#You're gonna catch a cold.

[therealslimstrider]

Who do you think you are.

Running round leaving scars.

Collecting your jar of hearts.

Tearing love apart.

[z-ppy]

not to be weird about it, but something about the fact that in optimism it’s dean who notices that jack is still sick and asks him about it is so important to me. the camera lingers on his face while jack coughs and you can see how concerned he is — not in the usual SAMMY or CAS way — he still thinks jack’s just regular human sick. his expression is guarded but his eyes are so tender as he looks jack over. i obv can't remember the entire series, but i'm not sure i've ever seen dean look at someone like that. yeah maybe the cough has gone on a little too long and that's cause for concern, but it's not the end of the world (literally). it's so domestic, so fatherly, so normal. he's calm.

in the final scene, his face shifts from “mm whiskey” to “very concerned father” when jack starts coughing harder, and then “genuinely scared” when jack shows** him the blood in his hand. again, none of the obligatory trauma-drama like with sam and cas, no self blame (yet). he’s just responsible for his sick kid… and ooops he just ate concrete time to start yelling. bc it is spn after all!

then in ouroboros, when they’re at the first vic’s house with rowena and jack starts coughing, sam’s kind of politely glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, while dean just full on stares at him, waiting for an explanation. poor jack was probably smothered to hell by dean after he came back lol (after all he was wearing dean’s robe!)

** yes, shows him. at first i thought it was for the camera but the angle is actually him holding his palm out for dean to see. he finally tells someone what’s happening to him and it’s dean!

[veinsfullofstars]

🌌 Memories of wonder 🌌

(ID: Kirby series fanart of the CFAU kids - Bow Dee, Meta, Dedede, and Para Dee respectively - seated side-by-side in their winter garb on top of a snowy hill dotted in footprints, their backs to the viewer, gazing up at the green-blue waves of an aurora glowing overhead across the starry night sky. END ID.)

Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here!)

Sketch started some time in 12/23, render started 01/08/24, finished 03/13/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

[offjumpoladulkittiporn]

tay was given main character treatment hahahaha 💅

[daily-esports-hug]

Day 61

[hanakihan]

i did mention kingprotea yesterday and since i really love her A1 design have this small piece (i honestly have no idea what or who exactly i drew i just wanted to see a man in kingprotea's 'clothes' lmao)

[tvrningout-a]

thinking about how back when i was first writing chiyo, i would describe her emotions as water, the ocean, how it would drown her vs. now when i go and compare her emotional cage as a garden she's allowed to become overgrown and the gate to get all rusted. put them together and what do you get... hanahaki disease but instead of unrequited love it's just unspoken feelings in general that cause it and chiyo's absolutely ill with it and hiding it too well

[iamnotawomanimagod]

.

[itsoutrageouss]

Sitting on Simon’s face to shut him up?

It's when you think he gets too arrogant, too mouthy that you push Simon 'Ghost' Riley down by the shoulders. He could easily stop you and you both know it. But he welcomes it, a little taken aback by the sudden gesture but intrigued.

You had been arguing over yet another mission- he said you were too soft and sentimental, you said he was too cold and aloof. One day arguing had led to him hoisting you up against the wall and fucking you to prove a point. You guys had argued a lot more since then.

He lets himself lay down on the bed, feet still planted on the ground. It takes you 0.1 second to slip off your panties under your skirt before you're crawling over him, climbing him like a tree and slowly sitting yourself down

You manage to catch his eyes before his face disappears under your skirt. You think it might be love, the way he looks up at you.

And it worked because he doesn't say a single thing- no protest or thanks. He just gets to work, hands curling around your thighs, opening his warm mouth for you and letting his tongue delve into your cunt. Eventually there's a groan of appreciation that sends shivers up and down your spine, making you arch and simultaneously press yourself down onto his mouth harder. He sticks his tongue out in response, urging you to move by yourself with a tug on your hips.

It had been a ridiculous discussion where he'd been praising his skills far too much and yours far too little- but it melted from your mind as you rocked your hips over his face, feeling his nose nudge your clit.

He mumbles against you, slobbering and sucking diligently -doing his duty- serving his apology with gentle sucks on your clit.

His eyes are closed tightly. What had you been arguing about? And why exactly hadn't you shut him up like this before? And would you pretty please do it again?

He feels you drip down his chin and onto his neck, his brow furrowing as he groans. He wanted to actually eat you up, gently scraping his teeth on your sensitive clit as you cum all over his face. He was gonna piss you off more often now on purpose if this was how you'd punish him.

[ghostedbunnie]

thinking about how 141 men would take advantage of christmas or just a cold weather in general.

fem! reader, 18+ minors do not interact!!

johnny definitely takes some mistletoe and waits for the perfect opportunity to be like "oi look a' that bonnie, a tradition is a tradition." and he just swoops in on you to literally maul you. slobbers all over you like a dog, pants into your mouth and grabs handfuls of your ass unapologetically. honestly half of his brain shuts down as soon as he has his hands and mouth on you. also doesn't care about timing or privacy, he'd do this in front of a room full of people.

simon is a meanie. he loves coming back inside to your home, catching you unawares while you're singing some christmas songs and baking. it doesn't help that he can only be heard when he wants to so you really stand no chance. he walks up to you and shoves his cold ass hands under your sweater and holds on to you so you can't even move away. he would start by grabbing your hips and quickly moving forward to cup your boobs while you whine about the goosebumps. he definitely ends up grinding onto your ass and whispering into your ear about how he can warm you right up.

kyle lets you talk him into matching ugly sweaters mostly because he is too hot to look bad in anything. he loves seeing you happy so he will do anything. if you are celebrating with your family or friends he is literally the picture perfect boyfriend that gets everyone oohing and aahing. he helps you with the tree decorating when something is out of your reach (but he lets you try to do it yourself just to see the sweater ride up and show of your skin, he is still cheeky) and he always tastes your cooking telling you exactly what it is that you're missing and have been trying to figure out for the past 10 mins. but his mind is playing out scenarios in which he's gonna get to the lacy lingerie he saw you wearing underneath the sweater.

now john is more lowkey about christmas, if he was on his own he wouldn't even bother with a tree. he does end up getting one for you ofc (after mean mugging few part-timers that tried to flirt with you but every time you looked at him he didn't let anything show but the guys there started giving you a wide berth). he will bring you to a work christmas party that he was forced to go by laswell and when he sees people bring their kids and you interacting with them, his mind starts racing with some wild thoughts about how your christmas could look next year. when he corners you in the bathroom and locks the door the only response to your wide-eyed stare is that he is "gettin' into the christmas spirit, love. jus' like you wanted."

[joejhang]

andrew is so real for thinking neil is a hallucination cos now that we have outsider pov on him it's actually insane that he's a real person. like this is neil josten: he's the prettiest boy you've ever met. he's the runaway son of a serial killer. he has a million dollars but is afraid of spending money. he folds his clothes a specific way so he can tell when someone's gone through his stuff. he keeps a stalker's journal on the two greatest exy players of all time. he wears coloured contacts and they're brown. he paid a busboy $100 to knock him out cold. he insulted a celebrity athlete on live tv after trying to keep a low profile. he says he's trying to stay alive while running towards death like it's a race. he mouths off to the mafia. he respects your boundaries and is the first person ever to take you at face value and not consider you an out of control psychopath. he orders hits on your abusers. he has the most electric blue eyes you've ever seen. he looks great in clubbing clothes but dresses like he's homeless. he insults someone for their "intricate and endless daddy issues" while his father is a convicted mobster and serial killer. he didn't give a fuck when his teammate was killed. everyone seems to like him even though it's clear he's hiding a million secrets. he doesn't catch on to the many many hints you're giving him. he calls you out not for being a danger to others but for being a danger to yourself. he thinks you should be protected as well as trusting you to protect him (and you think, how can someone be a victim and a protector?). he doesn't give a flying fuck what literally anyone thinks about him. he comes back from being waterboarded and tortured and abused for weeks (to protect you) and is still as feisty and bitchy as before. except now he's a redhead and has many more scars. he is possibly the first person to ever make the active decision to protect you. he's willing to put himself in harm's way again and again and again so he won't lose you. he always has a cigarette but he never smokes. he says "you're not actually a sociopath are you?" and "the next time someone calls you soulless i might have to fight them". even though he's messy and a little oblivious he's sees you. he might be the only person to ever want you off your drugs. he wants to see you lose control, is aware that you're not out of control, you're actually so controlled and restrained all of the time and he wants to see you feel something, he wants you to be angry, be angry at him. he riles you up on purpose to see you show emotion, feel something. he's a runner and yet he's still possibly the bravest person you've ever met. he gets kidnapped and comes back even more bruised and battered than before and he's still a mouthy little shit who bitches at the press and cuts deals with the yakuza. he's most of the reason why the worst team in the nation ends up winning championships. he shoves a guy clean off his feet because they body checked you. he punched celebrity athlete riko moriyama in public, for you. he threatens him, for you. he's almost killed on live tv. he mouths off to the fbi. he watches the (second) best exy player in the world get shot. he also watches his father, notorious serial killer and gangster, get shot in front of him. and he laughs. he smiles. he kisses you and is never gonna run again and he's free and he wants to be with you, he wants you.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! (I’ve sent this before so ignore if you aren’t into it) just thinking about a bau!reader (maybe shy!reader??) who’s dating post-prison Spencer but didn’t know him before prison and she sees some footage of season one Spencer (maybe they need to refer to a recording of a previous case?) and she’s just dying at how cute he is 🥹

You’ve barely woken up with your face in a solid shoulder when Spencer’s turning around.

“Don’t,” he says when you whine, slipping a familiar hand over your hip. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Too early to make fun of me.” 

“Do you think I’m making fun of you?” 

His talking warms your nose where his head is angled down. Your skin smarts with goosebumps as he trails his hand lightly up your back, down again, the slowest, tumbling touch. You shiver, and Spencer, ever so slightly devious in love, says, “Oh, you’re cold?” with great pity as he pulls you closer. 

You rub your face against his shoulder. “Sorry.” 

“Why?”

“I smell.” 

He hums. “Sort of. Not like sweat, though. You smell like sleep.” His lips touch your cheek.

He lets you ‘warm up’ in his arms for a few minutes, then however long you doze for, lost and too comfortable to bother even trying to wake up properly. Your phone pings a couple of times after it comes out of sleep mode, a sure sign you’ve overslept, but Spencer doesn’t make you move until your stomach growls. 

“Come on,” he says, kissing your nose and slipping you back onto your side of the bed. “I’ll make breakfast.” 

“It’s nearly twelve.” 

“You just woke up, and it’s the first thing you’re gonna eat. You are breaking your fast. Breakfast.” He looks pretty even through achy, tired eyes, all the sleep crusted in your lashes no match for Spencer Reid. How you went so long without knowing him is a mystery. 

You get up only because he told you to and because he looked quite lovely when he did it, not because you want to. The bed is warm, that pit of his arms calling your name, but Spencer’s already rolling out of bed with an eager hand scratching through his hair. Sweat has made them tight and a little darker in the back. You’ll both have to shower at some point, preferably after he’s made you breakfast in bed. 

He can see your expectations on your face, and he laughs as he pulls a t-shirt on over his head. “Get up! I’m not bringing it up here, do you know how badly your sleep cycle is affected when you start doing the wrong things in bed?” 

“What counts as the wrong thing?” 

Spencer laughs again, softer now, and for a moment he traces your face with his eyes without speaking. “Fine,” he says, waving a hand at you as he makes for the bedroom door, “stay there. But only ‘cos you look so pretty!” 

“Thank you!” you call back. 

This time with Spencer isn’t enough. You need ten more years of this, thirty, fifty, you need to wake up in his arms and have him touch you and tickle your cheek with his breath. He’s too far to have him come back, so you resign to hugging him when he returns. 

Your phone pings again, drawing your attention finally. The first notification is a reminder to buy toothpaste today at the grocery store. The second is a text from a friend, the third an email. It’s one from last night that piques your interest, another friend, full capital letters: HELP. 

Her use of a laughing emoji defers any urgency. You click on the text thread and scroll up, puzzled by her previous messages, a link, and a caption: oh my god he was so dorky??? 

You open the video and feel your breath catch in surprise. 

Is that Spencer?

You're not stupid, you’ve seen photos of him and his friends together dotted around the apartment from over the years, and every time you come across that photo of him and Diana at a spelling bee with his huge black-framed glasses you have to laugh, but it’s different seeing him to hearing him. 

He’s so nervous. You can’t understand what it is he’s saying, something about mathematical components to profiling criminals. Jason Gideon stands in the background watching him closely. 

“There’s actually a good joke that–”

“Spencer,” Gideon reprimands. 

You watch in awe as Spencer stammers an apology, his cheeks a little pink. You’ve seen Spencer blush, but this feels different. He looks so young. His hair is straight as a pin. 

“Spencer, did you used to straighten your hair?” you call, hoping he can hear you over the sound of a frying pan popping in the kitchen. “Or do you have a perm now, or what?” 

“What!” 

“I’m confused on the logistics of your hair!” You feel something weird in your chest as on screen Spencer tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a mixture of wanting to eat him and wanting to reach through the screen to stroke his cheek with your thumb. 

Spencer treks back into the bedroom with his pink and white pinstripe apron over his shirt and sweatpants. He smells like cinnamon sugar already. “What are you talking about?” 

“My friend found a video of you and Jason at one of those lectures you did.” 

Spencer presses his lips together. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. “I didn’t do any lectures.”

“Uh, yes you did, liar, and you looked so cute.” You turn your phone to him. “So sweet.” 

He marches to the bed. Before you can stop him, he’s taking the phone from your hand, giving you the world's silliest, tiniest shove when you try to get it back. 

“Cruel,” you quip. 

Spencer stares at the phone screen, then you, “Sorry,” he says, turning pink, “I don’t know why I did that, just– I just–” He frowns deeply. “Can you stop smiling like that?” 

You climb onto your knees, a morning disaster, but when you wrap your arms around Spencer’s waist he looks at you like you’re perfect. His eyes soften, brows relaxing, his irises like dark dimes that slowly dilate as he looks you over. Your phone presses into your back, his arm wrapping around you. 

“You were adorable,” you say sincerely. 

“Not anymore?” 

You rub your cheek against his apron. “No, you still are. Let me watch the video again.” 

“Not a chance.” 

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

[ddejavvu]

Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now

Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned

The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.

You.

Your pussy.

You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.

But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.

Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.

Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."

"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."

Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.

Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.

"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"

Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.

Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"

"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."

"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."

[solarmorrigan]

Steve knows how to take care of himself. He's good at it. He's been doing it for years

Illnesses, sports injuries (other injuries) - he knows how to manage them so they'll go away as quickly as possible. He knows when he needs to rest, he knows when he needs to take medication, he knows how to care for pulled muscles and broken skin. Maybe he doesn't always have the opportunity to care for these things properly, but he knows how, because with no one else around, he'd had to learn

Eventually, he gets it down to a routine. A science, almost. An airtight series of steps for whatever is wrong with him so he can knock out whatever crud is keeping him down and move on with his life

There isn't really room for anyone else in it

"You want me to do that?" Eddie asks, watching as Steve stirs a pot of soup on the stove.

"'m good," Steve answers with an absent sniffle.

Eddie hums. "Well, do you need me to go out and get anything? More tissues, cough medicine, more soup...?"

Steve shakes his head, though he stops when it brings on a wave of dizziness. He braces himself against the counter, waving Eddie off when he steps forward to try to support Steve. It's really just a little cold, but the congestion is killing him.

"I've got everything I need," Steve finally says; he always makes sure the medicine cabinet is stocked for this sort of thing, replenishes anything in there as soon as he uses it up, just in case. "Thanks, though."

Eddie is quiet for a long moment. "So you, uh... don't need me for anything, then?"

"Nah, it's fine. Just gonna eat my soup and get some rest," Steve assures him. "You should go enjoy your day."

"Right," Eddie says, sounding weirdly flat. "I'll just. Go do that. I guess."

He disappears into the spare room (ostensibly a guest room, but it's also become a space for all of Eddie's D&D and music stuff, and Steve has jokingly taken to referring to it as Eddie's office), and Steve finishes heating his soup with a little puzzlement. Something is up with Eddie, but Steve is too worn out to figure out what.

He eats his soup and goes back to bed, but it isn't until he's been lying there, exhausted but restless, for almost an hour that it occurs to him what's wrong. He plays back over the conversation in the kitchen and feels a little stupid for not catching on sooner.

He can hear Eddie strumming absently at his acoustic when he goes to knock on the door of the spare room. The sound stops and Eddie opens the door, looking almost surprised to see Steve.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Hey. I, uh - I'm trying to rest, but I just... can't, for some reason." Steve shrugs. "I think maybe I need some company?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks again, his voice warming a little.

"Yeah. I mean, if you're not busy, or--"

"Free as a bird, baby," Eddie says quickly, reaching out to take Steve by the hand. "Let's get you back to bed."

Eddie takes to his task with gusto, making sure Steve has all the pillows and blankets that he needs, dimming the lights, even offering to read a book. And it's - it's nice, Steve realizes.

It's nice, having Eddie there, giving Steve the one thing he's never really had before.

It's nice to have support.

[tsuyalovebot]

you're a catch 22.

explicit sexual content (minors & ageless blogs will be blocked.)

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, ignore typos, i wrote this in one sitting). afab reader. unprotected sex. doggy -> prone bone. collar & leash. implied multiple rounds. creampies. yes this is based on the recent teasers for the valentines banner. enjoy.

it's rough and dirty and completely irrate, the way your bodies move together in the journey for gratification. it's difficult to discern if he's seeking his own, or yours, with how those unhinged beads seem to seek out your own with every little motion he makes.

slick coats your inner thighs, splatters onto the floor, and wraps his girth in a shimmery gloss of desire. it mingles well with the pearly, creamier dollops of his own cum that he's intent on fucking back into you right now. as if caleb was content on marking his territory like this.

on all fours, the floor is cold and dirty beneath your fingertips. yet nothing compares to the way he's rutting into you from behind, clumsy and animalistic. no technique whatsoever. and no, the way his balls were harshly slapping onto your clit with every dragging motion doesn't count as stimulation, no matter how arousingly filthy it is.

the warm, charged atmosphere that seems to accelerate the pace in which he's thrusting, patience is thinning as well. so, reaching back, you wrap your fingers around the thin, corded chain attached to his collar.

you're yanking before you could think it through, before you could weigh in the consequences and the benefits.

the effect is immediate. he gasps, a garbled sound of shock that would've been cute in any other context. it's hard to find it endearing now, when his body is practically engulfing you — nothing like how you're engulfing him, however — and he's trying to not crush you with one palm slamming onto the ground to halt his fall. how considerate.

his dick slides an inch or two deeper, and noises fall from your lips like waterfalls. like a siren call, his shaft twitches in response, responding to the rhythmic contractions of your core in kind.

your grip tightens on the chain as you angle your head to look at him. it's hard to not sound whiny when he stuffs you so perfectly, the tip snug against that spongy part inside.

but, you manage, and bite out a venomous, "behave."

the disbelief on his face mingles with a hazy lust in his blown pupils. a red-hot flush decorates his skin, glistening with pearls of sweat that trace his jaw and land on your lower back, his lungs working double time to make up for the exertion and his hair tousled like a masterpiece.

it's so sensual and utterly riveting to see the effect you have on him. you're sure you're just as wrecked as he is.

his adam's apple bobs against the thick leather collar and his brows knit together. there's a more prominent darkness to his gaze. "are you serious?"

and it takes a moment for it to register — that he wasn't replying to your command.

it's a bit too late though, before that crazed look in his eyes returns in time with your survival instincts kicking in. you're moving before you know it in an attempt to escape, scrambling forward.

doesn't matter because your stupid decision to hold onto the chain draws him with you. before he's maneuvering you to his pleasure, at least. he's baring his teeth like a rabid dog, malicious satisfaction swimming in those violet irises.

"bad decision." voice low, taunting. gloating. "so, it's gonna be like that, huh?"

you choke out faint noises of protest as you're laid flat. the chill perpetual on your sticky, heated skin. chest flat to the floor, you're still stubbornly holding onto the chain, wrapping it around your digits in the scenario he tries to break free.

caleb's presence is daunting as he settles over you once more. still balls deep in you, his length sits still like some a behaved dog. contrary to the very owner as he snickers to himself.

"tellin' me to behave, as if your touchy-feely hands didn't get you into this position to begin with," he sneers, straddling the back of your thighs. its rasp makes your heart and cunt flutter, and he moans in approval at the pulse.

the way your body jolts when he shoves his wrist beneath your pelvis is unintentional, but your gasp when his fingers find your clitoris is nothing short of exquisite. another heady mewl exits, in time with another tug of the chain and the slippery slide of his cock in your guts. the tip shoots a generous amount of precum along your velvet walls, milking him in desperate pulsations.

"as if you aren't practically singing for some more down here, isn't — that — right?"

he punctuates those last words with expert thrusts, rendering you boneless with every sopping wet squelch that claps against your butt — that reminds you of your own sick, twisted pleasure in this situation.

the angle is so, so much more penetrative than before when you're positioned like this. your lungs were going to collapse at this rate.

but caleb is fresh air when he lowers himself, sandwiching your body to the ground. the weight, hard and muscular and toned, makes you gush around him. the little hum he makes tells you that he noticed it, and you clamp down.

his breath is hot and humid against the shell of your ear, amused. one large palm settles on the ground in front of you for balance, the other on your ass.

when he speaks, his tone is deceptively light. "for every time you tug, i'm cummin' inside. seems only right."

his next laugh is a little breathless, disbelieving, delighted. like he was talking to himself, the mutt. dread settles in your stomach, mingling with the delicious tendrils of arousal that soaks your folds and lubricates his entry.

you tug on the chain once. toes curling in anticipation.

"yeah. i know it sounds good," he mumbles absentmindedly, a quiet promise to himself. his hips draw back, and he's moving again.