’t have your younger brother pull another katana out of his behind and try to slice your throat open again, now can you?

“I said put on animal planet.” He was glaring now.

“Damian.” Your tone almost sounded saccharine as you tried to stay cordial. “For fuck’s sake, I said no.” It was really hard to say that while still forcing a polite smile.

Also, wait. Shit. You just cursed at him.

You silently prayed he wouldn’t come at you with a katana fresh out of the shower later today. Surprisingly though, he actually went quiet.

Eventually, the silence got to you. To keep yourself from squirming like an idiot, you instead turned to him and spoke, “I’m sorry, Damian. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. I’m just tired, okay? How about we watch animal planet after this episode?”

He continued staying quiet for the rest of your time at the couch. Even after you switched it to Animal Planet.

Damian Wayne - Robin POV

A thought blared through the boy’s mind, “[Name] actually grew a backbone!”

Bonus Lore About the Story:

1.) Mrs Sharpay/the desk lady gave you that Hershey Kiss because she thinks you’re a cutie. Whether you’re a boy or girl or neither, she thinks you’re a cutie. 2.) The conversation between Duke, Steph, and Tim after he demanded the buckeroones, resulted in Steph calling him a lecherous little monster. 3.) Jason is pretty sure that either you or Alfred has the gun he forgot. He came back to your room for a third time to see if he could find it and it was still missing. He hopes that it’s you who has it because he himself doesn’t ever want a repeat of that night either. 4.) The person who thought you were Dick was an extremely tired Bruce. He has multiple memories of Dick carrying Ace like that when the dog was smaller so he thought it was Dick. You also take a bit to recognize his voice due to the fact you’ve held maybe two steady conversations with him.

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria

[lov3lycosmos]

Can I request some hongjoong fluff >~< you can decide on the topic idm I’m js so downbad for this man ,,

You Look Like My Type In That Sweater - K.H ♡

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Bf!Hongjoong x Gn!Reader

Warnings: just hongjoong being a loser in a beautiful man's body :3

Cosmos note: here go anon! I hope it's what you wanted!

my library!

You woke up to a quiet sort of brightness, the kind that made everything feel slower and softer. The room was warm under the covers, and the scent of your laundry mixed with something unmistakably Hongjoong: skin and cologne, a little citrus, a little sleep.

His arm was across your middle, flopped heavy like he’d passed out mid-snuggle, which—let’s be honest—he probably had. His face was buried somewhere between your shoulder and your neck, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble against your skin. His leg was hooked over yours like a very needy, very clingy blanket.

You shifted slightly, testing the waters of escape.

He groaned. “Don’t move. I’m in a delicate emotional state.”

You huffed out a laugh, still not fully awake. “Your ‘emotional state’ is that you’re lazy.”

“I’m clinging for survival,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “If you leave, I’ll wither.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Correct.”

You tried again, this time actually sitting up. He flopped his whole body across your back like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Joong—”

“No.”

“Let me pee.”

He paused.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But come back or I’ll die for real.”

You snorted and pried his octopus limbs off you, dragging yourself to the bathroom while he flopped back on the mattress like a man betrayed.

When you came out, he was sitting up, hair a disaster, face puffy, one sock halfway on, and already rummaging through your drawer like it was his.

“I’m picking our outfits,” he said without looking up. “You don’t get a say.”

You blinked. “I didn’t even ask for a say yet?”

“Exactly. Preemptive fashion domination.”

He tossed a sweater at you. It hit you in the face.

“You’re violent,” you muttered, pulling it on anyway. It was soft. Probably his. Definitely smelled like him.

He held up a pair of cargos. “These too. We’re doing layers. I want us to look like we have a joint Pinterest board.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up, this is important to me.”

You raised a brow. “You planned this in advance, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I may or may not have mentally coordinated colors at 2am. The creative mind never rests.”

“You literally drooled on my arm at 2am.”

“And still had vision. Powerful.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and pulled the pants on while he started changing too—right there, no hesitation, shirt half-off while babbling something about beige being an elite neutral.

You watched, leaning against the wall, as he fixed his hair in the mirror with one hand and shoved on a jacket with the other.

“Why are you so pretty and so dumb at the same time?” you muttered.

“Balance,” he replied, fluffing his bangs. “Like yin and yang. Brains? Gone. Jawline? Sharp.”

He spun around. “Okay. Photo time.”

“What?”

“You. In that sweater. Window light. You look like the main character of a song I haven’t written yet.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck, but he was already grabbing his film camera.

“Don’t be weird about it,” he said, already dragging you to stand by the curtain. “Just… do your face.”

“My face?”

“Yeah, you know. Your normal one. The cute one.”

You made a face.

“Okay not that one. You look like you’re about to bite someone.”

“I am about to.”

“Hot.”

You laughed and shoved him lightly, but stood where he wanted anyway. The light really was nice—warm and soft, haloing around your face. You glanced at him just as he took the photo.

He peeked at the camera. “Yup. That’s going on Instagram.”

“You never post.”

“This is worthy.”

He came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, forehead pressed to yours, swaying a little like there was music only he could hear.

“God, you’re so cute it actually hurts me.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is. You woke up and chose violence.”

You grinned. “Alright, your turn. Stand over there. I’m getting revenge.”

He handed you the camera with a dramatic sigh. “Capture my essence.”

“You’re about to get captured looking like you lost a fight with a pillow.”

“And still hot.”

He posed half-seriously, one hand in his jacket pocket, giving you that lazy model-off-duty stare that made your knees feel wobbly.

“Wow,” you said, adjusting the focus. “How does it feel to be God’s favorite?”

He smirked. “Honestly, exhausting.”

You snapped the picture just as his smile turned into a grin. Click.

“I’m framing that one.”

“Put it in a museum.”

“Put it in my wallet.”

He walked over and tried to steal the camera back, but you held it above your head.

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Give—babe—I swear if you make me climb you like a tree—”

You cackled and backed up until he grabbed your waist and spun you, laughing against your neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you gasped.

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He kissed your jaw, soft and lingering, then rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Can we stay like this forever?” he mumbled.

You reached up and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like what?”

“Waking up late. Being dumb. Looking hot.”

“God, your priorities.”

“I’m consistent.”

You turned and kissed him, just once, slow and warm.

“Now I’m really keeping the photo,” you whispered.

“Put a heart on it.”

You did.

He let go of you long enough to go poke at his face in the mirror, muttering about under-eye circles and deciding on lip balm instead of tint.

You just watched from the bed, pulling your socks on and feeling the ridiculous weight of happiness settle in your chest like sunlight.

He came back, smug.

“Okay, I’m ready to receive compliments.”

You gave him a once-over. “Hmm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m dating a hater.”

You stood, grabbing your keys. “You’re dating someone with high standards.”

“And yet you still picked me.”

“Bad decisions are part of life.”

He laughed and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together like it was muscle memory.

As you stepped into your shoes, he pulled you close again—less dramatic this time, more quiet, more him.

“I really do love you, you know,” he said, like he was saying something stupid and obvious.

You looked at him. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, camera around his neck, your sweater hanging off your frame.

“I know,” you said, smiling.

And that was enough.

taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @gncbnahc @ari-hwanggg @alondra6011 @sk1ndx0 @doliveiraa @soona-huh @rockstarkkami @yxna-bliss @kpetts @nightmarenyxx @victoriaaf

(I'M STILL ADDING PEOPLE TO TAG! comment on any post, send an ask or a message if you want added!)

[emeraldserenade]

Heyyy iitss mee back with a husband!joaquin req cuz I'm obsessed with him. 😋😋

Okay! Have you seen that trend where the bridesmaids give spicy pics of the bride to the groom during the reception? Can we have that with joaquinnn!?? 😣🙏

(I just know he would melt in an instance)

I love you smm mwah mwah!! 💋

Your one and only

-🐞

Six Hours, Six Photos ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You wanted to make the last few hours before you got married making Joaquín squirm

tw: fem!reader, childhood best friend!Joaquín, husband!Joaquín, suggestive, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi, 🐞!! I love this idea!! I hope you love this!!

➽──────────────❥

Joaquín has been in love with you since you two were in middle school and now he was about to marry you. The younger him was pinching himself, his dreams of marrying his best friend coming true. And you knew that, it's why you wanted to do something to make the day just a bit better.

You knew that Joaquín was probably anxious about not seeing you until you walked down the isle. So you had planned this a week in advance, it was a photoshoot you had your best friend help you with. The polaroid that Joaquín got for the purpose of having physical photos of you to keep in his wallet and phone case was used. You bought new film after seeing that there was no film in it, so you got the ones with hearts on the boarder.

Six bridesmaids, six photos, and six hours left until you two had to be on the alter, so it was time for your plan. Each bridesmaid had a specific photo and a specific hour.

The first one was one of your ex-worker turned friend, she had a pretty tame photo. Just one of you in Joaquín's old University of Miami shirts with the pretty blue lace panties you were wearing barely shown with how you were kneeling on the floor. Your hands were in your hair as you gently arched your back. She handed it to Joaquín as Sam, who was in on it, took a video to show you later. Joaquín took a glance before shoving it against his chest and glancing around. There was laughter as Joaquín waved people away from behind him before he took another glance at it. "Dios," Joaquín mumbled before shoving it in his pants pocket.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

An hour passed and another bridesmaid, Joaquín's sister Liliana, showed up at the groom's suite. "Hey, Qunio," she smirked, winking at the camera before handing Joaquín the photo.

You were laying on the middle of your and Joaquín's bed, the full light blue set on display. Your hands were above up with your legs gently bent at the knees while you arched your back again. You were looking to the side away from the camera, but the smile on your face was still visible. "Liliana, please tell me you didn't see this," Joaquín said, wanting to keep you all to himself.

"Like a glance, the only two who know exactly what they all look like is your wife and Kelly," Liliana said, the name of your high school friend making Joaquín look up. Kelly was a professional photographer, there was definitely more intense photos coming.

"There's more?" Joaquín questioned, his face getting red.

"Four more," Liliana smirked before leaving.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín counted down the hour before another bridesmaid showed up, he was getting his hair done. "Got a mail delivery for the loverboy," Bella announced before waving the barber from behind Joaquín.

"Fuck," Joaquín sighed. You were in a different set this time, Joaquín's favorite. The yellow one you bought on a whim when Joaquín told you that his favorite color was yellow. It was skimpy and hugged everything in the perfect way. You were standing in front of the mirror of your room, your hands placed on the edges as you bent forward, the exact position Joaquín liked to have you in when he wanted you to see how you looked when he was making you feel good.

"You good there, man?" Sam questioned, his laugh barely concealed as he spoke. Joaquín was red and he shifted in his seat as he remembered the last time he had you in that position.

"Yes, no, fuck. I can't wait to marry her," Joaquín said, causing the room to laugh.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The fourth photo was given to Joaquín as he was walking back into the room from the bathroom. Ellie, your little sister, was waiting inside the room. There was a smile on her face as she handed it to him. This photo was why Sam knew about the whole plan, you were in the Falcon suit. Well, actually, the wings and helmet with you in a matching green set. You had the biggest smile on your face as you stood against the window, the sun lighting you up from behind. Joaquín stared at the photo and blankly blinked as he brain worked so fast.

"He's broken," Sam laughed, he was told that whatever photo you took in the suit would be the fourth one.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The second to last one was you in bed, naked with the blanket barely covering you. There were teases of skin with the carefully placed blanket. The side of your breast, the bare skin of your hip where Joaquín had left a hickey, your entire legs. "Holy shit," Joaquín quickly placed it in his jacket pocket.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The last one was delivered by Kelly herself. "This is the best one," she told him as he handed it to him.

You were completely naked with Joaquín's dog tags around your neck, you were spread out on the bed. Your hands were resting on yourself, your engagement ring gently glinting in the sun through the window. The photo was angled at the perfect way to show your entire body while also showing your pussy. "Holy hell," Joaquín kept staring before Kelly laughed loud.

"Might wanna put it away, you've got an hour before you get married," Kelly said before leaving.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín thought the photos were done but then you handed him one while sitting at your table. One that was only the two of you while everyone else also ate. "Baby, take this," you told him, holding your hand out.

"What is it?" Joaquín questioned before looking at it. It was clear you took it yourself, the photo was taken through the window. You were naked but there was whipped cream covering your nipples while you had a cherry hanging out of your mouth by the stem.

"Do you like it?" You laughed gently.

"Like it? I love it!" Joaquín said, pulling the others out of his pockets.

"I was going to get Kelly to take the last one too, but figured I should take it myself. She was already doing me a solid with the full naked one with your dog tags," you told him.

"I'm glad it was taken by you, adds to it," Joaquín told you, the photos now all together in his jacket pocket.

"Then you'll love the surprise I have for you later," you said, your mind wandering to the extra film you were planning to use later that night.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[vrtualchg]

SUGAR AND SIN

After finding his stepsister’s lingerie package and teasing her into a private try-on haul, Rafe quickly loses control—what starts as playful turns possessive, fast. She’s soft, flustered, dressed in lace and bows, and he’s still half in his riding gear, hard and aching. One kiss leads to her riding him, stuffed animals pressed against her back as he praises and ruins her in equal measure. But it’s not enough—not until he’s flipping her over, fucking her face-down into her plushies, watching her fall apart while he fills her up and stays buried inside, whispering that she’s his, and always has been.

pairing: Rafe Cameron x stepsister!reader

genre: filthy smut with emotional undercurrent, obsession kink, step-sibling taboo, post-dirt biking filth

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, stepcest, oral (f receiving), fingering, visible bulge kink, size kink, stomach bulge, cockwarming, overstimulation, breeding kink, possessiveness/obsession, filthy brotherly dirty talk, face-in-stuffed-animals fucking, rough sex with soft aftercare, praise kink, manhandling, tears of pleasure, dumbification, pet names (baby/good girl/my girl), “you were made for me” energy, emotionally charged degradation, ownership kink, slow descent into obsession.

authors note: soooo i wrote this long ago, while I was ovulating so um let’s not let’s not judge😀

Rafe was in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets with the kind of impatient hunger that only came after a long day of adrenaline and sweat. The soft clink of glass jars and the low thud of wood-on-wood echoed through the room as he searched for something vaguely edible. His muddy boots had been carelessly abandoned at the front door, thick with caked dirt and the scent of scorched rubber still clinging faintly to the soles. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his riding pants—grimy, slightly loose at the hips, the fly still unzipped from when he’d taken a piss in the backyard after getting home. His helmet remained strapped on, though the visor was flipped up, revealing flushed cheeks and the sheen of perspiration still clinging to his brow.

The doorbell rang.

Rafe groaned under his breath, already irritated, and trudged toward the door without so much as a glance in the mirror. He looked a mess and knew it—but didn’t give a single shit. He yanked the door open, squinting into the sun as the delivery man stood on the porch, clipboard in hand and brow already arched. The guy gave him a look—a mix of judgment and mild discomfort—but Rafe didn’t break stride. He scrawled a lazy signature on the form, then took the package without a word, not even acknowledging the awkward pause as the man lingered a beat too long, clearly trying to make sense of the sight in front of him.

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Rafe kicked the door shut behind him, the slam of it echoing through the house. The box was tucked under his arm as he returned to the kitchen, dropping it onto the counter with a dull thud. A steak knife was the closest thing within reach, and he snatched it without hesitation, ignoring the neat perforated strip intended for gentle opening.

He finally slid his helmet off and tossed it carelessly onto the adjacent counter, raking a hand through his sweat-dampened hair to push it out of his eyes. Then, with all the grace of a crowbar, he stabbed the knife into the tape and sliced the box open in one jagged, impatient movement.

The packaging inside was obnoxiously feminine—pink tissue paper, delicate white trim, a brand name printed in flowy cursive that he didn’t bother to read. His brow furrowed. He shoved the tissue aside and reached in, pulling out something soft, lacy—and absurdly small.

A bra. But not just any bra—this was lingerie. Delicate, translucent pink with sparkles embedded into the fabric, the kind of thing sold with promises of temptation and sinful evenings. His jaw flexed slightly as he held it up between his fingers, the lace catching the kitchen light.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he stared at the garment, turning it over in his hands like it might explain itself.

It didn’t.

“I heard the doorbell. Was that my packa—” Y/N's voice trailed off as she descended the stairs, pausing at the sight in the kitchen. Her stepbrother stood at the counter, entirely too casual, holding a delicate piece of fabric between his fingers like it was some exotic specimen. She froze, horror blooming across her face as she watched him slowly turn toward her, one brow cocked in amusement, a pair of glittery pink panties dangling from his hand.

“Oh my god—Rafe!” she burst out, rushing forward, practically skidding across the tile as she shoved him aside with both hands. She snatched the panties from his grasp, clutching them to her chest while dragging the box away from the knife-slashed cardboard wreckage. “What is wrong with you?! You can’t just—You don’t just go through people’s deliveries!”

Her cheeks were glowing red now, flustered beyond belief, and Rafe, of course, looked thoroughly entertained by her outrage.

“Is that—” he pointed lazily at the box, finally registering the hot pink Victoria’s Secret branding printed across the lid “—how you spend your money these days?” His grin widened with the slow satisfaction of someone who’d just unearthed a secret too good not to tease.

She shot him a sharp glare. “It’s better than drugs.”

Rafe let out a bark of laughter, short and smug. “Wow. What loser’s seeing you in that?”

“No one!” she snapped, the words tumbling out far too fast. “It’s—it’s for me. I just… I like pretty undergarments, okay? Jesus.”

She turned on her heel, mortified, and hurried back upstairs, box clutched to her chest like contraband. Rafe watched her retreat for half a second before plucking an apple from the fruit bowl and following with lazy, predatory amusement.

“Come on,” he called up after her, crunching into the apple as he climbed the stairs. “Give your favorite stepbrother a haul, yeah? Since no one else is seeing it, would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“No!” she shouted from her room, the door half-open in her haste. “Go away, you pervert!”

“No,” Rafe echoed smugly, pushing into her room without hesitation. He made a beeline for the bed and dropped himself onto it with a satisfied sigh, sprawling out over her pillows and plushies like he owned the place. Apple still in hand, he leaned back, making himself irritatingly comfortable.

“You’re squashing my children, fatty,” she snapped, glaring at him from across the room with a pout. He was crushing a plush duck and something vaguely frog-shaped.

“Poor things,” Rafe murmured through a mouthful of fruit. “They get to be suffocated by a hot guy. They should be thanking me.”

She groaned, clearly exasperated, turning to stash the box out of view in her closet. He watched her the entire time, like a cat watching a particularly jumpy mouse.

“Now come on,” he went on, propping himself up on his elbows. “Give me a little haul. Maybe even a try-on. Fashion show style. Nothing crazy—just brotherly support.” He smirked, deliberately scandalous, enjoying every second of how much she wanted to throw him out the window.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And you’re boring when you’re flustered,” Rafe said smoothly. “You stormed off like I was asking for a lap dance or something. Relax. It’s just lace. I’ve seen you in a swimsuit, haven't I?”

“Yeah, at the beach, not in my bedroom with you lying on top of my stuff asking for a private runway show!”

“Semantics,” he said with a shrug, plucking a stuffed unicorn from behind his head and inspecting it with interest. “Anyway. You clearly like being admired. Don’t play shy now.”

She spun around with narrowed eyes. “I will actually murder you.”

He just grinned, biting into the apple again. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

“C’mon,” Rafe coaxed, voice softening into a mock-gentle plea as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Don’t be so prudish. Do it for me… please.” His blue eyes widened, lower lip jutted out just enough to feign innocence, the picture-perfect image of begging—if begging came with smug undertones and thinly veiled arousal.

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it nearly gave her whiplash. Arms crossed over her chest, she glared. “I’ll show you twothings, and after that—you’re gone.”

He grinned, already knowing he’d won. “Full sets.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Yes. Two full sets.”

“On you,” he clarified, with zero shame.

“Rafe.”

“On. You. Or it’s not a deal.” He lifted his brows, challenging, and bit into his apple again as if this were just casual negotiation and not a blatant excuse to ogle her.

She groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine! Okay. Jesus.” She snatched the box and stormed off toward the bathroom, muttering curses under her breath. The door clicked shut, and Rafe let out a victorious sigh, reclining fully back into her pillows.

His hand slid beneath him to dig out the plush unicorn he’d been half-crushing. He pulled it to his chest, partly because, yeah—it was kinda cute. But mostly because it offered the perfect makeshift shield for the growing problem between his legs. He adjusted subtly, positioning the unicorn strategically as he exhaled and glanced at the ceiling, pretending to be casual despite the rapid thrum building in his bloodstream.

“Jesus. Hurry up,” he called, voice laced with impatience.

“I’m coming!” came her voice from the bathroom.

He smirked. “I wish you were.”

“What?”

“Nothing, baby. Just hurry.”

The door creaked open seconds later, and she stepped out. His teasing grin faltered slightly.

She wore a silky, pale pink robe—short, featherlight, barely brushing the tops of her thighs. It was cinched at the waist, but sheer enough that he could already make out the glitter of what lay beneath. He frowned.

“That’s a gown,” he said flatly, feigning disappointment.

She rolled her eyes again—then reached up, fingers sliding beneath the ribboned tie. She tugged, and the robe fluttered to the floor.

Rafe’s breath hitched.

The set was made of pink mesh and lace, glinting with sparkles that caught the light like sugar crystals. The bra clung to her curves, sheer and soft, with delicate straps framing her chest and lifting her just enough to make his mouth go dry. The panties sat high on her hips, a matching lace trim hugging her skin with dangerous precision.

He stared, jaw slack. “Oh… fuck me.”

Her expression twisted with self-conscious irritation. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he said, sitting up straighter, his voice slightly hoarse. “You look like the wet dream of a goddamn fevered poet.”

She frowned, flustered, turning halfway like she might disappear back into the bathroom.

“No—no, stay. Shit. Just—” He pressed the unicorn tighter to his lap, trying not to look like he was on the verge of combusting. “That’s set one, right?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, arms folding under her chest in a way that only made it worse. “I can skip the second if you’re going to keep drooling.”

“I’m not drooling,” he muttered, licking his bottom lip. “I’m just... appreciating the effort. Fuck. I mean, if this is what you wear for yourself, I’d hate to see what you wear when you’re actually trying to turn someone on.”

She crossed the room and picked up her robe again, clearly debating whether to shove him off her bed or just kick him out entirely.

“You said two, remember?” he reminded her, still holding the unicorn hostage against his crotch. “Don’t leave me hanging now. This is an educational experience.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re,” he said, voice low, “stunning.”

The air between them shifted, thickened with something neither of them wanted to name. His gaze lingered, heavy and hungry, and for a beat—just a beat—she didn’t move.

She bit her lip. “You keep talking like that and you’ll only get one set.”

“I’ll behave,” he lied.

“Liar.”

“Only a little.”

Against her will, her lips tugged into a smile—small, reluctant, but there all the same.

“There it is,” Rafe said softly, watching her with a crooked grin that had too much affection in it to be dismissed as teasing. “So pretty.”

She rolled her eyes again, but her smile lingered as she turned and disappeared into the bathroom once more, the silken robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Rafe let himself fall back into the sea of pillows with a satisfied sigh, the unicorn still tucked casually against his chest.

Her scent was everywhere—delicate, heady, warm. Her shampoo clung to the cotton pillowcases, something fruity and soft, like peach or cherry blossom. And her perfume lingered heavier in the air, floral with a hint of something musky underneath, the kind of fragrance that made your head dip and your mouth part on instinct. He turned his face slightly into the pillow she’d slept on the night before, inhaling without meaning to. Her room looked like it belonged to a princess—pastels, glittered trinket trays, fluffy plushies stacked in the corner. Soft, inviting, feminine.

He looked wildly out of place in it.

And yet he felt… completely at home.

His fingers skimmed over a pale pink throw pillow, thoughtfully. The kind with a heart stitched into it. She had no idea what she was doing to him, not really. She thought this was still a joke, still just step-sibling banter on the edge of something daring. She had no idea that she was already sitting on a throne in his head.

The bathroom door clicked open again.

Rafe sat up at once, propping himself on his elbows, apple abandoned now and forgotten somewhere on the nightstand. His eyes were trained on the doorway like a hawk.

She stepped out slowly, her hips swaying slightly with each step. This time, the robe barely covered anything—it hung open in the front, and with a small flick of her fingers, she let it slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor.

Rafe’s breath caught.

The second set was different. Darker. Bolder. It was a seductive blend of delicate black lace and soft pink details that made his brain stutter. The bra was sheer, translucent enough that he could see the faintest outline of her nipples beneath the lace. Floral embroidery curved across her breasts, feminine but teasingly incomplete—more suggestion than coverage. Soft pink scalloped lace trimmed the edges, and two tiny black satin bows perched at the base of each strap, with a third between the cups like the final dot on an exclamation mark.

The matching panties were worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure. They hugged her hips with cruel precision, the lace forming a delicate frame that only emphasized the curves it was meant to hide. A pink bow sat right at the center of the waistband, playful and taunting.

He stared. Hard. Lips parted. Brain emptied.

“This one’s my second favorite,” she began, her voice chipper and casual, clearly oblivious to the absolute chokehold she had on him. “I was supposed to get it earlier, but they didn’t have my bra size in stock for weeks, which sucked. But then I checked the site again the other night and boom, there it was, so I ordered it right away before it sold out again. Oh! Can I please show you my favorite one? I know I said I’d only show you two but—”

“Yes.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Yes,” Rafe repeated, sitting up straighter now, voice a little lower than it had been before. “Yes, you can show me. Please show me.” His gaze swept her again, slowly, deliberately. “In fact… I insist.”

She grinned, practically glowing. “Really?”

“Really,” he said, not even trying to hide the desire thickening his voice. “You’ve already broken the rules, what’s one more?”

With a delighted smile, she turned and padded back toward the bathroom, humming under her breath. The door clicked shut again.

Rafe dropped his head back against the pillows and dragged a hand over his face. His other hand still clutched the stuffed unicorn like a lifeline, but it was getting harder to disguise the ache in his lap, the tension crackling through every nerve ending. She was too much—too fucking sweet, too obliviously sexy, too perfect in all the ways that made him feel completely unhinged.

And if that was her second favorite set…

He didn't know whether to be excited or terrified about what was coming next.

Literally and figuratively.

She emerged a few minutes later, and this time, Rafe sat all the way up.

She didn’t just walk out—she floated, barefoot and poised, framed by the soft golden glow of the hallway light behind her. She wore a delicate pastel blue lingerie set that looked almost too soft, too ethereal, for real life. The sheer babydoll nightdress fluttered just above her thighs like it had a heartbeat of its own, the fabric gauzy and translucent. The cups were white floral lace, detailed intricately enough to resemble frost blooming across glass. Thin black straps climbed her shoulders in a racerback cut that drew his eyes down her collarbones and into the slope of her chest, where a tiny black satin bow nestled in the hollow between her breasts.

The panties beneath were made entirely of lace—matching, intricate, barely-there—with a single black bow at the center of the waistband. And her legs… god. She wore white sheer thigh highs, held snug with scalloped elastic, each one topped with a tiny black bow on the outer side.

“This one’s my favorite,” she said with a bright smile, like she wasn’t currently obliterating his nervous system.

Rafe didn’t respond at first. He just stared, eyes raking over her body like he was reading scripture written in her skin and silk. His jaw twitched as he swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said finally, low and a little hoarse. “I like this one too.”

She beamed, crossing the room without hesitation. “And look!” she chirped, climbing onto the bed. Before he could react, she swung one leg over his waist and settled onto his lap, straddling him with the ease of someone completely unbothered by proximity.

His entire body stiffened.

She leaned in, brushing her hair back, and pointed down at the bow between her breasts. “Bows. I love bows.”

He could barely breathe. The curve of her thighs pressed against his sides, the sheer material of her babydoll brushing across his stomach as she moved. Her scent was stronger this close—sweet skin, that floral perfume, something faintly warm and vanilla underneath. He didn’t know if it was coming from her lotion, her laundry detergent, or her. Probably her. It didn’t matter. It made his head spin.

His hands moved without conscious thought, dropping to her hips, fingers curling just slightly against the lace.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice a rasp. He cleared his throat, tried to sound composed, but it came out low and wrecked. “It’s nice, baby. Really… really pretty.”

His thumbs slid along her sides, feeling the way the sheer fabric barely resisted his touch. His fingers brushed the edge of the garter elastic where it hugged her thigh. Her skin was warm. Soft. Real.

Too real.

She didn’t move off him. Didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care—that she was seated directly over the growing tension in his pants. Instead, she looked down at him with wide, trusting eyes, like she was waiting for approval. Like this was still playful. Still harmless.

It wasn’t.

Not anymore.

“Rafe?” she asked quietly.

His eyes snapped back up to hers. “Yeah?”

She tilted her head, brushing hair from her shoulder. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t move. “So are you.”

A beat passed—too loaded, too quiet.

Then, softly: “Do you think I’m pretty?”

His heart thudded.

He let his gaze travel—slowly—from her eyes to her lips, to the graceful line of her neck, to the hollow of her collarbone, down the swell of her breasts framed by lace and ribbon. His fingers squeezed her hips ever so slightly.

“I think you’re fucking beautiful,” he said, voice raw.

She bit her lip, just barely.

And then she whispered, “Good.”

“Come here,” Rafe whispered, his voice low and rough at the edges, barely more than breath. He pulled her closer, hands sliding from her hips to the small of her back as he guided her down until their chests touched and her thighs settled fully over his. His arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her flush against him, like he couldn’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between their bodies.

She melted into the embrace without hesitation, her arms looping around his neck as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers found his hair, slipping into the dark, damp strands with a tenderness that made his pulse trip. She scratched lightly at his scalp—slow, rhythmic—and Rafe exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. His entire body relaxed beneath her, the weight of her in his lap grounding him even as desire simmered dangerously low in his stomach.

He buried his face against her skin, nuzzling into the warm curve of her neck where the scent of her lotion and perfume was strongest. She was soft everywhere—her skin, her breath, the fabric brushing his chest. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then another just below her jaw, slow and lingering. Reverent.

She tilted her head back in silent invitation, hair falling away from her throat, exposing more of the delicate, vulnerable skin he was already addicted to. His lips followed the line of her pulse, brushing the dip beneath her ear, and then lower—pressing another kiss just above the slope of her collarbone, where the lace of her babydoll began.

Her nails stilled for just a moment in his hair as a quiet breath slipped from her lips—barely audible, but he felt it. The way her chest rose and fell more quickly now. The way her fingers tightened, just slightly, at the nape of his neck.

Rafe smiled against her skin, and his arms tightened around her waist. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing her collarbone as he spoke.

She swallowed. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He kissed the center of her chest, right below the little black bow between her breasts. “It’s okay. I like it.”

She let out a soft, breathy laugh—nervous, maybe, but not pulling away. “You’re acting like I’m your girlfriend.”

He lifted his head slowly to meet her gaze, hands still warm on her waist. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “You look like mine.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

Then he added, quieter still—needier, like a truth had just slipped out of him he hadn’t meant to say aloud: “You feel like mine.”

The words settled heavy between them, charged, loaded.

And she didn’t correct him.

She leaned in, her breath feathering against his lips for just a second before she closed the distance and kissed him.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He kissed her back like he’d been waiting for it—aching for it. His hands slid down her back and settled on her ass, palms firm, fingers flexing over the soft lace. Her sigh melted into his mouth, a soft exhale that sent a shiver down his spine. She pressed closer, her body molding to his, delicate silk and lace meeting bare skin, all warmth and weight and temptation.

Her fingers slipped from his hair, drifting down to cradle his jaw, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones in a touch that was almost reverent. She kissed him again, slower now, more purposeful—like she was tasting him, like she wanted to memorize the shape of his mouth with her own. Her lips moved with gentle confidence, deepening the kiss, and he couldn’t help the low sound that rose from his chest.

Rafe groaned, the noise vibrating in his throat, raw and hungry. He squeezed her ass gently, dragging her hips forward just enough to rock her against him. His cock twitched beneath the leather of his riding pants, caught beneath her, aching and hot. And fuck—he felt her through the lace. She was warm, soft, and the barrier between them was practically nonexistent. Just delicate threads and a single thought stood in the way.

His hips rolled up into her, instinctive, desperate for more of that friction. She gasped into the kiss, her lips parting on a moan, and the sound went straight to his head. She rocked down in return, her own hips catching the rhythm, slow and hesitant but undeniable.

“Fuck,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick, breath hot. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She giggled, breathless, forehead resting lightly against his. “Then stop teasing.”

That made him grin, half-lidded and dark. “You call this teasing?”

She gave him a look—daring, a little smug. “You haven’t even taken anything off yet.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

One of his hands slid up the small of her back, fingertips grazing the hem of the babydoll. He caught the edge of the soft fabric and pulled it up slowly, deliberate, watching her face the whole time. ��Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her arms, letting him pull the babydoll over her head and off entirely, revealing the full beauty of the lingerie beneath—the lace bra, the flush rising on her chest, the slight tremble in her breath.

Rafe tossed the gown to the side, eyes raking over her, jaw clenched tight. “Holy fuck, baby…”

His thumbs traced the curve of her hips, dipping under the lace waistband of her panties just slightly. “You’re unreal.”

And with that, he surged up to kiss her again—rougher this time, with more hunger than hesitation. His hands roamed, mapping the exposed skin like he needed to learn her by heart, and every soft gasp that spilled from her lips only pushed him closer to losing all control.

Rafe moved without hesitation, shifting his weight and flipping them smoothly until she was beneath him, her back sinking into the soft tangle of pillows and plushies. Her hair fanned out like a halo, her chest rising and falling in fast little breaths as he settled between her thighs. The stuffed animals framed her body like some obscene shrine, their cute, innocent little faces watching as Rafe began to worship.

He lowered his mouth to her throat, kissing down slowly, deliberately—leaving a trail of heat as his lips brushed over her skin. Down the column of her neck, to the dip between her collarbones, then further, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss between her breasts, right against the little black bow she’d shown him earlier.

Her body trembled.

His hands mapped the path down her stomach, fingertips skimming her sides, grazing the hem of her panties—lace so thin it felt like sin to touch. And then, slowly, with reverent care, he hooked his fingers beneath them and peeled them down her thighs, kissing each new inch of exposed skin like it was sacred.

And when they were off—when she was bare and blushing and soft beneath him—she instinctively tried to close her legs.

He stopped her with just a touch, one palm resting gently on the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, voice gravelly with restraint, with want. His lips brushed against her skin—her inner thigh, feather-light and devastatingly slow. “Don’t ever hide from me.”

Then, softer, lower: “Let your brother see…”

It was dirty. Unholy. Unthinkable. But the way he said it—with that slow, coaxing warmth that curled like smoke around her spine—made her whimper aloud. Her thighs fell open for him, breath catching in her throat as her body betrayed her hesitation with raw, aching need.

“Good girl,” Rafe murmured.

His hands slid beneath her knees, palms warm as he guided her legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. His body shifted, settled lower on the bed, until his mouth hovered just over her soaked, throbbing core. She could feel his breath on her—warm, maddening.

And then he kissed her.

Right there.

Her body jolted—breath flying from her lungs in a shocked, open-mouthed gasp. Her fingers flew to his hair, burying themselves in the thick strands as her hips twitched uncontrollably.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

Rafe groaned into her, the sound vibrating against her as his tongue moved slowly, tasting, savoring. He licked her like he meant it, with slow, indulgent strokes that made her toes curl and her head fall back into the pillows. His hands held her steady, thumbs stroking the crease of her thighs as he buried his face between her legs like he could never get enough.

He flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit, once—twice—and her thighs tensed around his head, hips lifting off the bed without permission. She moaned again, louder this time, and he responded by sucking gently, deliberately, until she was panting his name.

“Rafe… oh my god, Rafe—”

He groaned again, dragging his tongue lower, teasing her entrance, then up again to her clit, his pace alternating between slow licks and focused circles that drove her closer to the edge with every breath.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he muttered between licks. “Could live down here.”

Her thighs trembled. She could barely think, could barely see, every nerve ending sparking under his mouth. Her stomach tightened, legs shaking, back arching into the mattress as the pressure built and built and—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, breath catching on a sob of pleasure. “Please—Rafe—I’m gonna—”

He didn’t. He only held her tighter, tongue relentless, lips locked around her clit, sucking and licking her through it as her orgasm hit hard and fast—her body convulsing, thighs clenching around his head, hand still tangled in his hair as she cried out for him.

And even as she came undone, he didn’t let up.

Before she could even catch her breath, before the tremors of her orgasm had fully faded from her thighs, Rafe shifted. His mouth lifted from between her legs only to be replaced by the slow, intrusive stretch of his fingers. Thick and unrelenting.

Two of them.

He pushed them in deep, burying them inside her in one smooth thrust that made her cry out, her back arching as her body was pulled taut all over again. There was no break. No gentle pause. Just his rough, hungry hands working her open like she was made for him.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her throat, his voice ragged, wild. “So wet for me already. Still fuckin’ twitching.”

His fingers pumped into her, fast and deliberate, curling at just the right angle to make stars dance behind her eyelids. His palm slapped softly against her folds with each thrust, lewd, obscene sounds filling the air between them. He moved up her body at the same time, lips dragging up the line of her neck until his mouth pressed against her pulse.

“You gonna come for your brother, baby?” he whispered, his voice low, dark, curling like smoke against her skin. “Again? Yeah?”

She whimpered, her hips bucking helplessly into his hand, her body already building fast toward a second high. Her fingers clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, and she nodded—frantic, needy, completely undone.

“Yes—fuck, yes—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah you are,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, his voice laced with something both tender and filthy. “You’re gonna fall apart for me again. Just like that.”

His free hand slid between them, and his thumb found her clit with devastating precision. He rubbed tight circles over the oversensitive bud while his fingers still worked inside her, fast and deep, each thrust hitting her just right, making her hips stutter and her moans rise into desperate, high-pitched gasps.

“You like that?” Rafe groaned, biting gently at her neck. “You like being spread open for your brother’s fingers like a little fuckin’ toy?”

Her answer was a whine, a cry, a sharp jerk of her hips that ground her clit harder into his hand. She was panting now, legs trembling around his waist, her second orgasm already crashing through her like a tidal wave she couldn’t stop.

“Rafe—fuck—fuck, I’m—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow. If anything, he doubled down, driving his fingers harder, his thumb flicking faster until she came undone beneath him again—louder this time. Her whole body shook, spasmed, and she sobbed his name, arching off the bed as he worked her through every second of it.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice strained from how hard he was holding back. “That’s it, baby. Let me feel you come.”

And he did. Her walls pulsed around his fingers, clenching tight, wetness gushing against his hand—and fuck, the sight of it nearly made him lose control. She was a mess beneath him, hair splayed across her pillow, face flushed and glowing, chest heaving with each shattered breath.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, watching the slick string of arousal stretch between them, and brought them to his mouth without shame—sucking them clean with a groan, like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Then he looked down at her, dark-eyed and aching.

“You want more?”

She gave him a lazy nod, breathless and dazed, her skin still flushed from the high he’d just wrung out of her. And fuck, that little nod—so soft, so obedient—made something primal in Rafe snap.

His smile was slow, dark, and full of praise.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick. “C’mere.”

He shifted beneath her, guiding her with careful hands until she was straddling him again. He leaned back, bracing himself on his elbows as he shoved his riding pants down along with his boxers in one smooth, impatient motion. The second he was free, his cock slapped up against his stomach—leaking, heavy, flushed a deep, angry red.

And huge.

Her breath caught audibly. Her eyes widened slightly, and her thighs instinctively pressed in just a little tighter around his hips.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

Rafe’s grin sharpened. “You can take it.”

He sat up slightly, one hand curling around her waist, the other slipping between them, fingers guiding his cock to her slick heat. He didn’t rush—he ran the head of it slowly along her soaked folds, up and down, parting her lips and deliberately dragging across her clit until her whole body twitched.

“Rafe,” she whimpered, hips bucking forward, chasing friction.

He kept going—teasing her, sliding the thick crown down again until it nestled perfectly against her entrance. And when her hips shifted just right, her body clenched around the tip, sucking him in slightly—tight, hot, so fucking wet.

Rafe’s head dropped back with a guttural sound, his jaw clenched, muscles tensing beneath her. “Fucking hell.”

Still, he held her steady—hands splayed wide on her hips—and slowly, steadily, pulled her down onto him.

The stretch was intense. Inch by thick inch, he filled her, her walls fluttering and clenching as her body adjusted, the burn delicious, addictive. Her nails dug into his shoulders as her breath hitched, and he groaned low in his chest, fighting to keep control as her warmth enveloped him.

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, voice a gravelly rasp. “Fuck—look at you.”

He watched every second, mesmerized by the way her mouth fell open, her lashes fluttering, her hips trembling as she sank lower, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt. The pressure of her around him was enough to make him see stars.

“You feel that?” he whispered, barely holding it together. “Feel how tight you are around me? So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered again, her body trembling with the effort of adjusting. Her knees braced on either side of his hips, and her hands were flat against his chest now, fingers splayed like she needed something to hold onto—because he filled her. Too much, too deep, but exactly what she needed.

“You’re doing so good,” Rafe said, kissing her neck, her jaw, her cheek. “Such a good fuckin’ girl. Taking every inch like you were made for it.”

And then she moved—rolled her hips once, slow and shallow—and Rafe hissed, his grip tightening.

“Ride me,” he groaned into her skin. “Come on, baby. Let me see you fuck yourself on your brother’s cock.”

She started to move—slow at first, rocking her hips in shallow little rolls, testing how much she could take, how far she could push herself without unraveling completely. Rafe let her, his hands loose on her hips, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched the way she moved over him, the way her face contorted with every grind of her pussy around his cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick and reverent. “Nice and slow. Let me feel it, baby.”

She whimpered, her hands braced against his chest, the muscles beneath her fingers flexing with every subtle lift of her hips. He filled her too well—thick and deep and stretching her open in a way that left her brain melting out of her ears. She could feel every vein, every throb, and it was so much. So fucking much.

“Fucking hell,” Rafe hissed as she sank a little lower again. “Look at you—riding your big brother’s cock like you were born for it.”

She moaned aloud at the words—high and shaky—her rhythm faltering for a moment as his filthy voice short-circuited her.

“Aw, you like that?” he said, laughing softly, breath hot against her neck. “You like hearing what a dirty little sister you are?”

Her hips jerked at the words—instinctive, needy—and he rewarded her by bucking up into her, hard enough to punch a gasp out of her lungs.

“Yeah,” he groaned, hands grabbing her ass, helping her move now, forcing her up and down on his cock in smooth, deep motions. “That’s what I thought.”

She picked up the pace, guided by the strength of his grip, her thighs burning as she began to bounce—riding him properly now, each wet, obscene slap of skin on skin making her thighs tremble and her breath stutter.

Rafe couldn’t stop watching her. Her tits bounced with every thrust, her body tight and shining with sweat, her mouth hanging open in a perfect, ruined moan. She was a fucking vision—his sweet, spoiled little princess of a stepsister—spread open on his cock like she was made to be there.

Then—slowly—he brought one hand up and pressed it flat against her stomach, just beneath her ribs. She looked down, confused for half a second.

And then she felt it.

The blunt head of his cock, visible through her skin—deep and thick and right there.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, eyes wide, head falling back.

“Yeah,” Rafe groaned, his own voice strained, close to snapping. “You feel that? That’s me, baby. That’s your brother that deep inside.”

He pressed just a little harder, watching her tremble as her pussy clenched around him. “Split open on my cock, stuffed so full I can see myself through your pretty little stomach. Fuck, you take it so well.”

She was a mess—crying out now with every bounce, every grind, her hands flying to his chest for leverage as she rode him faster, chasing her release. Her thighs were shaking, her skin flushed, her voice dissolving into broken whimpers of his name.

“I can’t—fuck, Rafe—I’m gonna—”

“Come,” he groaned, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, fucking up into her as she dropped down again. “Come all over your brother’s cock, baby. Show me how good it feels to be ruined by me.”

And she did.

She shattered on top of him, her body locking up tight, her pussy clenching down around him as her orgasm hit like a lightning strike—long and wet and uncontrollable. She sobbed his name, burying her face in his neck, hips still grinding as she rode out every last wave of pleasure.

Rafe held her through it, groaning like a man possessed, teeth sinking into her shoulder as he fought to keep from spilling inside her right then and there.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathed, voice shaking. “So perfect like this. Mine.”

She was still twitching from the aftershocks, her breath coming in high, uneven pants as she slumped forward slightly on his chest—fucked-out, soft, boneless. But Rafe wasn’t done. Not even close.

He watched her, chest heaving, lips parted, skin glowing, her cunt still fluttering around him like she was begging for more.

And fuck… she didn’t need to beg.

“Turn around,” he said, voice rough, dark with need.

She blinked, sluggish. “Wha—”

He didn’t wait. He sat up, gripped her hips with both hands, and flipped her—effortless, commanding. One second she was on top, and the next, her chest hit the mattress with a muffled squeak, her face smushed against the soft pile of her stuffed animals, ass up in the air, legs spread wide open for him.

“Rafe—oh my god—”

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, settling behind her, dragging the thick head of his cock through her soaked folds. “You can take it. You’re doing so good.”

She moaned, fingers curling into the stuffed unicorn beneath her, her hips shifting as if chasing the weight of him already. And that made something in him snap.

He grabbed a fistful of her ass and drove into her with one hard thrust—deep, to the hilt, burying himself in one stroke that made her scream into her plushies.

“F-fuck! Rafe—!”

“That’s it,” he groaned, gripping her hips like handles. “That’s my good girl. My perfect little fucktoy of a sister—stuffed so full she can’t even speak.”

And then he fucked her.

Hard.

Relentless, punishing strokes that made her body jolt forward with every thrust, her face buried in her stuffed animals, muffling her cries as the bed creaked beneath them. Her hands were clutching anything soft—grabbing tight to her unicorn, her pink bunny, her princess pillow—anything to hold onto as her body took every brutal inch.

Rafe couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

She was dripping around him, loud, wet, obscene. Every thrust was a slap, every sound bouncing off the walls of her perfectly girly room. The sweetness of the space only made it filthier—his cock buried deep in his pretty little sister, surrounded by pastel plushies and bows and frills.

“You feel that, baby?” he groaned, leaning over her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “That’s your brother—ruining you. Splitting you open. Fucking you like no one else ever will.”

She tried to answer but it came out as a moan, her words slurred and useless. She was gone—glassy-eyed, drooling into her stuffed rabbit, her thighs trembling as her pussy spasmed around him again.

“Too much,” she whimpered.

Rafe grinned, dragging her hips back to meet another brutal thrust. “That’s too bad.”

He reached around, hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, fast and messy. Her whole body convulsed.

“Come for me again,” he hissed into her ear. “Soak your brother’s cock like a good little slut.”

And she did.

She screamed into her toys, legs shaking, walls clenching like a vice around him as she fell apart—again. Her body arched back into him, surrendering completely as she came so hard she nearly collapsed.

Rafe was right behind her—grinding into her deeper, faster, chasing his own end.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted, fucking her through it. “Gonna come so deep it leaks out of you all fucking day. Everyone’ll know what we did.”

“Please,” she sobbed, nearly delirious. “Please, Rafe—come inside—”

That was it.

He slammed in deep one final time, groaning low and filthy against her back as he spilled inside her—hot, thick, endless. His cock twitched, pulsed, painted her walls as he emptied every last drop.

They stayed there, trembling, breathless, his cock still buried deep inside her, her face half-squashed into her pink unicorn as cum slowly started to drip out around the base.

Rafe kissed her spine, then her shoulder.

“Best ride of my fucking life,” he muttered.

And she just moaned into her stuffed animals—too fucked out to say anything else.

“You still with me, baby?” Rafe murmured with a low chuckle, his voice rough from panting and pleasure, still dazed with the high of her.

She nodded, just barely, a lazy little dip of her head against the pillow—too fucked out to speak, her lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed and damp, hair tangled and clinging to her forehead. Her breathing was slow now, shallow and warm where it puffed into the crook of her arm. She looked completely ruined. Wrecked.

His ruined masterpiece.

Rafe chuckled again, pressing a kiss between her shoulder blades, his lips lingering for a second longer than they needed to. “Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered, one hand stroking slow, gentle circles into her hip, the aftercare settling into him like instinct. “I’m right here.”

She nodded again, softer this time. Her eyes had already fluttered closed, her fingers still curled loosely into the plush fur of her stuffed animals—clinging without thought, like her body was still trying to ground itself in something after what he’d done to her. And Rafe?

He was still inside.

Still buried to the hilt, snug and warm inside her like he belonged there.

He exhaled, a quiet, satisfied breath as he leaned forward, laying his chest over her back with a weight that was more comfort than pressure. His arms draped around her middle, hands splaying wide against her stomach as he pulled her close, holding her in the filthiest, softest embrace imaginable.

His nose nuzzled into her temple as he whispered, “My girl.”

He kissed her cheek—slow, reverent, his lips barely brushing her skin—and let his fingers wander in soothing patterns up and down her side, memorizing her all over again. Her breathing deepened. She’d slipped into sleep with his cum still dripping out of her, stuffed full and held tight, a soft little moan in her throat and a smile ghosting on her lips.

And Rafe stayed there—inside her, around her, completely tangled up in her.

Because there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

[sturniphone]

frat!chris or fuckboy!chris's friends betting him that he couldn't get you to kiss him but you find out and kiss him anyway..one thing leads to another 🤭

ˇ⋆ ╱ ‧ ˚ ꪆ frat!chris && the girl who no one can have.. unless

𝓔veryone wants Chris. He’s the prince of Greek Row, all cocky smirks and backwards caps, the kind of boy who makes girls giggle just by walking in. His hoodie always smells like cologne and weed, and his lip is always curved like he knows he could have anyone he wants.

Except you.

You’re the only one who doesn’t fall at his feet. The one he watches from across the lawn parties, your glossed lips wrapped around a red cup, surrounded by a blur of admirers. Your skirt's short, laugh loud, and confidence sharp. Everyone knows you’re the hottest thing on campus. Including him.

That’s why he took the bet. A hundred bucks if he could get a kiss. Just one. Easy. You already knew. So when he sidles up to you at the party—the music pounding, his friends watching from across the firepit with expectant grins—you don’t even let him get a word out. Your fingers fist in the collar of his hoodie, tugging him close. Your lip brush is brief, teasing.

Then you're pulling him through the crowd, heels clicking, hips swaying. He barely has time to look back at his dumbfounded friends before you’re slamming the grimy bathroom door shut behind you. The fluorescent light buzzes overhead. You don’t give him time to blink. Your hand is already in his hair, tugging. ❝Still think I’m some dumb bet?❞ you whisper, close enough to kiss.

Chris swallows, stunned. ❝I—❞ But you bite his bottom lip hard, until he gasps, a drop of blood blooming red. He groans, a sound low and wrecked, and you kiss him again—open-mouthed, wild, a little messy, like you want to ruin him.

You guide his hand under your skirt like you’re doing him a favour, your voice low against his mouth: ❝Touch me like you mean it, frat boy.❞ His fingers are trembling. It should feel like you’ve won. But the look on his face is cocky again now; hunger says this game might just be starting.

You’re already being lifted. Chris’s hands grip your thighs like he owns them, and in a blink, your ass hits the counter. It’s cold. Grimy. You don’t care. The mirror behind you rattles as he presses in close, mouth at your neck, belt coming undone in frantic tugs.

❝Fuck, ma... been dying for this,❞ he breathes, voice low and ruined. His cock presses against your entrance—hot, thick, flushed deep red—and then he sinks in all at once. You cry out, nails biting into his shoulders. You’re soaked, but the stretch still steals your breath. He’s bigger than you imagined. How annoying.

Chris groans like he’s never felt anything so tight. ❝Jesus... you’re gripping me.❞ He fucks into you rough and fast—desperate, hungry, like he’s got minutes left to live and needs every second buried inside your dripping cunt. Your thighs are trembling around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders, the bathroom stall rocking under the force of it. The mirror behind you rattles with every brutal thrust, your moans bouncing off the grimy tiles, loud and shameless.

His cock feels impossibly big, thick and throbbing as it stretches your tight little hole, dragging against every aching, pulsating nerve. You’re soaked—slippery and hot around him, slick coating his length, dripping down to his thighs. Every pump sends butterflies into your stomach, your body winding tighter and tighter.

Chris grunts, sweat clinging to his neck, and shoves two fingers into your mouth—deep, possessive, muffling your wild, high-pitched cries. You suck around them instinctively, whining, head lolling back as your eyes roll.

❝Fuck, sweetheart,❞ he growls, barely holding on. ❝This pussy’s fuckin’ made for me.❞ His other hand is relentless on your clit, rubbing frantic, vicious circles that send sparks shooting through your limbs. You’re so sensitive, already close, cunt fluttering around his cock, wet and wanting.

Your orgasm slams into you like a truck—loud and overwhelming. You cum hard, a sob breaking from your throat as your walls clamp down, fluttering uncontrollably, slick gushing. Your whole body clenches, collapsing into him, shuddering like you can’t take any more.

Chris’s thrusts grow sloppy, broken. ❝That’s it, baby. Let me feel it. Let me fuckin’ feel you.❞ He grinds deep, cock pulsating as he fills you up, warm and heavy, his head buried in your shoulder as he groans. His whole body tenses, deep, guttural noises ripped from his throat as he cums, twitching inside your soaked, trembling cunt.

You’re still gasping, clutching at him, legs shaking as he stays buried in you, both of you wrecked, ruined, dripping with need. It’s silence. Just your panting, the drip of water somewhere nearby, your heart pounding in your throat.

You slide off the counter before he can speak. Panties tugged up, skirt fixed, gloss perfect. His cum is sticky on your thigh.

Chris leans against the sink, dazed. Still hard.

You glance back, smirking. ❝Guess you owe your boys double.❞

He laughs once, breathless. ❝Holy shit. I think I’m in love.❞

ꪮꫀ 𝓛ola talks I got bored okay? frat!chris is on my mind right now.. in a slutty way. also me trying to write something short is clearly impossible for me !! haha.. but um really wanted to just do a blurb for slut frat!chris but ughhghgghhghghghg im sooo bored rn as I re read this... it's kinda ass

── ʚ chris's hoe's .ᐟ . . . @chrepsi ⸝⸝ @ph3ebssturniolo ⸝⸝ @sturnsxbbyeilish ⸝⸝ @j21l91 ⸝⸝ @pip4444chris ⸝⸝ @mattslutt ⸝⸝ @sophand4n4 ⸝⸝ @mattscoquette ⸝⸝ @mi-co-uk ⸝⸝ @tezzzzzzzz ⸝⸝ @emely9274 ���⸝ @oopsiedaisydeer ⸝⸝ @theowensturniolo ⸝⸝ @httpssturns ⸝⸝ @matthewsroses ⸝⸝ @bugs-tags ⸝⸝ @mattswrinkleton ⸝⸝ @victorious8 ⸝⸝ @h3arts4nat ⸝⸝ @jadedjewelswrld-0807 ⸝⸝ @madz146 ⸝⸝ @ifwdominicfike ⸝⸝ @rriverscuomo ⸝⸝ @ivysturnss ⸝⸝ @brianaluvschris @mattsgold ⸝⸝ @sturniolotoast ⸝⸝ @mattsdiva ⸝⸝ @little-lolaaa ⸝⸝ @mattsmoth ⸝⸝ @clairo4life ⸝⸝ @everythingaboutbags ⸝⸝ @matts-wife ⸝⸝ @chrispleasure ⸝⸝ @ajskorner ⸝⸝ @mattspillowprincess ⸝⸝ @freshlovefever ⸝⸝ @twylas114 ⸝⸝ @matties-angel ⸝⸝ @mayax2o07 ⸝⸝ @sturnsflirt ⸝⸝ @mialovesyouchris ⸝⸝ @tonymayor2022 ⸝⸝ @ifellforanotherloser ⸝⸝ @sturnl0ve ⸝⸝

⌗ © sturniphone

[ditzyrafe]

hiiiii!! i’m obsessed with literally everything you write!! i’ve been listening to sports car by tate mcrae lately and kind of am dying to have a fic inspired by it!! you can totally choose which rafe works with it-just please not step bro :)

— bf!rafe fucking u in his sports car

warnings — public sex (kinda), car sex, unprotected sex, lewd language

a/n — omg i love tate mcrae! i've never written anything like this before so i hope you like it <3

the roar of the crowd fades as rafe slams the car door shut, cocooning you both in the surprisingly plush interior of his low-slung sports car. the air inside is thick with the scent of burnt rubber, adrenaline, and rafe's sweat. he just won, the victory still blazing in his eyes, a wild, untamed energy radiating off him in palpable waves. he doesn't even bother taking off his racing helmet immediately.

"that felt fucking good," he growls, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet, turning to you in the cramped passenger seat. his eyes, visible through the visor, are electrifying, predatory.

before you can offer congratulations, he's on you. he leans across the centre console, pushing you back against the door, his mouth crashing down onto yours in a bruising, possessive kiss that tastes of triumph and raw power. the helmet bumps awkwardly against your forehead, but neither of you cares.

his hands are rough, impatient, yanking at your clothes. he pulls your top off, fumbling with the clasp of your bra with one hand while the other shoves your skirt high up off your thighs. the gear shift digs uncomfortably into your hip, but the discomfort is lost in the sudden, overwhelming surge of his need.

"need you," he snarls against your lips, finally ripping off his helmet and tossing it carelessly into the back. his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face flushed. "need you now."

he doesn't wait for permission. he unzips his racing suit just enough, freeing his thick, hard cock, already slick with pre-cum. he grabs your hips, lifting you slightly, angling you awkwardly over the console, and then slams into you with a force that steals your breath.

the confines of the car make it brutal, raw. your legs are cramped, your back pressed against the window, but the sheer, animalistic intensity of it is intoxicating. he fucks you with the same aggressive, relentless energy he just displayed on the track — fast, hard, taking what he wants. each thrust is a powerful, jarring impact, making the car rock slightly on its suspension.

"fuckkk," he groans, burying his face in your neck, biting down gently on your shoulder as he pounds into you. the scent of him — sweat, adrenaline, victory — is overwhelming, primal. you cling to him, nails digging into the tough fabric of his racing suit, your own cries muffled against his skin.

the gear shift, the steering wheel, the tight space — it all adds to the raw, illicit thrill. he pulls back slightly, his eyes burning into yours, a wild, triumphant smirk on his lips. "this is for winning," he pants, before driving into you again, deeper, harder, pushing you both towards a frantic, explosive release that mirrors the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. he cums with a guttural roar, collapsing against you, pinning you against the car door.

"fuck- you're my good luck charm, baby."

taglist ; @mojitrvo @mayanqueenxx @kisses4rafey @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @onxlyemery @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @yncoded @millie--billie @laniirackssss @slut4you @g3t2kn0w @kravitzwhore @dollyfiles @kild4re @zzhenyac @sparklyananas @dsfault @rafesprttyprincess @lynst91 @nonbeliever1 @drewsephrry @k4yr14 @babydollll-bunny @leleasalwaysblog @cokewithcameron @mialuvsrafe @urcoolgf @love-ella333 @amelialovesrafe @kaisage45 @goodsoup19 @cicicavill7 @tezzzzzzzz @badnightngo (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[freshlovefever]

⠀⊹⠀. 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 ⠀⠀𝃛ㅤ⠀ഒ in which⠀⠀ׅ⠀𝆬⠀◌ dom!chris⠀paired w/⠀partygirl!reader

⠀𝆬⠀⠀the warnings⠀⠀ׅ⠀⠀⊹⠀ public sex, bathroom setting, house party, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, nipple piercing mention + slight fixation, mirror sex, cum on back, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, risk of getting caught, praise, no aftercare scene but implied comfort

your back hits the bathroom door the second it shuts. the music outside is deafening. your breathing is louder. chris is already on you—mouth dragging along your jaw, hand shoved up your shirt like he’s been waiting for this all night.

because he has. he’d been watching you from across the room, lazy on the couch with a drink in hand, head tilted as you danced in the kitchen lights like you didn’t know he was looking.

but you did.

your eyes kept finding his, lingering a little longer each time. biting your lip. smiling like you were asking for it. and now you’ve got it. his fingers are already teasing the edge of your bra, tugging the lace down, breath catching as his thumb finds the barbell through your nipple. “you wore this just to fuck with me,” he mutters, voice low, lips brushing your collarbone.

you don’t answer. just gasp. his eyes flick up.

“quiet,” he warns, but his voice breaks on it. because he’s slipping his hand lower, fingers dragging down your jeans, and there’s no going slow now.

you’re soaked. he swears under his breath. his fingers push past your panties like it’s nothing. he groans when he feels you. “fuck—this wet already?” you nod, head tipping back. he kisses you once—hard, messy, like a promise—and then he’s spinning you around.

your hands hit the sink. his hips press into your ass. you both watch the mirror. you in front of him, mouth open, eyes wide. him behind you, eyes dark, tattoo showing under the rolled-up sleeve, jaw clenched.

he fumbles with his belt, pants shoved low, and then his hand is on your lower back, pushing you forward just enough to arch you for him. “don’t look away,” he says, voice gravelled and hot against your neck. “wanna see your face.”

he pushes in slow, both of you breathing hard. you’re tight around him—too tight, too good, and he pauses halfway in, head buried in your shoulder. “jesus,” he whispers.

then he thrusts. hard. deep. you bite your fist to stay quiet. his hand slides around your waist, finds your clit, rubs tight circles while he fucks into you like the bathroom walls aren’t paper-thin, and his eyes never leave yours.

you grip the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles go white. every thrust is harder than the last. he’s panting now. desperate.

“shouldn’t be doing this here,” he mutters. “but you look so pretty like this… all fuckin’ messy for me.” you can’t even answer. you’re dizzy. every nerve is on fire. his hand tightens on your hip. the mirror fogs up in front of you. your legs start shaking.

“close?” he asks, voice breaking. you nod, and his fingers speed up. his thrusts go shallow, rough, fast—his other hand covering your mouth when you start to moan.

“cum,” he says. “right now.”

and you do.

your body clamps around him, head falling back, whole frame trembling against the sink. he groans when he feels it. “fuck—fuck, i’m gonna—” he pulls out quick, finishes on your ass and lower back, hand tight on your hip to keep himself steady.

he watches it drip. watches you breathe. watches your eyes in the mirror. his voice is low.

“you okay?” you nod. his lips hit your shoulder, then your neck. he tucks himself back into his pants and grabs a towel to clean you up, fingers still trembling.

‎ 𐦍༘ ⠀⠀ 𝓐𝐑𝐋𝐎 ⠀© 2025⠀⠀/ && 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 ·˚ ༘ @sturns-mermaid @courta13 @h8aaz @oopsiedaisydeer

[sunarots]

guys my age ━━━ sakusa kiyoomi

22. do you… ♡

"The game's finished," Akaashi warns, checking his phone's notifications. "Jackals won. I need to go in and see Koutarou. Do you want to wait here, or come with me?"

Without saying anything, you double check your appearance in the mirror before climbing out of his car. You tuck your phone into your back pocket, trudging alongside Akaashi. "I'm sorry I made you miss the game," you whisper, keeping your head down as you re-enter the arena.

He shakes his head despite you being unable to see, eyebrows knitted together. "Don't be sorry. You would've felt worse standing where everyone can see you."

Part of you wants to laugh at yourself, the position you're in. One year ago, you'd be repelled if a one night stand left you his number with a smiley face. If only you could see yourself now, ugly crying in someone you barely know's car over a fake boyfriend... Past you would be so ashamed of present you. And yet, you don't hate it. The crying part you could do without, but your feelings for Sakusa? You wouldn't change that for anything. Maybe at the end of the contract, you'll be able to hold a steady relationship with someone.

"Keiji! Y/n!"

You lift your head, eyes resting on the man running over to the pair of you. Both hands in the air, you and Akaashi lifting your arms for a high ten. You let them drop to your sides as Bokuto engulfs Keiji in a hug, rambling about how he scored the winning point. Your gaze drifts, taking in all the faces of the team wandering towards the changing rooms. With no sign of Sakusa, your heart begins to drop.

"Omi-san's having a shower. He said to wait out here for him," Bokuto announces as he struts past, walking for one himself. He swings the door open and his voice raises, excitedly yelling to his changing teammates.

"Do you want me to wait with you?"

You're quick to shake your head in response, waving a hand in dismissal. "No, I'm okay. I'll take a seat and wait." You smile as a goodbye to Akaashi, before turning your full attention on finding somewhere to sit. Thankfully, there's a bench just to the side of the door that you perch yourself on in wait.

Every couple minutes someone exits the changing room, until you've said goodbye to everyone except one. You wait an extra ten minutes, the amount of time it takes for the arena to become near empty.

With a heavy sigh and after a long debate, you rise onto your feet and knock on the door to the changing room. You call out for Sakusa and get no response, shaking your head in frustration and shoving the door open. "Kiyoomi? Are you actually in here?" You can hear a shower coming from afar, having an internal debate whether or not you should step fully inside. "I'm coming in!"

You take a few cautious steps forward and peer around the corner, relieved to see that only one bag remained: Sakusa's. You call his name a couple times, slowly approaching the running shower. No one stands beneath it as far as you can see, and your anxiety kicks in. Has he passed out again? Did he slip and fall?

"If you're in the shower, please put your penis away." You take a final step forward, letting your eyes fall upon him.

Sakusa sits on the floor of the shower with his legs hugged to his chest, staring down at the floor. He still wears his shorts but has removed his jersey, flashing his toned arms to you. He doesn't react to the water dripping down his face or the irritating feeling of the shorts around his waist.

"Kiyoomi, what's wrong?" You kneel before him, getting as close as possible whilst avoiding getting damp from the water. "I know this is a shower, but the floor will be filthy."

He lets out a soft chuckle, gaze staying firm on the floor. "Don't remind me."

You hesitate before riding to your feet, reaching through the water and turning the water off. "What happened?"

"I can't believe I messed up," he whispers, almost missed by you.

"Messed up?" He nods, lifting his eyes to meet yours. "How did you mess up? You passed out. These things happen. It might even happen again, but hopefully it doesn't because that was scary to see."

Sakusa tries to read your expression, rests his chin on his knees. "Have you been crying?" Feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks, you hum in response. With a sigh, Sakusa mumbles an apology. "I didn't think about how you felt."

"No, you didn't." Your attempt to make him laugh fails, but you can see a smile trying to creep through the concern. "Now, are you going to actually take a shower? Or are we going to keep sitting in the filth?"

This time, Sakusa lets out a soft laugh. "I'm going to shower. Your shirts wet, I have one in my bag you can wear."

You begin to walk over to where his bag is sat on a bench, calling his name before he can put the water back on. "Can I wear your jersey?"

Sakusa stops with his hand on the shower handle, leaning out to take a look and see if you're being serious. "You want to wear my sweaty jersey?" He watches you try to bite back a smile, his face contorting in disgust. "Oh my god. It's filthy."

"And? It's your jersey," you repeat, picking it up from where he left it. "Can I?"

He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "You're really weird." Watching you laugh at his reaction, Sakusa hesitates before returning to the shower. He calls your name, grabbing your attention once more. "Do you..."

You straighten up, feeling your amusement subside and anxiety return. The few seconds drag on, feeling as though time was passing through you. Your grip on his jersey tightens, knuckles turning white.

"Never mind."

masterlist. previous | next

summary. sakusa kiyoomi, middle blocker for the famous msby black jackals, is known for his clean reputation, never drawing attention to himself through scandals. ever since joining the jackals, he's kept himself out of the headlines unless over something good. that is until he drinks a little too much and finds himself in the news for going home with someone he doesn't know.

taglist (49/50). @kawoala @kozu-chan @mayyhaps @jayathelostdragon @vi0let-writes @lavender-pink-socks @kodzumicyy @alcyneus @fi-chanwrites @mdmraz @uhsakusa @sophiahearttss @jnfectedz @ascebel @glads-stuff @freakypickle @anonymity-222 @aldebrana @shozuken @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @followingmysunsposts @v3nusplanetofluv @wakashudou @sexylexy12 @nanasrkives @cloudtato @yuminako @soobinsbreadscrumbs @lover-no-lover61 @bloodb3nders @meikstv @sugacor3 @darling-eos @iheartamora @xerophyides @xiaoquanquans @oneanabillion @kitasricefarm @pookalicious-hq @idexmids @hantas-left-elbow @mo072806 @satanscornchip @faesix @lerrainesstuff @i7ghoul @goonforgeto @moonshoon @neuviloved

[voie-lacte3]

—the one where you go on a date to texas roadhouse

| check out the rest of his masterlist!

| taglist!

| anon list!

| fluff?? lwk crack

| can yall tell im feining for sum roadhouse 🤤

you're in your bedroom, hair clipped up, headband on, primer being rubbed on. "whats the vibe like tonight, hun?" you ask, mason peeping his head from your closet. "so we're definitely matching," "oh yes, what we thinking??"

"so, since im wearing," he motions to his hrown shirt, baggy jeans, and brown sombas. "we obviously gotta go with this for you," he pulls out a cute brown, off the shoulder, crop top. "mhm mhm, what about pants?" "skirt actually," he shows you your denim (mini) skirt, "and finally," he pulls out your identical brown sombas.

"look at you fashion diva,"

mason rolls his eyes playfully, causing you to smile at him through the mirror. "dont rush me mason, i know that look. a baddie needs time to get ready"

────୨ৎ────

"babe, you're gonna make me crash the car" mason says as you lean over the center console, twisting your mascara wand dangerously close to his like of sight

"at least we'll look hot," you mumble, eyes wide as you coat your lashes. "we wouldn't be in this predicament if you wouldn't have rushed me" you pout, making him grin

one of his hands instinctively reaches over to rest on your thigh, "sorry queen, wont happen again" you hum in contentment, resting one hand on top of his while the other fidgets with the radio

you land on some random country station, smiling and turning it up. "ughhhhh," you groan, "imma jump out of this moving vehicle." he grins, glancing over at you with that crooked, smug little smirk. "please, you’d never leave me. not with the rolls waiting."

you gasp suddenly, recognizing the melody of the song immediately.

"i send the check for the lease every january, to eleven hundred beckham ridge road", you start, making goofy faces at mason

the 2 of you sing along to Luke Combs' hit song In Case I Ain't Around. it was slightly off key, more screams than actual singing, and lots of chaos,

"IN CASE I AINT AROUND WHEN YOU GET OLDER—" mason dramatically hits your thigh

"I JUST THOUGHT I'D TELL YOU NOW SO DOWN THE ROAD YOU'RE," you clutch your chest,

"ALL GOOD TO GO THROUGH THE HIGHS AND LOWS AND ALL LIFE'S UPS AND DOWNS—" his voice cracks, but he stays committed

"YEAH THAT WAY IM STILL THERE FOR YOU SOMEHOW, IN CASE I AINT AROUNDDDD," the 2 of you fall into a fit of giggles, mason pulling into the parking lot right as the song finishes.

"if i died, i'd haunt you"

"hello?!?" you look over at him, "so like, thats really random! how about we dont think about death," you cup his cheeks, squishing them. "plus, you already haunt me with your stupid good looks and adorable dimples"

he laughs, leaning over and kisses your cheek, "cmon, lets go stuff our faces in rolls"

────୨ৎ────

the hostess seats you in a corner booth beneath a dim neon sign, promising to be back in a bit to get your drink orders.

as soon as she leaves, one of mason's hands is in the bread basket.

"bro, its not going anywhere"

"don’t judge,” he says, mouth already full of warm bread and cinnamon butter. "i’ve been dreaming about this." you laugh as his eyes dilate, "i think i have competition,"

your boyfriend doesnt even hear you, completely entranced with shoving rolls in his mouth, only proving your point. "mace, baby, slow down, you know we can get more, right?"

mason practically moans at the thought of more rolls, "you’re literally going feral over rolls right now," "you love it, excuse me— yeah, can we get more rolls please? thank you so much"

"mason thames, no shot you just finished a whole basket of rolls" "did you want a bite?" you roll your eyes playfully, shoving his knee from under the table

"question, would it make me a fatass if i get a baked potato and some mac?"

your sweet, sweet boyfriend deadpans. "did you seriously just ask me, the person who just downed like, 5? 6? rolls, if getting a baked potato— "loaded baked potato..." he sighs, "if getting a loaded baked potato and macaroni—" "would make me fat? yes. yes i did."

"my love get whatever you want— thank you! i guarantee you'll still be body tea compared to me when im done with this basket" he instantly grabs another roll, slapping more butter on it

"you're right, i'll get a caesar salad to balance it out— hey! let me get at least one roll"

────୨ৎ────

"holy fuck..." you let out, patting your tummy in content. he sips the last of his sweet tea and smiles at you, like you didn't just eat enough food to feed a small village

"babe." he hums, not really paying attention, "mason.", at that, he looks up at you. "i'm actually fucking enormous, do not look at me when we get up. why the fuck would you choose a shirt that fits THIS tight?!?"

your lover laughs, "first of all, i chose it cause we gotta be baddies together. second of all, i love allll of you, bloated or not." you groan, "can we please, go on a walk or something??" mason laughs once again, asking for the check as you lay your head on your hands

"bro i dont think i can walk any further—" you sigh as you reach the door of the restaurant, moving aside slightly so an elderly couple could enter. "genuinely, give me a second", your loving, sweet, kind hearted boyfriend, no hesitation, picks you right up

"MASON!" you squeal, "put me down! i look like such a pick me, oh my God, put me downnn, im pretty sure im like 10 pounds heavier—" you practically hear the eye roll in his voice, "i love you, but shut up. let me carry my beautiful girlfriend in peace"

"you’re insufferable."

"oh shut up, you like it.”

(you do.)

────୨ৎ────

30 minutes later you're at a park. you walked around for about 15 minutes until you felt at ease.

"now that i dont feel like manny the woolly-fucking mammoth, lets take some pics. your insta is highkey dry," mason fakes a gasp, clutching his chest at your insult

nonetheless, he takes his phone, following you like a lost puppy. "right..here?" he questions as you pose in between 2 tall trees, lighting very scarce. "yes mace, its giving twilight" "i literally dont know what that means but pose"

in that moment, he dedicates his life to taking pictures of you, "YES BABY! chin up, MHM! just like that—" "you're actually on illegal levels of hot right now" "FOR FREE?!?" "WAIT!! lemme do a point 5, gotta get that fake paparazzi vibe"

you laugh at his words, posing in various ways, the poor boy twisting in weird weird, even laying on the ground at some point, claiming he needed all the right angles.

"you’re so pretty.” he mumbles, snapping another picture before you walk towards him. "you’re so clingy." he hands you your phone, "yep." he leans down, kissing your cheek

click, "seriously?" "whattt, it was such a cute moment" "send it to me, i'll be chalant tonight"

you turn, kissing him properly. "im glad i secured the cutest baddie in texas" you giggle at his words, feeling his arms wrap around you in a hug, forehead against yours

"cant wait to marry you," you whisper against his lips. he smiled. "so… loaded baked potatoes and texas roadhouse rolls at the wedding?

you kiss him before he can say anything else.

a/n: tbh. this is lowkey shitty and idek what it is, but im sleep deprived asf 💔 and also, i probably wont post until Monday cause i wanna catch up on my asks, sorry chat

tags: @bluebvrriee @v4mpire-bit3s @neroloops @m-e-m06 @icollectrubberduckies @tuttifrutt1 @unsaidjaelinrose @sorry-for-party-rocking-rah @courta13 @thegr8estpuff @90zl1ps @user168537 @katie-the-bookworm @cecedelove @ktaerssoi @celestiiql

[dividers from @cursed-carmine]

[shintaru]

🏩 m.list ♡ taglist ♡ recent fics 🏩

Synopsis ~ panty thief Hyuk

Tagging ~ @i-nssomniia @sylith @hyukwwn @wthphe1n

A/N ~ now I can get started in the Nipple request for Hyuk anon! 😭😭 I got this idea from a LADS head canon that Caleb is a panty thief.

Hyuk has been to your house numerous times to ride with you to meet up with your crew but this time was different. He had asked to use the bathroom to which you agreed he had never stepped farther than your living room whenever he had to wait which wasn’t often usually you were already out the door waiting for him by the time he arrived he was looking over your decor until you pointed him into the direction of your bathroom

Once he entered the bathroom he rushed out of his pants letting out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding as he finally relieved himself he was holding it the whole time he cycled to your house and the ride over with bumps and hills didn’t help in fact it made it worse he swore he would’ve used it on himself if it wasn’t for you. After he was done he pulled his pants back up and turned on your sink using your scented soap to wash his hands. He seen you didn’t have a towel in the hand rack so he looked around four something spotting a towel hanging behind him in the mirror he turned around and used the ends to dry if his wet hands

In the peripheral vision or corner of his eye he takes notice of your laundry basket well not the basket specifically more so what’s in the basket which just so happened to be a pair of your lacy panties that you took off earlier after your shower he knew he shouldn’t but it’s not like knowing something was wrong ever stopped him from doing it before why stop now He just couldn’t help himself he took the pair of your panties from the laundry basket slowly pulling them towards his face before he could take a whiff you knock softly on the door

“Hyuk are you ok? you’ve been in there a while” you ask softly your tone filled with concern. “Yeah I’ve just been holding it since I left. I'll be out in a minute” he says. “Alright try to hurry we have to meet the guys soon” you say. “Ok I’m almost done” he stuffs the pair of used panties into his jacket pocket Ina hurry he digs through your laundry basket looking for another pair and thankfully he finds another dirty pair of your underwear that he shoves into his pocket with the other pair you were truly and Angel leaving them there just for him they were out in the open it’s like you wanted him to have them.

He heads out of the bathroom giving you a smile “all done, let’s go” he says you follow him out the door and head to meet them to plan the plays for the next race. The whole time Hyuk can’t focus he’s too excited he can’t wait to use your panties. Later his pants are already feeling cramped with how hard his dick is at the thought of jerking off to you using your panties without you knowing. Watching you smile with the crew unknowingly that two of your used pairs of panties are being held hostage in his jacket pocket.

When he arrived home he immediately went to his room laying down freeing his cock from its confinements. He lays a pair of your panties over his nose inhaling it and the other wrapped around him he pumps his fist around his cock. He was jerking off to a video of you moaning while riding a dildo. It was his little secret. He found out you sent the first guy you dated nudes. He threatened him to not only delete the nudes and break up with you but to also send him the videos. That was your last boyfriend and the last time you had sent anyone nudes.

He just waits for the day that you’ll see he’s the only one who looks out for you and when you do he hopes you’ll let him fuck you and make you his. Your name escapes his lips in a low breathy moan. He holds his phone up with his free hand watching you ride the dildo he matches his fist with the rhythm of you bouncing yourself on the silicone toy. Each time he sees your pussy clench around the toy he gives his cock a squeeze. Your moans drive him crazy and fuck the way you cream so sinfully around the toy has his cock twitching.

Tears well up in his eyes as his climax approaches at the thought of being engulfed in your warm walls, stuffing you full of his seed. “Ha, Ahh- F-fuck” he moans out chasing the irresistible need to cum. Waves of pleasure seep through his whole body as his cock pulsates with each quickening thrust. The last straw for him is watching your pussy pulsate against the tip of the toy before you fully pull it out spreading your legs wider for the camera.

He loves the way you clench around nothing before squirting. He massages his sensitive tip with the soft fabric until his cum shoots out in loads soaking through the used fabric. His body feels heavy, worn out, and exhausted he turns his phone off and gets cleaned up before succumbing to exhaustion. The next day you had called him for what you’d call a “crisis”.

“I’ll buy you another pair if that will get you to calm down” he hopes his response would be enough to calm your frantic state. “No, those were my favorite pairs, I just don’t understand where they could have gone?” you ask. “It’s not like they grew legs and walked away” he says, doubling over laughing. “This isn’t funny!” You shout at him. “Ok it’s a little funny! I told you I’d buy you more. What's the big deal?!” He responds.

“Hyuk, that would look weird my guy best friend buying me underwear come on be serious stop joking around” your say still frantically searching your room for your missing underwear. “I wasn’t joking but I really don’t want to hear you complain to me about your missing underwear. Maybe they got stuck in the washer. I lose my socks there all the time” he says, sounding so convincing as if he wasn’t losing it over the missing pairs the night before.

[stottlemorgan]

Heavy Lifting / Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: You and Arthur lift some crates together and things get a tad heated. Tags: Suggestive MDNI, horny!, fun!, silly, Reader calls Arthur a good boy, Arthur gets a boner <3, it's giving a little sub xo No sex but boy I bet Arthur wishes there was lmao. Word count: 1,100. Author's Note: This was SO much fun, thank you to the Anon who sent the prompt! Hope you like <3 Ao3 Link.

"Ya sure you don't need a hand wi'that, sweetheart? S'a mighty set'a crates."

For the fifth time, you sigh, squinting up at Sean as he grins, watching you squat and tuck your fingers under the sides of a large crate. The three adjacent crates, still to be moved, coupled with the afternoon sun blazing your sheeny skin tempt you to tell him to fuck off outright. You opt to suck at your teeth.

"You're talkin' like you could even lift half that weight, you weasel," Arthur calls out as he makes his way around from behind the wagon, clapping his hands to dust them off a bit. Sean belts out a laugh, a bend sinking his knees as he gestures toward Arthur with his bottle of bourbon.

"Ain't wrong there, Morgan. Though, I'm never one t'say no to a lady in need." He nods to you, and raises his brow when you struggle to lift the crate with a grunt. "Ya sure you're alright?"

With a huff and a frown, you straighten up, hands going to your hips, "I'm fine, get'ch your tipsy ass outta here and let us work."

Arthur briefly removes his hat, pushing his hair back and wiping his brow with a sigh before returning it to his head, "Best listen to the lady, Sean. Tha's her kind face."

Sean's mouth bows southward yet the playful glimmer in his eyes remains. "Alright," he purses his lips, starting off toward the edge of camp, "Call me over if ya need a real man, eh?"

Shaking your head, you watch him saunter away, swigging as he goes. Arthur chuckles, rolling his shoulders as he also watches the man. "Drunk bastard," he then looks to you, tilting his head, "Need a hand?"

"From a real man?" You ask, a cheeky smile tugging at your lips and brightening your eyes in a way that causes Arthur to give a shaky, half-laugh.

"Call it what you will, I'm just offerin' a hand."

"I'd appreciate it." You reply with a nod, readying yourself at one side of the crate. Squatting, you tuck your hands beneath the wood, and Arthur mirrors you on the other side. You look from the crate to him, and as your gaze trails upward, it snags on the drops of sweat trickling down his neck and into the dark curls of hair peeking out from his open collar. When you meet his eyes, they seem to be caught on your own shirt. On its dampness and the extra two buttons you've opened.

"Lift on three?" You breathe, and his eyes snap up to yours. Taking a quick breath in, Arthur nods.

"Sure."

"Okay, one-" You straighten your back more, gripping the crate tightly. Arthur does the same, and your focus flits to his hulking shoulders as his muscles move beneath his shirt in preparation to lift.

"Two-" You continue, your voice lowering slightly as a subtle tingle runs through your body. Arthur runs his tongue over his lower lip, awaiting your command, his focus flickering between the crate and the rise and fall of your chest.

"Three-" You strain, pushing your feet into the dirt and hoisting the crate up. Arthur grunts, his movements parallel to yours as you both steadily walk toward the wagon.

"Tha's it," you gasp, "turn a bit, back up."

Arthur's lips part, and he grasps at the edges of the crate, his concentration torn between the task at hand and your flushed cheeks. When he assists you in placing the crate onto the wagon with a thump, his eyes snake over the curve of your ass as you bend over the wagon bed to shove the crate further onto it with a groan.

"There a few more?" He rasps, wiping at the back of his neck and ridding his palm of sweat by squeezing at his neckerchief.

"Jus' three," you respond in a sigh, taking off your hat and fanning yourself with it. Arthur looks to the heavens, blinking, before looking back to you, his jaw working as he watches your hair blow back and your mouth part. The gusts of air push your collar open wide, and he rubs his face before smacking his thighs in attempts to wake his mind up and put the buzzing in his groin to sleep.

"Jus' three," Arthur murmurs, glancing about, checking for more, wishing there were.

He helps you lift the next three, his mind and body swimming with heat from both the sweltering sun and your affirming words that leave you in heaving gasps.

"Tha's it."

"Good, Arthur. Now back up."

"Turn a bit- okay, now push."

"Keep it level, right there. Right there, yes-"

Arthur's gaze trails dumbly up over your rear and the curve of your back as you push the last crate just that bit further onto the wagon with a tired moan. A shiver runs through him which he tempers with a forceful huff through his nose. You lean over the wagon bed on your elbows, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Thank you," you say, breathless, and you hear Arthur swallow thickly when your eyes don't meet his own, but his thighs. Turning, you push yourself up straight. You let your attention wander up his body, guided by the thick veins raising the skin of his forearms, then the broad silhouette of his shoulders shielding you from the relentless sun, and lastly, his eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat. Though, you still clearly see their wideness.

Arthur knocks the underbrim of his hat with his knuckles, tipping it up a tad to see you better, "You're welcome, Miss." His voice comes out soft, ever so slightly wavering, but a velvety depth glides beneath it, matching the quiet eagerness in his eyes.

With a purse of your lips and a squeeze of his shoulder, feeling his sweat seep through to your fingers, you lean in.

"You're a good boy, Arthur," you peer up at him, "A very good boy."

You watch his face slacken, and one of his boots scuffs in the dirt as he hums stupidly, blinking. For a long moment, he just looks at you. His mind reels through a myriad of thoughts, each one a varying degree of embarrassing and utterly rude, before he settles on a simple nod.

Once you let your hand drop and flash him a kittenish smile, you start to walk back towards camp. Arthur whistles through gritted teeth, throwing his hat onto the wagon bed and taking a seat beside it, tugging at the now taut front rise of his pants.

"Christ."

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @dauhtrofsevnthshe @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries @mrsarthurmorgan7 - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[formulafanfics13]

I was just too much of a coward to take what was already mine - FA14 🔥✨

Masterlist

Summary: After denying his desire for months, Fernando Alonso finally snaps when another man eyes the woman he’s been trying not to touch — a 22-year-old he’s quietly obsessed with. At a Monaco gala, rage and lust collide as he drags her away and fucks her like he’s claiming what’s always been his. It’s brutal, possessive, and impossibly overdue.

Warnings: Includes age gap (22/43), power imbalance, rough sex, wall sex, marking (biting, bruising), choking, public event setting, jealousy/rage-fueled fucking, condom use, possessive language, and emotional intensity. Mix of degradation and emotional softness at the end. Consensual but aggressive. Themes of denial, obsession, and finally giving in.

He told her no. Told himself no. Told the fucking mirror no for six months straight.

“You’re twenty-two.” “I’m twice your age.” “This isn’t a fucking movie.”

And she just blinked. Tipped her head. And said, “Then stop looking at me like you want to fuck me every time I walk into the room.”

Fernando didn’t stop looking. But he did stop touching. And that, that, was the beginning of hell. Because she kept living. Kept showing up to paddocks and afterparties and launch events in low-cut dresses and red lipstick, laughing with drivers half his age, and never once looking back at him.

Until tonight. Until this event. Where she walked into the glass-walled Monaco gala glowing like a sin he couldn’t confess, and every man within five metres forgot their wives existed.

And then Lewis. Fucking. Lewis. “Hey, mate. That girl you were always with, is she single?”

Fernando turned. “What?”

Lewis gestured with his drink. “The one in black. Looks like trouble. You used to bring her to team events, yeah?”

Fernando’s jaw twitched. He didn’t answer.

Lewis raised a brow. “I mean, if you’re not-”

Fernando didn’t let him finish. Didn’t nod. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even fucking breathe. He left Lewis standing there like a fool and walked across the ballroom floor like a man with murder on his tongue.

She didn’t even notice him at first. Too busy laughing at some junior driver’s joke. Too radiant. Too goddamn untouchable.

Until she felt it. That heat. That presence. She turned. Saw him. And smiled. Small. Confused. Until she saw his face. Then her breath caught. Because she knew. Knew what that look meant. Knew what those hands could do.

“Fernando-” He didn’t let her speak. His hand was around her wrist, dragging her down a hallway before anyone could blink. No cameras. No friends. No one stopping him. He shoved her into the nearest door. Locked it. Pressed her against the wall.

"You said you wanted me." 

Her chest was heaving. "I still do." He growled, actual fucking growled, and kissed her like it was punishment. Like he hated her for being beautiful. For being wanted. For being so unfathomably his and not saying it loud enough for the world. "Why didn’t you fight harder?" he hissed.

"You left," she gasped.

"You told me I was too young-"

"You’re not," he snarled. "You’re fucking perfect."

His mouth was on her throat. His thigh between her legs. Hands dragging up her dress until he found the heat he knew would be there. "No panties?" he whispered.

She moaned. “I thought maybe-maybe tonight-”

"You wore this for me?"

She nodded. He lost control. He didn’t undress her. He pushed the dress up around her waist and tore the condom packet open with his teeth. He didn’t kiss her again. He bit her. Her shoulder. Her collarbone. The space behind her ear. "This what you wanted, princess?"

"Yes."

"Me? Inside you? After I said no for months like a fucking idiot?"

"Yes, yes-please-"

He didn’t go slow. Not tonight. Not with Lewis fucking Hamilton looking at her like he had a shot. He shoved into her in one thrust. Deep. Rough. No mercy. She screamed. Bit his shoulder. Clawed his back. "Fuck, Fernando-"

"You feel that?" he growled. "You feel how perfect you are for my cock? How fucking wet you’ve been this whole time?"

He set a brutal pace. One hand gripping her ass, the other choking the moan out of her throat. Every thrust shoved her harder into the wall. Every grunt was a claim. "You're mine." "Say it." "Fucking say it."

"I'm yours," she sobbed. "I'm yours-I've always been-"

"Too fucking right you are." 

She came around him fast and messy, shaking, clinging, ruined. He came with a roar into the condom, forehead pressed to hers, heart breaking and body burning. And then... Silence.

He held her there, still buried deep, their bodies trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For all the time I wasted. For pretending you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me."

She smiled, breathless. “You going to run again?”

He kissed her. Soft this time. “No. I’m never letting go again.”

[barou-shoueis-wife]

♡︎Synopsis: shidou coming back from a trip to you wearing lingerie♡︎

✩Tw: 18+, oral sex f receiving, fem reader x shidou, slight degradation, mirror sex, lingerie kink

Shidou slams the door open of the apartment after coming back from his trip. He throws his suitcase and shoes aside and immediately rushes inside. And there you were wearing the black skimpy lingerie dress you had on in the picture.

Shidou didn’t hesitate for a second before immediately grabbing your face and kissing you on your lips, his tounge vigorously exploring your mouth. Your tounges colliding and rubbing against each other. You pull apart breathless, huffing while trying to get your words out.

“R-ryu, lets go-“ shidou cuts you off by lifting you into his arms bridal style. You gasp a little and instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. “You don’t have to say anything. Let me take care of you tonight. Consider it a thank you for this little gift.” He grins, his eyes flickering to the lingerie.

When you made it to the bedroom shidou kicks the door open then shuts it with his heel and tosses you on the bed. He immediately crawls ontop of you not wanting to waste a second. He starts kissing your lips again—then makes his way down your neck, sucking and nipping at your throat and collar bone, making his way down to your tit.

You moan his name and he cups your clothed breasts, squeezing them lightly. “That’s right angel, say my name.” He fondles with your breast more, squeezing them harder, his nails digging in your soft flesh making you moan his name more and louder. “Ryu, ryu, ryu, ah~”

Shidou smirks at you. He lets go of your tits and grabs your waist. He lays on his back and sets you down on top of him. “Sit down riiight here.” He says pointing at his mouth. You blush but instantly obey. You pull off your panties, tossing them aside. You adjust yourself and put your slick pussy on shidous mouth.

He instantly sticks his tounge inside sucking and slurping on your cunt. His hands squeezing your soft thighs, leaving crescent like red marks on them. You move your hips back and forth, riding his face. “Ahh~ R-Ryusei.” Your fingers grab onto his blonde hair. “Im about to cum.”

Shidou nips at your cunt making you jump. “You don’t cum until i say so, ok?” You look at him, tears running down your eyes. You nod your head. “Mhm.” Shidou smirks, “thats my good little slut.” He rams his tounge back inside your pussy, sucking and devouring like he owns it—and that’s because, he does.

Shidou keeps going, your pussy, widened and red from all the nipping, sucking, prying open, and slurping. Shidou lifts his mouth off of it. “Cum. now.” You release the load that you’ve been doing your best to hold in, right on shidous face. You moan loudly, your sticky white fluid dripping down your thighs and on shidous face.

Shidou kisses your pussy, “good girl.” He pushes you off slightly, sitting up and licking the cum off his face and fingers. “Mmm~ you taste so good baby girl.” Your face is a hot mess but you want more. “Ryusei can you pu-“

Shidou shoves you on your back spreading your legs apart with his knees. “What did i say hm? Let me take care of you.” You nod your head. Shidou takes his clothes off tossing everything aside. He instantly rams his dick into your red, wide pussy.

His hips move vigorously, non stop. Your eyes roll to the back of your head “oh~ slow down!” Shidou smirks at you. “Come, let me show you how pathetic you look. His hands slip under your thighs and he lifts you up, placing your back against his chest, his dick still inside you, covered in your cum.

Shidou stands infront of the tall floor length mirror. You’re lingerie dress covers the view of your pussy. Shidou tells you to lift it up and bite on the hem. You obey him and now, you have a clear view of your wet, abused pussy. Your legs shaking and covered in your cum, your breath shortened.

“Yea look at you. Your little pretty pussy all fucked up because of me.” Shidou taunts, moving his hips upward, watching you squirm in his arms while your moans are muffled, as his dick continues ramming into your cunt. You try to look away so he nips at your ear lobe. “Eyes on the mirror slut.” He whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear.

Your eyes snap back at the mirror. Shidou chuckles, kissing your neck. You watch obediently as he continues fucking you. “Mmm uu sho duh~” (“mmm ryu, slow down”) you moan, muffled by the dress.

༻After care:

After washing off in the shower together and cleaning the mirror area and bed sheets, you and shidou sit on the bed wrapped in each other’s arms. Exhausted, especially you.

Shidou has both his arms wrapped around your waist, his head nuzzled in the crook of your neck while your arms are wrapped around it, kissing and play fully nipping at the hickeys and bite marks he gave you, teasing you about them.

“Ryu, it still hurts like hell down there.” Shidou lifts his head up, giving you his iconic smirk. “What really?” He says sarcastically. “Here, Lemmie give it a kiss.” He leans down but you push his head away.

“Hey, stop it idiot. Just keep cuddling me.” Shidou chuckles lightly, nuzzling his head back in your neck. “I love you pretty girl.” You smile, pushing his head deeper in your neck. “I love you too.”

༺

[peachdues]

goodnight from The Divining Rod

“C’mon,” the Wind Pillar claps his shoulder, startling him out of his rueful glaring. “There’s a Wisteria House nearby. Let’s go get some shut eye, and we can start again in the afternoon.”

Obanai shakes off the supportive touch, and Kabaramaru curls around his shoulders. “Not tired.”

An impatient sound, and then Shinazugawa is stomping into his line of vision, his hands glued sternly to his hips. “Yeah, and they are.” He juts his chin toward the group of slayers at his back, all in varying stages of passing out. From here, Obanai can count at least two who have succumbed to their exhaustion, each slumped on the ground, their heads lolled heavily to the sides.

He doesn’t bother to conceal his sneer. Fucking weaklings.

The Wind Pillar must see the admonition in his eyes, for he tsks. “You can’t run ‘em into the ground. That won’t do anyone any good.”

A lot of things Obanai did was to the detriment of those around him. This is nothing new. Maybe he should stick to familiar patterns.

“If they all drop dead, maybe they’ll send along someone who’s actually competent.” He spits and he knows it isn’t fair. None of it is.

Shinazugawa sighs. “I can’t give you orders, but you don’t outrank me when it comes to them. I’m giving them a break.”

With that, he splits off, and for once the ragtag group of Corps members look relieved at whatever it is the Wind Pillar barks at them. Some look damn near ready to cry.

Obanai looks away in disgust. In guilt.

Once upon a time, your face would have been among theirs, glowing with the same relief at the prospect of rest and food. You would’ve smiled, he’s certain. You always did that, your lips spreading so wide that he felt his own cheeks ache, as though he’d ever known what it felt like to wear a smile so large. Sometimes, the atrophied muscles in his face twitched, as though longing to mirror your joy.

Maybe one day, he would have.

Aching fingers curl into his palms.

You weren’t supposed to go missing, dammit. You were supposed to go on that mission and come home. Hate him, maybe, or worse. But at least you’d do it at a closer distance.

He never thought you’d slip through his fingers this way, not when he wasn’t supposed to be holding you to begin with. Yet, he finds himself desperately grasping at the air anyway.

That choking feeling returns, creeping up his shoulders and wrapping itself around his throat. It shoves under the bandages covering his face, cuts off the air he desperately draws in through his nose and mouth.

“Get off,” he wheezes to his snake; his lifetime companion. His only friend. “Get off. I can’t breathe.”

The serpent is a weight on his shoulders he can no longer bear. Not when the edges of his vision are blurring, not when darkness is creeping in and threatening to swallow him whole. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and Obanai hates it hates it hates it. The blasted thing shouldn’t be allowed to beat; not when he cannot hear yours.

Around his neck, Kabaramaru shifts, uncertain.

“Get off.”

Reluctantly, the snake unwinds itself from him and edges down the length of his arm. He lingers around his forearm, twisting his diamond shaped head back to blink reproachfully at his master.

Obanai pays him no mind; his free hand jumps to his throat, massaging the sides of his neck to coax his airways open even as his fingers curl and tug at the sarashi wrapped around his chin.

The weight has been lifted; Kabaramaru is gone, for now.

Yet still, Obanai cannot breathe.