#and I’m going to take a bite out of him with my jaw unhinged

[countxcrimson]

Ryou smells like sugar cookies to me and I’m sick of not speaking my truth, ill even.

He’s pale like the cookie and his hair is white like the frosting, to me he just look like he smells like sugar cookies. He has sugar cookie energy.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[bobafetts-princess]

Logan Loves to Bite

Summary: This is quite literally an homage to how I feel that Logan Howlett fucks and that’s all there is to it.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Established relationship, Logan bites sometimes hard enough to break skin, hair pulling, ass smacking, choking, oral (fem!receiving) rimming (fem!receiving), no condoms on this blog

A/N: Welcome to my most popular AO3 fic! If you’ve seen it there, I’m the same person! This one is my favorite Logan fic, it makes me unhinged every time I read it. I hope yall like it here ✨

It was just in his nature as a feral mutant. He bit. He bit when he was nervous or scared, and he bit when he got off.

He was lucky you had a great healing factor, while it wasn’t as quick as his (no ones was), it was still fast and your ‘love bites’ disappeared in a matter of hours. His mouth was always on you when the two of you fucked and Charles even had to sound proof your room because Scott and Jean kept complaining about all the noise.

His favorite way to fuck you was from behind, either his hand wrapped in your hair to give him leverage, or your body pulled up against his so he could bite his way along where your neck and shoulder met.

He was animalistic like that, wanting to take you from a position where he had the most power, the most control. He’d pull your body up so it fitted against his and wrap a hand around your throat, nose buried in your hair as he pounded up into you. His increased sense of smell was his secret kink. He could smell your arousal from rooms away and sometimes you would see if you could get yourself off before Logan found his way to your shared room, sniffing the air and taking over.

Every once in a while he would let you ride him, but it wouldn’t take long for him to pull himself up to you, sinking his teeth into the soft spot where your jaw and your neck meet. He would turn your head, whispering dirty words in your ear as he fucked up into you. He said he loved the scent you released when he was fucking you. He would bury his nose where you released the strongest scent, between your breasts or behind your ears or along the hairline on the back of your neck.

He loved to go down on you too, burying his nose in the crotch of your panties, inhaling deeply and telling you how fucking sweet you smelled. He was always leaving marks on the insides of your thigh as he worked his way towards the apex of them.


He’d grunt and groan, eating your pussy for all it was worth, pausing only to bite your inner thighs or dig his fingers into your hips. He always said he loved to bite the skin on your inner thighs the most. The part where it always seemed to be soft and pliable, no matter how hard you worked to make it go away. The bruises always faded faster than the bites, but he loved seeing you covered in them anyways.

Then he’d flip you over, smacking your ass and leaving red marks before he’d sink his teeth in the soft flesh. If he was feeling especially dirty, he would work his tongue towards your puckered hole, massaging the tight ring at the same time his hands did the same with your cheeks.

Logan would slip inside you, pressing until he was fully seated and you felt him in your throat. He’d give you a couple sharp thrusts, relishing in the way you’d gasp when he’d hit that spot. He’d pull your upper body backwards, fitting it against his hard chest as his teeth scraped along the edge of your ear and he would tell you how fucking good your pussy felt clamped around him. Logan liked to fuck and he liked to fuck dirty. He loved to get you so fucked out so you just fell asleep on his chest when he finally came, spent from hours worshipping your body. He loved to make you scream his name, loved when the only logical thought you could come up with was “Logan, Logan, Logan.”

He loved seeing the way your pussy looked stuffed with his cock, the way he stretched you as you gripped him. He loved the whimpers and whines you let loose when he had your hair fisted in his hands, or his fingers wrapped around your throat. He loved getting you so worked up you were begging for him to give it to you, begging for it harder, rougher, dirtier.

You’d long since given him the okay to bury himself in you if he woke up from a nightmare and you’d lost track of the amount of times that you’d been woken from Logan pushing into your wet heat, hands gripping tightly at your hips as he used your body to drown out his nightmares. He’d pin you down to the bed, needing the control as he pounded into you, teeth scraping along your shoulder blades until he finally bit down, grunting against your skin as he spilled himself into you.

He loved the little sigh of pleasure as he drove home for the first time, filling you completely. He loved the little gasps you released as he nibbled his way across your shoulders, the way you arched in for more. He loved the way that you arched when you came, highlighting your breast’s and making him all the more ready to nibble on them. He especially loved the way when he finally came, biting down hard enough to break skin, you would always let loose this throaty groan that shot straight to his groin. Because when it came down to it, you loved to be bitten as much as Logan loves to bite.

[karmicgalaxies]

18+ Content MDNI

Victor Creed (Sabretooth) X AFAB! Reader

Disclaimers: Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it!) P In V sex, Rough sex, Snarling, Biting, Size difference, though it isn’t mentioned descriptively. Victor is just a motherfucking UNIT, Name-calling (Slut, Pretty), Cream-pie, Squirting. Possessiveness? if you squint

A/N: This is absolutely unhinged. Poorly proofread as I’m publishing this @ around 3 am, so do excuse errors!

Victor Creed, who’s got you on a pathetic attempt of all fours. Well; that would be the case if it weren’t for your upper body having gave out a round or two ago, slumped against the mattress as you fail to bury your moans in the sheets. Lewd cries leaving your lips at the pleasure. Snarls and grunts fill your ears as he fucks into you, his upper body pressing into your back, properly pinning you to the mattress as if you were even planning to go anywhere in the first place.

“Mmm, Mine.” Victor snarls, panting and breathing down your neck, finding a spot to nip at, eliciting a sharp yelp of you amongst your cries. The action getting a small, dry laugh out of him. His hips snapping against your ass at an inhumanely fast pace with brute force.

You’ve been at this for so long, your cock-drunk mind struggles to form a single coherent thought. You can’t even remember the number of orgasms Victor has fucked you through at this point. The wind nearly knocked out of your lungs with each forceful thrust. Compared to how large he is, you’re so helpless against him. Though, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Him being intimidating, dominating and domineering was the whole point.

The sound of skin against skin reverberates through the room, as well as the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy being abused by his cock. Your slick dripping down his shaft plentifully throughout the duration of your session thus far.

“So messy..” Victor finds himself grunting against your ear again at the feeling. “Leakin’ around my cock so much. Goddamn slut, have you no shame?” He rasps, nibbling at your earlobe. Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice, making him groan as he reaches around, his large hand gripping onto your jaw in a rough grasp as he turns your head. “C’mere.” He utters, pressing his lips roughly against yours. A gesture seen as tender compared to how hard he’s fucking you.

You let out a few moans against his lips. Victor’s own snarls and growls vibrating in his chest as he does so, separating his lips from yours, he trails open mouthed kisses and bites down your jaw and the back of your neck. That’s before he roughly bites into your shoulder, making you inhale sharply as you let out a loud cry. The smirk left behind on Victor’s face is fucking huge, though same can be said about the bite mark left on your supple skin. “I gotta give it to ya. You take me real good. How ‘bout another orgasm, pretty?” He keeps the smirk, watching you unravel and struggle against his body. The sight and sounds of you daring to make him more primal with need than he already is. “Jus’ one more” His tongue licking at the bite mark left on your shoulder just a minute or so prior.

“Mm, Victor— Please.” You whine, at the cusp of the umpteenth mind shattering orgasm of the night.

“C’mon slut. Cum on this cock, ‘s all yours.” Victor snarls, finally letting off of your back, kneeling upright as he reaches his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he fucks even harder into you. You could swear his tip briefly kissed your cervix a few times. A man motivated solely to rip another orgasm out of you.

It’s not long before he succeeds. Your orgasm ripping through you like a bullet. Pussy clenching around his cock, milking him for all its worth as your eyes roll back into your skull. Thighs trembling as you make a mess. Your juices obscenely more abundant than usual as you soak the sheets below. Holy shit, you squirted.

“Fuck, look at you making such a fucking mess.” Victor grunts as he gives you one last deep thrust. Taking the air out of you as your cunt is promptly flooded with his cum. He makes all sorts of animalistic noises through his own orgasm, delighted to stake his claim on you yet again. His palm meeting the side of your hip, a love tap of sorts.

“You’re mine. Best not forget that.”

[rush-the-stars]

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly. 

But then he holds the food away from you. 

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating. 

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water. 

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time. 

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving. 

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him. 

He is rather pleased, though. 

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it. 

He laughs warmly, fondly. 

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away. 

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth. 

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.” 

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge. 

The orange pops into your mouth. 

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit. 

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more. 

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands. 

You swallow the piece in your mouth. 

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you. 

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again. 

You turn your face away from him. He sighs. 

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.” 

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.” 

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.” 

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.” 

Stubbornly, you remain silent. 

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears. 

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.” 

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve. 

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.” 

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way. 

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?” 

Suguru studies you for a moment. 

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him. 

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice. 

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are. 

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds. 

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes. 

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now. 

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better. 

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him. 

He takes hold of you easily. 

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick. 

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter. 

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay. 

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man. 

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight? 

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch. 

You seek friction and he denies you. 

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again. 

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?” 

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.” 

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat. 

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest. 

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.” 

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning. 

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body. 

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers. 

You glare up at him with glassy eyes. 

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on. 

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek. 

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is. 

You hold his gaze furiously. 

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth. 

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you. 

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down. 

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks. 

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands. 

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints. 

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.) 

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him. 

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls. 

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?” 

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul. 

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him. 

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?” 

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it. 

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw. 

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.” 

Something inside of you snaps. 

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you. 

In an instant, you are back atop him. 

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer. 

He actually cries out in pain. 

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist. 

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have. 

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt. 

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him. 

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again. 

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared. 

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest. 

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance. 

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him. 

Not so pristine. 

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him. 

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.” 

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.” 

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.” 

“Let me up,” you snap. 

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks. 

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more. 

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard. 

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you. 

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.” 

And for once, you don’t fight him. 

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you. 

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.” 

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now. 

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest. 

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring. 

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep. 

***

Suguru wakes you at some point. 

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing. 

You whimper. 

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?” 

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash. 

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.” 

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this. 

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.” 

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy. 

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more. 

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind. 

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light. 

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.” 

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.” 

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too. 

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?” 

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings. 

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard. 

You ache. 

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever. 

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry. 

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain. 

Suguru lifts you into the bath. 

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle. 

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little. 

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you. 

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours. 

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?” 

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.” 

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him. 

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh. 

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.” 

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.” 

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.” 

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss. 

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it. 

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone. 

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.” 

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.” 

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?” 

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late. 

The fever only worsens. 

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day. 

*** 

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you. 

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began. 

For once, you have shocked Suguru. 

Enough that his lips part. 

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant. 

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds. 

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve. 

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit. 

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?) 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed. 

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp. 

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind. 

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—” 

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him. 

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together. 

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.” 

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers. 

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously. 

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought. 

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face. 

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again. 

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you. 

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask. 

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin. 

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin. 

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.” 

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.” 

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting. 

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough. 

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.” 

You curse this time. 

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.” 

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.” 

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger. 

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself. 

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.” 

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”  

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly. 

You bite off a groan. 

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.” 

“Suguru—” 

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you. 

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?” 

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child. 

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.” 

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration. 

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?” 

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so— 

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns. 

You force yourself to freeze, still panting. 

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound. 

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.” 

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away. 

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?”  Suguru��s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you? 

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks. 

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.” 

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want. 

You desire. 

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast. 

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—” 

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob. 

Your tears make him smile. 

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?” 

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you. 

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly. 

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl. 

And then, “look at me.” 

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless. 

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.” 

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable. 

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry. 

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?” 

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching. 

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.” 

Without thinking, you obey him. 

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief. 

You cry out, clinging to him. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.” 

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible. 

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.” 

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.” 

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—” 

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.” 

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss. 

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.” 

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.” 

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat. 

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly. 

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted. 

You sob. 

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you. 

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder. 

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat. 

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.  

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above. 

Ice cold water pours on you. 

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water. 

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you. 

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap. 

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap. 

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on. 

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms. 

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.” 

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile. 

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender. 

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges. 

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.” 

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly. 

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother. 

You feel infinitely closer to him. 

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can. 

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even. 

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks. 

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?” 

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest. 

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.” 

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him. 

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now? 

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his. 

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again. 

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep. 

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth. 

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner. 

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.” 

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again. 

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place. 

It’s like finally coming home. 

[danikamariewrites]

could i request one with rhys x reader where he is so incredibly in love with her it’s ridiculous. He is such a simp for her, she literally only has to ask and he gets her anything she wants. one day she jokes about him being very generous and says

” i’m sure if i ask for a golden pony, you’ll find a way”

next day he’s visiting Helion and asks for a golden pony.

The ic even makes fun of how much he simps for reader. One day they’re all walking in velaris to go to ritas and readers strap on her heel slips. Rhys gets on his knees to fix it with no hesitation. The inner circle looks at him with incredible shock and their jaws are dropped. Bc in acomaf it says that he has sacred tattoos on his knees and will never bow for no one and nothing but his crown. it’s the first time they ever see rhys on his knees for someone. Reader doesn’t know ab it and just says thank you and they continue walking. After a while he confesses to her and she feels the same and live happy forever 😁😁

Only For You

Rhys x reader

A/n: this is so freakin cute and writing this had me kicking my feet giggling

Warnings: none

You and Rhys had grown up together, so his kindness and generosity was nothing new to you. Whenever you needed or even just wanted something Rhys would get it for you. New shoes? Done, he knows what style you like. Need new clothes? He has your size and his tailor knows exactly what to make you.

You had always insisted on paying you back but he never let you. Rhys would always say, “Nonsense y/n. I like biting you things so please let me get this for you.” You’d breathe out a sigh of defeat and cup his cheek. “Thank you Rhys. I swear if I asked for a golden Pegasus you’d find me one.”

Rhys cherished your warm touch. He loved your soft skin and how gentle you are with him. The High Lord was so clearly in love with you but he was too afraid to admit it. If Rhys lost you as a friend because of his feelings he doesn’t know how he’d go on.

And he didn’t forget about that golden Pegasus. It was your 450th birthday present and you named her Sunny.

Tonight you were all headed to Rita’s to unwind after a busy work week. Mor had teased you about Rhys while you got ready together. “He’s completely and utterly in love with you! How can you not see he is wrapped around your finger.”

You had just rolled your eyes and laughed at your friend. “We’ve been friends for centuries Mor. Rhys would’ve said something by now. I just have to deal with that.” Deep down you were mad,y in love with Rhys. You just kept telling yourself he didn’t feel the same way. It made everything easier. You two were just friends after all.

Walking to Rita’s you and Cassian were hanging on each other crying laughing at something Mor said about Amren. Your heel caught in a crack of the cobblestone, causing the strap of your shoe to come undone. “Oops, hold on a second, my shoe.”

The group stopped as you lifted your dress a little to asses the damage. Before you could fix it, Rhys was on his knees looking up at you with a small smile. “I got it for you darling.”

His fingers gently grazed your ankle, sending a shiver up your body. You watched as Rhys carefully buckled the strap around your ankle again. Without thinking he caressed your calf and looked up at you. You swear you saw hearts in his eyes.

You run your fingers through his soft raven locks, bringing your hand down to caress his face, holding his chin. Giving it a small squeeze you say, “Thanks Rhys.” Mor giggles and takes your arm, pulling you ahead of the boys.

Cassian and Azriel stare at their brother with their jaws on the ground. Rhys stands, brushing off his pants. “I thought you said-“ Cassian started. Rhys cut him off, “Only for my equal.” Cassian didn’t think it was possible but he felt his jaw unhinge more at Rhys’s confession.

Rhys started to follow you and Mor while Cassian stood frozen. Azriel came up next to him closing his mouth and patting him on the back. “I can’t believe I knew before you.” He said with a smug look on his face.

When you woke up the next morning something felt different. You felt a light in your chest, pulling you out of your room.

Getting ready you follow that pull down the hall all the way to Rhys’s office. You find him sitting in his armchair, seemingly contemplating something. You felt nervousness radiating off him. Not only could you hear his heartbeat, but you swore you felt it in your own chest.

Pausing, you place your hand over your heart. You slowly approach him. Resting a hand on his shoulder Rhys leans back into the cushioned seat, placing his hand over yours. Rhys looked up at you with a hope on his beautiful face. The light of the fire in the hearth before him highlighting his high cheekbones and perfect jawline.

Closing your eyes you took a chance and reached out down that new glowing bond. Towards Rhys. Towards unconditional love. Rhys gripped your hand tighter as he let out a shaky breath.

Opening your eyes you found Rhys’s line with silver. You blinked your own tears away as you looked at him with adoration. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered. “I said I’d never bow before anyone or anything but my crown. That changed when I found you, my equal in every sense of the word.”

Rhys pulled you onto his lap. “I love you too Rhys,” you whispered back, “I’ll share that crown with you for the rest of our lives.”

[yeonboy]

𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 ♡ choi yeonjun. ⇝ teaser

For the past two years, you have been an ordinary—if a bit more stressed than others—college student with a life so normal, it almost falls on the wrong side of boring. And then in the middle of one uneventful night, your college’s darling ace student, ace sportsman, the ace cutie that every girl has a crush on, Choi Yeonjun decides to slip into your dorm room – and your life turns upside down.

❧ choi yeonjun x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ strangers to lovers!au ♡ humor ♡ fluff

❧ words! 1 k for the teaser [~8 k for the entire fic]

❧ warnings! profanity, suggestive language, exams related anxiety, incorrect econ major related discord + and more in the actual fic (:

❧ note! hey, everyone! tho i'm not a fan of teasers without a concrete posting date, i needed to put sth out there for the sake of my brain :// mental health's been on a rollercoaster and writer's block been heavy this spring! i hope y'all enjoy this lil cracked up (and a lil concerning) bite of fluff and anticipate the actual fic!

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

Sighing again, you blindly move your hand towards the light switch in the room – only for a hand to wrap around your wrist. 

Wha—

Heart stopping and brain freezing in bone-chilling fear, you unhinge your jaw to let out a scream. But not even a whole second later, a palm is placed over your parted lips and a body pushes you to the wall next to the light switch with an urgent hush whispered in your ear.

“Please don’t scream, I’m not gonna harm you, I just need your help!”

The stranger sounds and feels like a male. 

What the hell is a strange man doing in your very all-girls dorm?

You wanna scream louder, something that this stranger senses because he suddenly presses his body tighter against you, this time dipping his face into the crook of your neck, lips against the shell of your ear when he shushes you.

Okay, now why did that cover your entire body with goosebumps? Of the good kind?

“I’m not a creep I swear, I was just escaping an embarrassing situation and this room was unlocked so I slipped in, please let me explain!”

You try to calm yourself down, taking a deep breath which immediately lets you know that this not a creep actually smells really heavenly. You kinda wanna sniff him again, but catch yourself at the last moment.

Leaning your head farther away to press it against the wall, you narrow your eyes at the short-haired silhouette of the guy that is lit up at the edges due to the light entering the room from the window directly behind him. The hand which held your wrist moves, then, and flicks the light switch.

You immediately squeeze your eyes shut due to the blast of photons across the room, and the stranger slowly steps away from you, very tenderly letting go of your mouth – which had honestly started to hurt a little – at the end. Massaging the side of your jaw, you slowly open one of your lids, and then the other.

Then you blink. And blink again. And nearly have an aneurysm because damn does the campus It-Boy look even hotter up close.

Choi Yeonjun stands before you in his pale orange hair glory, wearing a fitted off-sleeves, off-white sweater. And, shit, are those pearls around his neck? Yes. Yes, they are.

While you’re still hovering in the limbo between shock and awe, the guy launches into a rushed and stuttered explanation.

“Th–thanks for not screaming. I’m… Ugh, I don’t even know where to begin, but like – I – I was trying to surprise my girlfriend who lives in this very dorm, a floor above—you know, where all popular seniors live—and, um, just as I reacher her door I heard sounds of the…sexual nature…echoing inside, so – so I investigated and guess what? My girlfriend is fucking my best friend behind my back!”

Your jaw drops open. “I… what the hell, man?” you whisper, stunned and disgusted. “That’s so awful…”

“Right? And embarrassing.” He shakes his head. Then his eyebrows suddenly fly up. “Oh! I am Choi—”

“Yeonjun, the uni’s ace Senior. I know. Everyone does.”

A faint blush rises up his cheeks, lips pursing as he shrugs one bare shoulder. Okay, damn, his biceps have got some good definition. “Yeah… well. So you know how I was—or still am, I guess—in a relationship with—”

“Kim Yerim? Know that too, unfortunately, all my friends in all the srats are obsessed with y’all.” You give a small sigh. “Her cheating is such a pity.”

“God, I know right? This is gonna be so horrible,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and bites down on his lip.

You snap your fingers in front of his face. “Um, excuse me? Is that all? I’m sorry for you, man, truly, but um, can you leave now? You’re really wasting my very precious time.”

He really is. The only reason why you didn’t flip out yet was because—as embarrassing as it—you were distracted by the guy’s astonishingly good looks. But his beauty isn’t gonna help you pass tomorrow’s exam.

Suddenly regretting wasting the ten minutes that you had saved by ditching Chaeryeong at the convenience store, you clap your hands together and reach for your door. “Great talk! Or not? I guess? See you around, Choi Yeonjun!”

His eyes grow very wide at that and both hands come up to stop you from unlocking your door, before you have even made the move to fully turn around, and—

Oh.

Now you’re caged between the door and both his arms. The same arms with all that muscular definition you just saw up close. 

“Please don’t kick me out. Let me stay here. Please.”

This time it is your eyes that bulge out. “The hell? Why?”

He retracts his hands to brace one of them on his waist and pinch the bridge of his nose with the forefinger and thumb of the other. “I can’t leave…”

You lean away from him. “Dude, if you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on? You’ve come to the absolutely worst person. And if you’re looking for a rebound hook-up… well, could you wait till I’m done with tomorrow’s exam?”

Yeonjun’s face goes from confused to intrigued to humorous. “None of those, actually, but – I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

His wink shoots sparks through you and you immediately purse your lips. “It wasn’t an—okay, then what do you want? My econ exam is tomorrow and I stand to lose all my credits if I flunk this, so please—”

“Wait, econ?” He spins on his heels to peek at your textbook and the slides you had pulled up on your laptop, leaving you gaping behind him. “Ooh, Consumer Behavior? This is a good one. D’you have flash cards? Don’t skip decision roles, Professor Jeon is obsessed with ’em.”

You look at the guy with wide eyes. “Uh—what?”

Looking at you over his shoulder, Yeonjun flashes you a grin. “You’re talking to a 99 scorer in Consumer Behavior.”

— COMING SOON!

© yeonboy 2024 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.

[lanitalay]

One day : Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

a/n: I saw the netflix series, bawled my eyes out then thought it would make a great Az x reader story.

warnings: anxiety, drinking

word count: 1555k

Masterlist

Summer Solstice was your favorite holiday. Each year you look forward to celebrating the longest day of the year in the most beautiful city in the world. This year would be slightly different, as you were no longer a student, having recently graduated to proper healer. So, for the first time in years, you were able to stay up until the sun set and came back out because there were no readings to do, no papers to write and no seminars to attend the next day. You had informed Madja that you would not be coming in tomorrow and she had understood. “I was young and capricious as well, long, long ago.”

The day was spent at the Sidra, lounging and playing in the sand and the water. It was packed, thousands of fae clamoring to the shore to watch the High Lord’s ship pass by. Cheering for it. When the sun set your friends dragged you back to their apartment to get ready for the night ahead. The Rainbow would be filled with street vendors, music and art. 

“I can’t possibly drink more” you gagged as more sparkling wine was shoved in your hand. “Suck it up!” Nomi laughed and poured a glass for herself. Bec did your hair, curling it in loose waves. Fran did your makeup, smoking out dark shadows in your eye lid. Nomi gave you a short, short dress. The four of you admired the collective beauty in the mirror, even if not one of you could see straight. 

“Onwards!” Fran called and opened the door to let everyone stumble out. 

A few hours after drinking, eating and dancing in the street, Bec insisted she needed to sit down. You were looking around to see where you could take her when you spotted a familiar sign. “Let’s go to Rita’s, she’ll let us sober up in there” you guided your friends through the crowd, weaving in between all kinds of fae until arriving at the sanctuary. 

Rita recognized you and waved you in, sitting you down in one of the booths. The place was not quiet by any means, but the seats were cushioned and Bec sighed in relief as she took off her heels under the table. “These shoes rubbed my feet raw,” she hissed. You waved your hand over her feet and channeled some of your healing powers to her blisters. “Oh my gods, thank you, y/n.” You laughed and announced to the table “I’m going to get more drinks.” 

It had been ten minutes of standing by the bar, trying to get someone’s attention. “Hey! I need liquor!” You heard a low laugh behind you and turned around to see a looming figure, wings tight against his back, biting back a smile. “What’s so funny?” Always confrontational when drunk. He shook his head “nothing, can I order something for you?” 

You considered his offer. He was much, much taller than you. If he wanted, he could reach through the bar and grab a bottle of wine. There was a cloudiness to him, or maybe you were far too drunk. You nodded and told him what the table wanted. He waved the barkeep down and placed the order. “Are you the spymaster?” He nodded once. “I’m y/n,” you stretched a hand, as much as you could within the multitude of party goers. He shook it gently with a calloused hand “nice to meet you, y/n.” 

In a few minutes the four drinks were on the bar, Azriel helped you carry them back to the table. When your friends saw who was behind you their jaws practically unhinged. “Thank you, Spymaster.” “Azriel is fine” he said with a smile, and gods… that smile.  “Thank you, Azriel.”

You wanted to drown yourself in the Sidra when Nomi, ever fearless, shouted over the music “does the Spymaster dance?” 

“I could, with the right partner” he turned his head to look at you. “Are you inviting me to dance?" 

“Yes,” now it was him who had a hand stretched your way. You did not have to convince yourself to dance with him. Putting the glasses on the table, you turned and took his hand, letting him lead you right to the dance floor. 

It must have been hours that you spent dancing that night. At one point your friends came over to let you know they were going to call it. Azriel asked if you wanted to leave as well but his hips were grinding against your behind and his arms were firmly holding your waist. So you shook your head “no.” When the song changed he spun you, slotting your legs together, keeping you impossibly close. So close his nose nudged yours. By then, last calls were being made and you asked Azriel if he could walk you back to your apartment. 

He led you out of Rita’s and you pointed in the direction of your place. Azriel did not let go of your hand until you stopped in front of a building and said “this is me.” He looked at the stone building, decorated with flower boxes on the windows “it's nice.” 

“Can I get you some water? Something to eat?” The night could not end like this. You didn’t want this night to end at all. So when he nodded you beamed and opened the door, walking up the three flights of stairs to get to your apartment. “I have bread and…” you looked through the cabinets and were embarrassed that you had not stocked up on any groceries in weeks “chocolate chip cookies, but they are probably stale.” 

“I’ll try a cookie” he bit into it and grimaced “it’s very stale, throw that away.” You giggled and threw the cookies in the trash. When you turned back to face him he was right in front of you. A hair's breadth away. “You know you’re quite beautiful,” you gulp, “you’re very handsome too.”

His hands come up to graze your cheek, “I really want to kiss you.” 

“So kiss me” it doesn’t take him more than a second to bring your lips together. You hold onto his shoulders and he pushes you pack until he helps you jump on the counter. Your legs spread, wanting him to get closer, closer. He pulls back to ask “where’s your room?” You point to the door behind him and he grabs your thighs, carrying you towards a proper place to bed you. 

Ever so gently, he lays you down on your bed but you stand, turning so your back faces him. “I can’t reach the zipper,” with a feather-light touch he grabs the tiny piece of metal and slides it all the way down. You pull off the straps and let the fabric pool at your feet. Turn again to face this, this time completely bare.

“Your turn,” you start to undo his buttons but he quickly takes over, throwing his clothes on the floor next to yours.  Now you lay on the mattress and he settles on top of you, latching his mouth to yours once again. “Are you alright?” You notice his heart is beating erratically and place a palm on his chest to assess. “Yes, I’m-” “You’re having heart palpitations, lie down, let me do something” you push him on his back, hand still on his chest as you try to soothe the distressed organ. 

“I’m a healer, I’m going to send some magic to your heart to calm it down. It won't hurt but it might feel tingly.” You bring all your concentration to his heart. “It’s really fine-” “Shh, be quiet.” 

A few minutes go by and you are satisfied with his pulse. “Does that happen often? How much did you drink tonight?” 

“Sometimes and a lot.”

“Well try to limit your drinking to water for the next few weeks, I’ll tell Madja to check up on you soon.”

“Perfect, now can we get back to-”

“Absolutely not, you are going to sleep right now, stay here.” You hop off the bed again and throw on a night gown, and throw him pajama pants an ex had left behind. Azriel looks defeated on the bed. “Sorry to kill the mood, but I vowed to put my patients' health first. It's not something I can turn off.”

“Now I’m your patient?” 

“Everyone is a potential patient,” you say and fluff a pillow for him to lay on. “You don’t need to do that,” he grumbles. 

“Just relax.” You fluff your own pillow and lay down next to him. “It happens to me too. Madja calls them panic attacks, they can happen for no reason or a million reasons. It sucks.” 

“We didn’t need to stop, you know?” 

“Yeah, yeah. We can try again some other time.”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“The Spymaster of the Night Court doesn’t scare you?”

“Ha, good one. I can’t be scared of a patient and don't flatter yourself. You're too pretty to be scary” you teased. 

“Come here,” he said and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest. His heart steady.

“Tomorrow I’ll regret not drinking any water,” you mumble, words spilling into each other as the  weight of the day crashes into you, sleep taking over.

[uramilf]

Dangerous Game - Matty Healy x reader smut

A/N: Guys this is FILTHY. Like the most unhinged deranged smut I’ve written so far, fair warning. It’s set around Christmas 2022 as it mentions the guests at the UK atvb tour, just for context xx

Warnings: SMUT. Cheating (yes cheating is wrong but it’s just a story, if you don’t like it don’t read it please!) Some BDSM, cockwarming, light anal AH SOZ, spanking, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected sex, spitting, biting etc, degredation, dom!Matty

Stepping out of the lift, I straightened my skirt and checked my hair in the reflection of the shiny metal doors as they closed. I was playing a dangerous game with the short skirt and tight blouse, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride on catching a glimpse of myself.  A few months into working at Dirty Hit as Matty’s assistant, and I still tried my hardest to look nice when I knew I would be with him. I knew it was wrong. Every morning I left my own boyfriend in our shared bed after he told me how beautiful I looked. He looked prefect on paper apart from the fact that he wasn’t Matty, and that I often wondered during sex if Matty would do a better job. Sometimes I wanted to tell him exactly who I was trying to look beautiful for, so that I would be free to do whatever I wanted with my gorgeous co-worker. But even then, I wouldn’t be able to make a move on him. He had a girlfriend too, Ella. And she was perfect, a literal model. He wouldn’t even look twice at me.

I walked into the Matty and George’s small shared office. I loved George, but I was glad he was taking the day off for once. Matty looked up from his laptop when I entered. “Morning, love. You look pretty.” “Thanks,” I laughed, sitting down opposite him, trying not to let my face turn red or allow him to see how thrilled I was. “Busy day today?” “Not hugely. Still a few things to sort out for tour, but y’know, I’m getting there,” “That’s good,” I nodded, opening my own laptop. It was never awkward with him, but there was a certain tension in the air every time we were alone. It was as if he could tell that I was actively trying to act appropriately around him, and maybe like he was doing the exact same thing.

We worked quietly for 20 minutes, and as I was checking the guestlists for each show I noticed that his girlfriend’s name was missing. “Hey, Ella’s not on the guestlist for the first London show. Should I put her on?” Matty looked up abruptly, jaw clenching slightly at the mention of her name. Had something happened between them? He relaxed his face and his eyes softened when he saw my worry. “Um, no thanks love. She’ll be out of the city for a few days. Visiting family.” I saved the document and shut the laptop, standing up from my desk. “I’m gonna go get a coffee, you coming?” “Sure, babe. Two minutes.” BABE? What the fuck was he trying to do to me? I didn’t know how long I could stay around Matty without accidentally telling him exactly how I felt about him. A feeling of guilt overcame me and I shook all thoughts of Matty from my head. 

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

On the way back from our coffee run, Matty and I stood quietly together waiting for the lift. When we had been walking back from the Starbucks down the street, our hands had brushed each other multiple times and it was all I could do to not kiss him right then and there. The lift doors opened, and we stepped in. I opened my mouth to speak but Matty didn’t give me the chance. He grabbed my waist and pushed me against the wall, staring straight down into my eyes. “Fuck this,” he almost spat at me. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend there’s nothing going on with us anymore.” I felt as though my throat was closing over. “Matty,” I said in a voice which was barely a whisper. His eyes softened. “Matty, I have a boyfriend. You have a girlfriend.” His jaw tensed again. “She left me. She left because she could see how badly I wanted you. And as for your boyfriend, are you seriously saying you’d rather have him than me?” I raised an eyebrow. “What? You know I’m right. He’s too boring for you. And he doesn’t look at you the way I do. Shit, can he even make you cum?”

The lift doors opened and he sprung away from me, leaving me with wide eyes and red cheeks. Jamie got in the lift as we got out, and I prayed he hadn’t seen anything.  “Morning, you two. Y/n, have you had a chance to look over those guest lists?” “Yep, all done,” I managed to say, voice breaking under the pressure of nearly being caught with Matty’s hands on my waist and lips a fraction of an inch from mine. The second we made it back to the office I turned and locked the door. “You’re right,” I blurted out. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.  “Yeah?” he smirked, approaching me like an animal stalking its prey. I felt small, but safe, around him; like I knew he could absolutely ruin my life, but chose not to. Like he could turn around now and tell me he was joking, and that he didn’t really want me. But he didn’t. Instead he shoved me back against the wall, the cold surface touching my bare thighs and making me shiver. “Right about what, exactly?” “He can’t make me cum,” I whispered, not looking him in the eye.  “Right.” Matty lifted my chin and forced me to look into his eyes, “And why is that, I wonder?”

“Because he’s not you.”

Matty kissed me then; hard, rough, needy. His hips rolled into mine as his tongue slipped into my open mouth, brushing against my own. I moaned into his mouth and he grabbed at my waist eagerly. One of my hands tangled in his hair, the other feeling desperately up and down his bicep, which seemed to have grown a lot recently. Shit, all that working out was doing wonders for him. Matty’s hips bumped into me again and he groaned. I could feel him getting hard in his black trousers and a wave of heat rushed through me. Just as the kiss was deepening, his phone rang. He pulled away, fumbling in his pocket and rolling his eyes. “Hello?” he snapped. “Oh, hi mate. Sure. Yep. I’ll be there in a second.” “Everything okay?” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Adam’s outside. Says he’s got some paperwork or something I need to look over before tour. I’m gonna run down and grab it, okay babe?”

When he left, I checked my phone and sighed. My boyfriend had texted: Miss you baby. When u coming home? I texted back: Miss you too, not sure yet, pretty busy here x I still felt a little guilty, but slightly less so after feeling Matty so close to me like that. After a few minutes of me trying to calm myself after our encounter, Matty walked back through the door. I draped my arm around his neck and kissed him again, but he pulled away after a few seconds. “Hey gorgeous, can we finish this later, yeah? I have so much fucking work to get through here.” “Oh. Yeah, sure.” “Sorry, babe. You know I want you, like, right now. But Adam’s shitting himself about getting this all done. In the meantime can you get Taylor, Lewis and Charli’s teams on the phone and go over the details for the UK shows, please?” “Of course,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. Back to being an assistant. Maybe he didn’t want me that badly after all. 

I was wrong. 20 minutes into my phone calls with various celebrities’ teams and managers, Matty sighed and looked up at me. “Fuck, babe. I can’t work when you’re sat there looking like that. C’mere.” I stood up and walked to his desk, sitting down on the edge. “What’s wrong?” I smiled teasingly. Matty laughed and gestured to the obvious bulge in his trousers.  “But you have so much work to do!” I feigned shock and Matty rolled his eyes. “I know that was a dig at me, but you’re actually right. It’s ok, I think we can do both.” I raised an eyebrow as he unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers and boxers down. That shut me up. He was huge, dripping precum, a thick vein running up the side of his cock from base to tip.  “Sit,” he commanded. I wasted no time in doing what I was told, straddling his lap and grinding down on him, my clothed core rubbing against his cock. He let out a deep groan from the back of his throat. “Darling, if you want me all to yourself tonight, you need to let me get my work done. Sit.” This time I lifted my hips and positioned myself right over his cock, pulling my thong to the side and sinking down onto him. We groaned out in sync as a wave of pleasure washed over us both. I mentally begged him to move, to do something. But I knew he wouldn’t. I sat there whining into his ear and clenching around him for a further ten minutes. I tried to sneak my hand down to touch my clit but he grabbed my wrist and threw it back over his shoulder. “Behave,” he smirked, not looking up from his computer. 

Finally, Matty finished what he was doing and looked up at me, still perched on his lap, trying not to grind my hips downwards. “The rest of this can wait until tomorrow. It’s time you got some attention, yeah baby?” He moved his laptop, notebooks and papers to the side and lifted me by the waist onto the desk, pushing my shoulders so I ended up flat on my back with my legs spread, him now standing between them. I whined at the empty feeling and Matty shushed me gently before pushing into me again. He threw his head back as he thrusted into me. I wasn’t used to the stretch required for me to fit around his cock, and it felt perfect. The sound of our combined moans and his skin hitting mine filled the room, but neither of us cared to stay quiet. Matty pulled out of me again and I could have screamed in frustration, but he didn’t give me time to complain.

“Hands and knees,” he commanded, and I obeyed. He groaned when I pushed my ass towards him and placed a firm smack there, making me giggle with giddy anticipation. Instead of fucking me again, Matty sat down in his chair so his face was level with my cunt and leaned forward to lick a stripe straight up my core.  “Shit! Oh, Matty, please!” His tongue teased at my entrance, flicking back and forth, his rough, calloused hand sneaking around to find my clit and rub light circles over it.  “Does he ever do this to you, baby?” “Yes,” I gasped. “But it doesn’t feel as good as this.” Matty’s tongue ventured further away from my cunt and I gasped. “Matty, wait. No one’s ever done that to me before.” “Ssh, baby. You’ll like it.” With that he flicked his wet tongue over my asshole, making me scream out.  “Oh fuck!” He did it again, and again, building up speed into a proper rhythm. The thought of letting a guy ever do this to me had never even crossed my mind, but holy fuck, it felt good. As he continued to kitten lick over my hole, he thrusted two fingers into my wet cunt and I could feel myself tipping over the edge at last.  “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” I cried out, nails digging into the cold wood of the desk, clenching around Matty’s fingers. My vision was overcome with a bright white heat as I came on Matty’s hand, screaming his name. He pulled his fingers out of me and I saw him flick his tongue over them, closing his eyes in bliss. “Fuck, you taste good.” He placed his thumb on my lip and whispered “open,” before spitting into my mouth. “Don’t you think you taste good, love?” I swallowed and nodded quietly, eyes never leaving his.

Matty gave me some time to recover, but I noticed he was still hard. He was the first guy to give me an orgasm in six months, as my boyfriend was seriously lacking in experience and confidence. I wasn’t gonna let the favour not be returned. I pulled my skirt back down to cover my thighs and dropped to my knees in front of Matty. He was in the midst of pulling his boxers back up over his hard-on, but I stopped him. “Fuck, babe. You’re so desperate for me you should be ashamed of yourself,” Matty smirked down at me. I just rolled my eyes and licked his tip, relishing the sound he made. I tested the waters, taking his tip fully into my mouth and sucking. I could taste his salty precum and moaned around his cock, making him echo the sound. Slowly taking more of him into my mouth, I looked up at him through my eyelashes to see his head tipped back, eyes shut in ecstasy. His hands found their way to my hair and grabbed a fistful each, forcing me down further. He hit the back of my throat and I gagged a little. A groan of “Good fucking girl” made its way to my ears. He guided my head up and down, fucking roughly into my mouth.  “Fuck, I’m so close,” he stuttered, his cock twitching in my mouth. He spilled his cum onto my tongue with a loud moan of my name and I pulled away, swallowing while staring straight into his eyes. “C’mere,” he breathed heavily, pulling me up to stand close to him. He grabbed me by the hips and kissed me hard.

“You’re actually incredible, you know that, right?” Matty asked softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. I didn’t look at him, just smiling. “Have you never been told that before?” “Not really, no.” “Well you deserve someone who’s gonna tell you that every day of your fucking life, darling.” “Someone like you?” I grinned. “Exactly,” he smiled back.

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

I hadn’t gone back to Matty’s house. It seemed too obvious. Instead I headed home and changed into a tight dress and put some makeup on, some stupid excuse about meeting up with work friends for a drink spilling out of my mouth. It wasn’t entirely a lie. 

Matty had opened his front door and pulled me inside before I even had a chance to knock, lips meeting mine immediately. He was still in his work clothes. Not for long, I decided. He dragged me upstairs into his bedroom, shoving me down on the bed and yanking off his shirt and tie. I almost let out a moan at the sight of his toned stomach and muscular, tattooed arms. He slipped my feet out out my shoes and kissed all the way from my ankle to my thigh, pulling my dress, stepping back in feigned shock when he saw my lack of underwear.  “Someone’s being a bit cheeky tonight,” he whispered. “It gets worse, no bra either,” I joked. “Fuck!” Matty exclaimed, reaching down to pull my dress straight over my head. He stood there with his mouth open for a moment or two at the sight of my tits moving with my deep breaths. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, grabbing my thighs and spreading my legs. He knelt on the bed between them and dropped down to take one of my nipples into his mouth, one hand trailing down my stomach towards my clit. He continued to suck on the skin of my breast and circle my clit with his thumb as I moaned out his name. “Fuck darling, you make the prettiest noises.” Matty moved up to my neck to place a messy kiss there, and I cried out when he sunk his teeth into my skin. He stood up to undo his belt, but kept his trousers on. I raised an eyebrow. “Pretty girl, I think it’s time you got a little punishment for all the times you’ve given me a fucking boner in work this week.” My eyes widened in shock. “Four times this week, babe. It’s only Wednesday.” He reached for his tie from the floor and told me to get in the same all-fours position I had been in earlier. This time, he grabbed my wrists and tied them together behind my back, forcing my head down into the mattress.  “Okay, pretty girl. You’ve got me all worked up four times this week, and I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose. So I want you to count your punishments, okay?” I nodded, letting out an excited whimper. I heard the belt buckle clink and clenched my cunt around nothing. A sharp sting landed on my ass and I yelped. “Count.” “One,” I breathed. Another. “Two.” Another. “Three.” “One more, babe, You’re doing well.” He brought the thick leather down on my soft skin once more, the sensation burning pleasurably.  “Four.” “Good girl.”

Matty grabbed my tied wrists and pulled me up so my face was no longer in the sheets. “Are you gonna take my cock again like a good little slut?” I just whined in response. “Words,” he grunted. “Or do I need to remind you what your punishment is?” “Yes, Matty. I’ll be good for you,” I whimpered. He let go of my wrists, my upper half dropping back onto the mattress. Without warning, he pushed into me hard and established a fast, steady rhythm. I cried out as he found my g-spot effortlessly.  “Fuck Matty!” This only encouraged him, and he thrusted deeper, harder, all the while groaning my name. He alternated between grabbing handfuls of my ass and placing firm slaps there. Each time he hit me I clenched hard around him, ripping a moan from his throat. 

After around ten minutes of hard, rough, rhythmic thrusting, Matty grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled out of me, cumming all over my back. “Fuck, love. How are we ever gonna share an office again without me getting a boner?” I laughed at him while he untied my wrists, wincing when his hand brushed the sore skin of my ass.  “Oh, darling, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know I can go overboard sometimes.” “Are you seriously apologising for the best sex of my life right now?” Matty grinned at this. “Are you joking?” “Absolutely not. You’ve met my partner, you know he’s not doing any of that.” I glanced at the clock. “Oh shit! He’s gonna be wondering where I am.” “Text him and say Charli drank too much and you’re staying with her to look after her. I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this time of night. Plus, I need to take care of my pretty girl.”

After I had made my excuses to my boyfriend, Matty cleaned me up in the bathroom and carried me back to his bed, tucking me in under the sheets and curling up beside me, his head on my chest. I had a hand in his hair and one of his was exploring the skin of my stomach underneath my borrowed t-shirt.

“Get some sleep, love,” Matty yawned. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”

[steddiealltheway]

(IMPORTANT NOTE: this was supposed to be ABSOLUTE CRACK for Ruth’s birthday ((happy birthday @kurtkankle)) but this Heartstopper x Steddie Stranger Things crossover turned out to be surprisingly wholesome at the end. SO if you want to completely ignore the crack, replace Dart with Mews and… maybe it’s better. And Ruth… you’re the only person who could get me to post this instead of keeping it in my drafts.)

Charlie goes to Nick’s house, thinking only of his strong rugby arms. Instead, he’s greeted at the door by a pet that isn’t Nellie.

“Nick. What the fuck is this?” Charlie asks, bewildered at the creature weaving it’s way through nick’s legs.

Nick smiles and picks the creature up. “This is my cousin’s pet, Dart. I’m taking care of him for the next week.”

As if the creature knows that Nick is talking about him, it unhinges its multiple jaws and screeches.

Charlie stares at it for a few moments before deciding that maybe he can go without Nick for the next week. But then he sees someone come into view over Nick’s shoulder.

“I’m Steve,” the hottest American man Charlie has ever seen says, sticking his hand out toward him.

“H-hi,” Charlie responds taking his hand back and shaking it.

“I hear you’re Nick’s closest rugby lad,” Steve says with a big, clueless smile.

Charlie laughs nervously. “Yep, that’s who I am.”

Nick stares at him awkwardly and invites him inside. Charlie takes one glance at Dart and hopes he doesn’t bite his face off. Luckily, he keeps to himself and follows Steve into the living room as Charlie and Nick got to Nick’s room.

They “study” for about an hour before the door slowly creaks open, and in comes Dart excitedly. But then Steve follows him quickly, bashfully looking up at Nick and Charlie who haven’t had time to untangle themselves from each other.

Steve looks between the two and smiles softly. “You two remind me of me and my good friend Eddie.”

Charlie and Nick glance at each other and silently debate asking Steve more. Nick is the first to speak up, “Steve, are you and Eddie… dating?”

Steve scoffs. “No, we’re just really good pals.”

“Who… kiss sometimes?” Charlie asks, confused.

Steve nods with a big smile on his face.

Nick sits up and crosses his arms. “Is this… an American thing?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no. This is a me and Eddie thing.”

Charlie nods and leans over to Nick whispering, “And how do you know him, again?”

“He’s practically my cousin’s older brother. He’s staying here while Dustin stays with the rest of his friends.”

Charlie nods, still confused about the situation, before returning his gaze to Steve. “Steve… do you… think about kissing him often?”

“All the time. It’s my ‘Roman Empire’ as Dustin says.”

Nick and Charlie exchange another look before Nick squeezes Charlie’s shoulder and says, “I got this.”

Charlie watches as Nick carefully approaches Steve and puts a gentle hand on his back, leading him down the hall and prompting, “So, tell me more about your friend Eddie.”

Charlie sits back and glances to his right where Dart is curled up on the floor next to Nellie, wondering if this tops the most confusing moment of his life, ranking even above getting Nick Nelson as a boyfriend.

A few minutes later, he wanders down the stairs, easily picking up on the conversation.

“I’m… in love with Eddie?”

Nick is quick to say, “I’m not saying you are, I’m just telling you it’s okay to like both men and women. But maybe you are in love with him.”

There’s a brief silence before Steve says, “I think I am.”

Charlie peaks around the corner where Nick is sitting at the dining room table across from Steve, with a small smile on his face. “I know it can be confusing, but think on it over the next week. And I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. “God, I miss him.”

“I can’t imagine going a week without seeing Charlie.”

Charlie’s heart skips a beat at the comment, and he wonders if he should stop intruding on this moment.

“So you two are… going out?” Steve asks carefully.

“Yeah, we are,” Nick answers with a proud smile.

Steve smiles back, a look of contentment settling over his face as if realizing if Nick and Charlie could do it, so could he.

Charlie steps on a creaky part of Nick’s house, and the two glance up at him. Nick holds him arm out invitingly and Charlie is quick to join him in the offered embrace.

Steve runs his hands over his face and laughs, “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before. Robin has been giving me looks for weeks, and I haven’t been able to read them. She kept telling me she couldn’t tell me what it was about until I realized it for myself. It all makes sense now.”

“And Robin is…?” Charlie asks.

Steve smiles brightly and is quick to ramble about his best friend, and Charlie shares stories about Tao in return.

Eventually, Steve’s phone starts buzzing, and he’s quick to excuse himself, cheeks turning red as Eddie Instagram handle lights up his phone.

As he walks away, Nick and Charlie glance at each other again and smile gently. Nick laughs, “Do you think that’s how people saw us when we were first getting together?”

Charlie smiles. “I think we may have been much worse.”

“Or much better honestly.”

Down the hall, they hear Steve argue, “Yes, I know you don’t have an international phone plan. I’ll pay for your bill. Yes it’s important! No, it’s not the kids. No it’s- Eddie. Eddie, I’m in love with you!” There’s a pause and a heavy sigh before Steve continues, “You are not buying a plane ticket to London when you can afford an international phone call. This is not a debate!”

Nick squeezes his arms around Charlie and whispers, “Yeah, we were definitely better.”

“Why are they like this?” Charlie laughs.

Nick laughs in response as they continue listening to the disastrous conversation, glad that they helped someone else have their similar happy ending.

[wynnyfryd]

from is this your card? pt 2

“Just invite him to play cards with you,” Robin suggests around a massive bite of pizza.

“Shit, Birdy,” he whistles, looking over at her with some mix of awe and alarm. Girl’s gonna choke herself someday. “Thought I was the gremlin in this friendship.”

“Wha’?” She tries to protest; there’s sauce all over her chin.

“Unhinge your jaw like a snake next time, save yourself the trouble.”

She bounces on the lumpy couch cushion, overcome with that specific excitement she gets right before she word-vomits useless trivia. “Did you know a python can open its mouth up to a hundred and eighty degrees?”

Eddie stares at her blankly.

Robin squirms.

“…What about a king cobra?”

“One-thirty-five,” she answers without missing a beat and reaches for a second slice, dropping the uneaten crust back in the box. “And, anyway, I take it back. You’re not allowed to invite Steve over or hang out with him without me because the two of you are going to be a total nightmare for me if you ever manage to get it together and start going out.”

Eddie arranges her abandoned crust beneath two pieces of pepperoni on his paper plate to make a frowny face. “But Robi-i-inn,” he whines, pitching his voice all high and stupid.

“Please tell Mr. Pepperoni that his pouting game needs work and that I am not swayed.”

“Rude.” He discards his plate and flops back on the couch with a put-out groan. Slings an arm over his eyes just to be dramatic. “This would be so much easier if he weren’t so intimidatingly hot. Why does he have to be so hot?”

Robin sucks a lump of cheese off her thumb. “I don’t know. Is he hot?”

“Dude.” Eddie sits back up, eyeing her with a blank stare and considering tossing her ass out of his living room. Is Steve Harrington hot? IS STEVE HARRINGTON HOT? Jesus Christ.

“What? He’s hairy, okay? Point your creepy laser vision somewhere else!”

“Excuse you! My eyes are not creepy! I have it on good authority that they’re pretty.”

“They’re piercing.”

“Whatever. You just can’t appreciate my beauty, Buckley. Or Steve’s, apparently.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Robin and Eddie whip around, matching deer-in-headlights expressions at the sound of another voice in the room, and there’s Steve, suddenly, leaning against the door frame (Eddie has no idea how; dude’s a ninja or some shit), looking bashful but quietly pleased with his arms folded across his chest. Eddie desperately wants to bite the ring of freckles blooming on his tanned forearm.

He looks at Robin, and they both turn back to Steve and oh so elegantly bleat out: “Uhhhh…”

Smooth. Good save, Munson, real nice.

Robin pulls it together first, smiles wide and says, “Hi, Steve. Eddie was just being a homophobe as usual.”

“Dude! You have got to stop fucking accusing me of that shit, I’m literally gay!”

“Gay men are not immune to lesbophobia, Edward. It’s honestly a little concerning that you don’t know that.”

“Oh, holy shit, why do I hang out with you?”

Robin licks her teeth in smug delight and kicks at his thigh. “Because you cherish our time together.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You think I’m an undeniable joy.”

“Steve. Steve, please get her out of my house.”

Eddie puts his head in his hands, but Robin’s picking up steam now, hopping up onto the couch cushion and brandishing a pizza crust like a torch, hoisting it high into the air, exclaiming, “Nay! A light, even! A shining beacon in your sad, dark little life!”

“Steve, I am begging you, man.”

Steve’s a real one because he doesn’t say a word, just crosses the room and chucks Robin over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carries her flailing out onto the front porch.

[foursaints]

hi saints it’s pavlov’s dog anon back at it again (so sorry for taking so long, but if u genuinely are serious about wanting a tooth charm…….i’d be very excited to make one) BUT what do we think about odontophiliac evan? like, i can’t stop thinking about it. i want him purposefully removing his lover’s molars and storing them in tiny jars to put on display. or he stares at barty with a completely unwavering expression and says, “i’m going to touch your teeth” and he just…jabs his finger into barty’s mouth and starts stroking over his teeth, pressing the pad of his finger against sharp canines…he doesn’t know why there’s literal warmth pooling in his belly because that guy does not feel Warm Things. i want evan pinning barty down to the bed and practically unhinging his jaw just so he can admire barty’s teeth. he’s got some 1800s old school medical bag, pulling out the most obscure tools just to poke and prod the inside of barty’s mouth. like i feel as though i’m going somewhere with this, and i need your Thoughts

tooth charm anon!!! how i missed you!!! oh my god yes please 🦷🦷. we could even match!

this ask is so gorgeous. the dynamic of Barty fondly holding himself in place while his Little Blonde Freak pulls out his molars with pliers, shoves fingers in his mouth, sucks his tongue, and generally uses him as a living doll to blandly experiment on is so crucial. i see barty as having really nice teeth anyway... evan probably asks to see them up close when they're "still friends", (barty is panting at this opportunity) and he finds himself sitting there with his fingers buried in barty's mouth, trembling and wondering why he's fighting the urge to give his front teeth a lick. asks barty to bite him hard enough to leave a mark he can study afterwards.

i'm firmly of the belief that dentist!evan has a collection of antique dental headgear, rusty victorian cranks & gags to keep his mouth open (professionally!!). you'd think he'd fuck him like that, but i think evan just likes to try out all his weird tools on barty to make him drool on himself, then scold him for being messy. and barty would call it unfair, if he could speak.

[rafesproactiveprettygirl]

How Joel would react if you got infected and weren’t immune like Ellie

(dating edition, other editions coming soon: enemies, enemies in love, friends, you were his child, married, etc)

a/n: i hate this so much, i wish i could write angst

what happened was you two went out in when the start was just starting to set to look for some food for ellie who seemed to be catching a cold. you were running out anyways and needed to restock. you were walking through some buildings when it occurred to you that i was starting to get darker so you took out your flashlight and shined it in the direction joel was walking, in the middle of a conversation the flashlight went out causing joel to stumble over himself and slam himself into the metal door ahead of you causing a loud “bang” to sound across the building. it would have alerted any clickers on the area.

joel motioned for you to be quite and stop moving, you both stopped and listened for any sounds of movement. when there was none you tossed your dead flashlight to the floor and sat down to grab your bag off your shoulders, opening it you looked around for a new flashlight. you and joel both froze at the sound of heavy feet sprinting across the floor and the sound of clicking behind you. you quickly grabbed the flashlight and turned around to shine the light at the hallway behind you, as soon as you turned around you were attacked to the floor by the infected.

you screamed in agony as your body slammed against the pavement. you cried out joel’s name loudly as you put both of your hands against the creatures chest and kicked your legs against its lower half. it was strong, nothing like what you’d scene before and it’s jaw unhinged leaning forward as the sound of gunshots fired in your ear. you moved your head to the left to give joel a better shot of his head. you finally kicked the clicker off you and turned on your stomach to crawl up towards joel when you felt a sharp pain in your forearm, you screamed and grab the flashlight which was next to your face, turning to the clicker who was tightly biting you and smashing it in the face repeatedly. it finally let go and died next to you.

you scurried to get up and pushed yourself against the wall, joel shot the clicker several more times to make sure it was dead. he huffed and gasped for air before turning to you, who had fat tears rolling down your cheek. he thought you were scared, but when he saw the bite mark and blood rolling down your arm his face went paler than ghost. you looked at him choked out a sob, he couldn’t even look you in the eyes.

“joel?” you called out, voice breaking. his grip on his gun tightened. “joel.” you repeated. “please look at me.” you said as you covered your arm with your other hand. you felt the disease already taking over, your fingers twitching uncontrollably, suddenly becoming very angry. “joel. look at me. now.” his eyes shifted to yours. they were filled with anger and fear, but most importantly sadness.

“you know what you have to jo-“

“no. i won’t.”

“you have to.”

“like hell i do!” he yelled, walking over to you and squatting down in front of you. “i can’t y/n, i-i can’t lose you. not like i did with her.” he said referring to sarah. you and ellie were the first person he’s ever loved since his daughter died. tears of his own were now flowing down his cheeks. your hand went up to cup his face, his hand covered your own. “i’m so sorry joel.” you choked out. “i love you. so much. but you have to do it joel. you have to kill me.”

the words were enough to make him scoff and remove your hand, shaking his head. “your the love of my life y/n. i can’t do it. i physically can’t.”

“you have to. if not for me then for ellie. i could follow you back and risk hurting you both. besides you’ll have to kill me anyways, once i turn i’ll start attacking you, hurting you. you don’t have a choice joel. i’m too scared to do it on my own.” his jaw tightened. you wouldn’t hurt him right? not your joel. not your boyfriend. joel’s heart shattered the more he thought about this. you two had already planned your life together. you two were going to get ellie to the fireflies, let them take a sample of her blood for the cure, surprise her by adopting her, get married, go back to bills house and start a family of your own.

“joel please. at least have your gun on you. i can feel it, the change. it’s already happening, and it hurts. not physically, but knowing what i’ll become and what i can do? that hurts the most. don’t let me hurt you joel. don’t let me hurt ellie.” tears were following both of your faces. joel leaned in and gave you once last passionate kiss. “i love you y/n.” he whispered against your lips. “i love you joel. keep ellie safe.” he leaned back to reply, but when he looked into your eyes, he knew you were gone. you jumped up to grab him but he quickly put the gun to your head, pulling the trigger.

he didn’t think much for the rest of the day. he got the food and went back. ellie asked where you were, he didn’t want ellie to be in any grieving or pain, so he lied. he said that you decided a life with him and ellie was too much, so you left. he thought this would make ellie hate you and forget you. but it didn’t. it only hurt worse. she lost one parent, and soon the other.

[welcometololaland]

thanks for the tag @alrightbuckaroo @three-drink-amy @heartstringsduet

i have put aside the imposter syndrome for a week to scream in a completely unhinged way that ALTA is finished (save for 2 flashback scenes that have to be inserted due to cutting up my ridiculously long chapters). so, i feel like it makes sense to post a wip wednesday in its honour:

“Should I apologise about the fact that you just saw me naked?” TK asks hesitantly, clearing his throat. “I didn’t expect you to follow me here.”

“TK,” Carlos moans, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb and leaning against the wall separating the walk-in-closet from the rest of the room. “You led me here! You didn’t tell me you were getting naked!”

“I thought that was obvious from the shirt on the floor,” TK says, his voice sounding a little pained as he audibly hops around in the walk-in-closet. “Isn’t that the universal sign for ‘I’m getting changed’?”

“No!” Carlos exclaims. “That’s the universal sign for we’re about to get naked together.”

“Oh,” TK says, ducking out of the walk-in-closet and encircling his fingers around Carlos’ wrist, drawing his hand gently away from his face as Carlos opens his eyes and is predictably assaulted by TK’s sea-green ones. “I mean, I just got into these sweats but I can take them off again if you want me to—”

“Didn’t we agree that it would be better if we—”

“Mhm,” TK hums, pinning Carlos’ wrist against the wall and leaning in closer. His free hand curls around Carlos’ jaw, thumb stroking Carlos’ cheekbone gently. “We could always re-evaluate.”

There’s a pause – a long moment where Carlos imagines he could back away – and then it’s drowned out by the sheer, unmitigated happiness he feels being in TK's space. Carlos hasn’t had this in years, and he craves it viscerally. 

“We could,” Carlos agrees, his voice barely a whisper as TK’s nose nudges against his own. 

In that moment, time goes a little funny. Carlos’ head spins like he’s drunk far more than one and a half cocktails, the adrenaline rush of being close to TK simultaneously intoxicating him and hurtling him towards a whole host of potentially disastrous decisions. Every breath Carlos takes fills his lungs with the scent of TK’s cologne, every tiny hair on his body registering the brush of TK’s clothes against his own, every square inch of Carlos’ lips and chin and neck flushed under the warmth of TK’s ragged breathing.

TK wants this, Carlos realises. He wants it badly.

“Is this a really terrible idea?” Carlos asks hesitantly, testing the waters. He knows it’s cowardly, but he doesn’t want to be the one taking the plunge, not least because TK is the one with the recent trauma, but also because when TK inevitably lets him down again, Carlos doesn’t want to have to live with the shame of being the one who invited it. It’s bad enough coming to terms with the fact that he’s never going to be good enough to keep TK. He doesn’t want to be the lamb begging to lay down with the wolf as well.

“Maybe,” TK replies, tilting his head so their foreheads rest together. Carlos’ arms find his waist, tugging him closer and TK stumbles slightly, his hips pressing against Carlos’ firmly, the hardness of TK's quickly developing erection sliding against his own.

Carlos can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat at the contact, but it’s nothing compared to the desperate whine that leaves TK’s lips, his hand now abandoning Carlos’ wrist to trace up his arm and thread through the back of his hair.

“Carlos,” TK groans, rolling his hips because he’s a terror; a fallen angel; Carlos’ personal brand of poison. “Fuck.”

“TK,” Carlos whimpers, his head falling back against the drywall as TK’s lips attack his neck. They haven’t even kissed, and yet TK is finding all his favourite spots like he remembers the exact map of Carlos’ skin. He rakes his teeth over a pressure point, smoothing it over with his tongue, before biting down gently on the tendon in Carlos’ neck and eliciting another involuntary noise from the back of Carlos’ throat that feels as if it wracks his whole body.

“God,” TK murmurs, shoving his hips into Carlos’ more forcefully, as Carlos’ brain short circuits. "You feel so good, baby."

Carlos hasn’t been known by that term of endearment for a very long time, and it’s so exhilarating that it makes his fingers curl possessively around TK’s hips. TK laughs deliriously into the skin of Carlos’ neck – the sound of his voice happy and bright and—

tagging: @nontoxic-writes @liminalmemories21 @iboatedhere (suckerrrrr) @sunshinestrand @clottedcreamfudge @reyesstrand @marjansmarwani @celeritas2997 @actual-sleeping-beauty @everwitch-magiks @marchingatmidnight @tailoredshirt @cinnaluminum

[the-simple-diamond-gall]

—I had a weird dream last night —

It was about me watching YouTube (Markiplier to be exact) and he made this video called “Eating my Christmas tree”

The video started with a POV shot of Mark showing off the tree. There is no commentary, just the camera moving around to show the audience from a few different angles. It was a real wood tree with absolutely NO decorations, NO lights, no nothin’

The room that the tree was in was not decorated for the holidays either… in fact it had no furniture, or windows. There was only an unlit fireplace in the background.

So The video was only showing the small tree in this empty room.

anyway, Markiplier put the camera down and walked into view to stand beside this “Christmas tree”. The tree is about a foot taller than him. There is still no commentary.

—-

At this point in the dream, I’m thinking to myself that this is going to be one of those experimental videos, like his “meow” video, or that time he just admired a banana for ten minutes.

But, no.

—-

Mark just plucks one of the smaller branches off the tree and… well…

It started with a nibble…

Than a tiny nom

Than a bigger nom-nom

And a full on Chomp

The crunch-crunch sounds are quite noisy

It is obvious that he likes the taste of the tree, so he eats more… and more

He rips off one of the lower branches and eats it like corn-on-the-cob. Except it was not corn, and he ate the entire cob.

He shoves the smaller twigs in his mouth, devouring them like Chips and liking the small evergreen needles off his fingers like Cheeto dust

He continues to ravenously consume the tree piece by piece

This continues until the tree is almost bald, with only a couple of green branches left.

And only then, does the tree respond…

The tree is pleased

So while Mark is down on one knee with his head tilted sideways biting the trunk of the tree, trying to chew his way through it, the tree begins to grow a long vine out of its peak. At the end of this vine grows a large fruit that looked like a bushel of grapes that has all fused together into a single lumpy mass.

Mark looks upon the trees gift with reverence in his eyes.

—-

At this point in the dream I’m thinking to myself “since when do evergreen trees have fruit? Or vines? That’s not a pine cone. How unrealistic”

—-

As I watch him open his mouth to eat the fruit, I half expect his jaw to unhinge and swallow it whole. But that doesn’t happen, although he certainly tries to do just that. He only manages to take one large bite, splitting open the flesh of the lumpy fruit causing its purple juice to drip down his chin. He grabs the vine to pull the fruit closer and goes in for another bite and…

The video ends.

—-

Well that was weird…

Anyway, nothing else really happened in that dream, and I woke up not long after.

As someone who doesn’t have dreams very often, or just immediately forgets them within 5 minutes of waking up, I think it’s weird-as-all-heck that I still remember this one well into the afternoon.

Maybe science side of tumblr could explain. lol idk

[cable-knit-sweater]

MAYAAAAAA 😫😫😫 I know I’ve been in your inbox already once today, but I just saw you reblog This Fucking Post™ of This Fucking Guy™ and— EXCUSE ME. I AM UNWELL. 

So now I can’t help but think about how this particular Seb is a bit more confident and cocksure (pun at least 50% intended) than usual, and how it completely throws Chris for a loop and maybe they haven’t seen each other for a while and they’re finally alone and making out like teenagers on Seb’s couch and Chris is reeling from how assertive and self-assured Seb is, not to mention how stupidly fucking hot he looks, and listen. LISTEN. Chris loves it, he really, really does, but he’s just used to being a bit more in charge, and being able to reduce Seb into a boneless, speechless mess with relative ease (much like Seb’s doing to him, right now).

Chris is kinda getting lost inside his head when his hand finds its familiar way into Seb’s hair, fingers curling gently but surely around the lengths, and tugging— 

Seb makes the tiniest noise in the back of his throat, but Chris can feel the tremor that runs through him, so he pulls a bit harder, a bit meaner. 

There it is. 

“Screw you,” Seb breathes, but it comes out wrapped in an unmistakeable moan. 

Chris just laughs, mouthing at the hinge of his jaw in a way that makes Seb squirm into the cushions. 

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Seb huffs even while closing his eyes and melting into the touch. 

“Aww, honey,” Chris purrs in response. “You’re the nice thing.” 

Idk what this even is but I totally blame you & Minnie for it 😇💕

OH MY FUCKING GODDDD KAY MY SUNFLOWER BABY 😭😭😭😍😍🥵🥵🥵🥵

Okay. Calming down for a second but GOD I love you so fucking much.

I saw your other ask and I LOVE it, also @sparkagrace has been begging me for something similar and I will have so much fun writing it, so thank youuuu for sending me that prompt (also? I love the hive mind so freaking much lol 💗💗)

But getting back to the rest of your ask bc oh my god are you in my head??? This is like a perfect scenario and I’m obsessed 😫 Anyone who even knows me a little bit knows how weak I am for this Seb:

Like uncontrollable sobbing, unhinged screeching, want to BITE, that kind of weak 😭

But back to your scenario.

One of my favorite things is Seb being a little cocky and Chris being surprised by it and LOVING it, but alsoooo trying to find a way to reduce Seb to a whimpering mess again 😫 I love how in this scenario Chris goes with it for a little but then he just needs to do one thing, and Sebastian is done for (much like I am).

And they both love it. Chris loves it when his boyfriend is assertive, makes known what he loves and wants; whether it’s through making those delicious noises or by showing Chris what he wants by being a little more demanding like this. He always thinks Sebastian is hot, unbelievably gorgeous, but there’s something about him when he smirks at Chris in that way of his, when Sebastian looks all self-assured and like he knows he’s the hottest thing out there, because in Chris’s mind he always is. So he lets Sebastian do what he wants for a little, until instinct takes over…and his instinct will always be to love on Sebastian so much, to make him feel soooo good, that Sebastian just melts into whatever surface they’ve ended up on and lets Chris make him feel even better.

The moment that happens always causes Chris’s brain to short circuit for a second. When Sebastian’s features go slack, when he moans so loudly, when he starts to give himself over to Chris. It’s not so much surprise as it is pure awe; that he can have that effect on Sebastian, that Sebastian loves it as much as he does, that Sebastian lets him do this.

Sebastian loves it when Chris takes charge and just, instinctively knows what he needs, but sometimes he just can’t control himself, feeling sooo good about himself and wanting Chris to feel good too, needing to be close, so he just goes for it.

He can’t help but feeling a little hungry, a little feral when they’ve been apart for a while, needing his hands all over Chris and needing Chris’s hands all over him. Rile him up as much as he can until he gets Chris to growl a little and manhandle him, pull at his hair, letting Chris take charge again easily.

Riling Chris up is maybe one of his favorite things to do. It’s almost like a little game they play, and even if Seb complains a little when Chris takes over and makes him all weak-kneed, it’s all he wants.

ALSO, Chris is right, he is the nice thing 😭 and BLESS you so much for dropping these incredible thoughts into my inbox, GOD, I’m gonna need some more time to think about this 🥵.

I LOVE YOU (and your incredible brain) SOOO MUCH 💕💕💕💕💕 Sending you the biggest polar bear hugs and all the smooches 😘😘

Alsooo I think @musette22 will agree with me that we’ll gladly take the blame if it leads to something like this 🥰🥰🥰

[chickenmetenders]

Request from @cucumbersncheese :

Mamiya and natsume at a new ice cream that just opened up aka basically an ice cream date that mamiya initiated but natsume is oblivious (Highschool au)

Sorry if this is ooc, I'm delusional. But also this is a human au, so I guess that's inherently gonna be delusional. Also there's a single spoiler for DDD in here

It was like watching Kirby inhale his food whole.

"Don’t you get brain freeze?" Natsume grumbles as Mamiya practically unhinges his jaw and swallows an entire scoop of ice cream, all in one bite.

Mamiya’s lips end up absolutely covered in beige cheese-cake colored cream, and Natsume watches in morbid fascination as Mamiya’s tongue pokes out and licks it all off--and then Natsume realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

Mamiya loudly smacks his lips. "No," he finally answers. "But I’m so touched by your concern, Natsume."

Then Mamiya bites off half of his scoop of matcha ice cream. Natsume shudders--despite how warm the spring afternoon is in this park, he can still imagine the sensation of blisteringly cold ice on his teeth.

He glances down at his own single scoop of chocolate ice cream instead. Mamiya had made fun of him for ordering something so plain and boring, but what was wrong with that? Natsume likes chocolate ice cream! He takes a lick of his ice cream. It’s a small lick. A sane one. Mamiya ate with a hunger matched only by that of Monkey D. Luffy, but Natsume is a regular human with a regular appetite. No need to try to wolf everything down.

Ooh. This was pretty good.

Natsume takes a slightly bigger lick. When he looks up, Mamiya is smirking at him.

"Tastes good, right?"

Mamiya was, unfortunately, correct. But Natsume isn’t going to just flatter his ego like that. "It’s ice cream," he says defiantly. "It’s not like ice cream is ever not good."

"But it’s really fucking good ice cream, right?" Mamiya leans in to elbow Natsume’s side. "You’re glad I dragged you out to that food truck, right?"

Mamiya stays pressed up against Natsume’s side even after he lowers his elbow. Ugh, this guy had no sense of personal space. Natsume lightly shoves him away. "Shut up."

"You’re too stubborn to admit it. But it’s okay. I know how you truly feel." Mamiya clasps a hand to his chest. "I can read your heart, Natsume."

Natsume takes another disgruntled lick before replying. "Really? And what is my heart saying now?"

Mamiya closes his eyes and furrows his brows is faux concentration. "Hm, let’s see… Yes… Your heart… I can hear it speak to me… It’s saying… It’s saying…! That you want to go on the swan boats with Mamiya!"

He was such a weirdo. "No, it’s not."

But Mamiya insists. "Wow, Natsume! I didn’t know you wanted to share that kind of experience with me!"

"That’s because I don’t!"

Mamiya clicks his tongue. "You’re no fun. What have the swan boats ever done to you?"

"It’s not the swan boats that are the problem, it’s you, Toujou Mamiya!" Natsume yells. He huffs. "And anyway, they’re not going to let us on when we’ve got food on us."

He eyes Mamiya’s tall stack of ice cream. Reds and green and browns and beiges--Mamiya has an unholy combination of ice cream flavors in his cone, four scoops high. Oh, wait--he finished the scoop of rocky road. Three scoops high, now. Anyone else would probably struggle to finish all of that ice cream before it melted into a puddle of dairy, but Natsume knew from their many years of friendshi--uh, acquaintanceship that Mamiya didn’t just eat a lot, he ate fast.

Mamiya makes a contemplative sound. "So if we want to ride the swan boats--"

"Stop saying ‘we!’ There is no 'we!’"

"So if we, the two of us, Natsume Souichirou and Toujou Mamiya, wanted to ride the swan boats, then we’d just have to finish our food, right?"

Natsume stares at him, a mounting sense of realization rising in his mind.

Mamiya smiles at him, and then shoves half of the rest of his ice cream cone in his mouth.

…One scoop high, now.

Mamiya keeps smiling as he chews on the ice cream in his mouth and Natsume stares at him in utter bafflement--but then suddenly Mamiya’s eyes go wide and he hurriedly swallows everything down and clutches his head.

"Ow ow ow ow," Mamiya says.

"Hah!" Natsume exclaims. "So you do get brain freeze!" Schadenfreude is real and feels delightful. It’s always great fun to be reminded that despite Mamiya’s monstrous appetite and overall general weirdness, he really is just a human.

"Arggh," is Mamiya’s eloquent response. He looks kind of funny, writhing in pain with cream all over his mouth and chin.

Kind of funny, but mostly gross.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, his brain reminds him. Sighing, Natsume decides to take pity on Mamiya and pulls out the wad of napkins he’d stuffed into his pants pocket when they were at the ice cream truck. He’d been expecting Mamiya to make a mess out of his food, honestly--although not quite in this fashion.

"Would it kill you eat like a normal person?" Natsume asks, handing the napkins over to Mamiya. He scrunches up his face. "Ewugh. Don’t let that stuff get on your scarf."

Mamiya shivers one last time, then grabs the napkins and wipes them over his mouth and chin. "Shaddup, you can't tell me what to do."

"Suou Keito would be devastated to learn that you treat his present so carelessly."

"Hop off my dick," Mamiya grumbles. Then he glances between them. "Oh, look. Now we both have one scoop of ice cream!"

Natsume takes a little nibble off his ice cream. He’s not a slow eater, okay? Mamiya was just abnormally fast. "I guess so."

"This was destiny all along!"

"No, it's not! I'd rather die than be destined for anything with you!"

They keep bickering even after they’ve finished their ice creams, even as they’re waiting in line for the swan boats, and even after they’re settled on board. They only stop once Natsume stumbles trying to take a photo and falls into the lake--and when the life jacket bobs him up to the surface of the water, all he can hear is Mamiya laughing hysterically above him, so then he grabs Mamiya by the foot and drags him into the water, too.

An average day of hanging out with Mamiya, all in all.

Human au headcanons:

Mamiya and Minato are twins

Natsume, Mamiya, and Keito are childhood friends

Natsume thinks of himself as Natsume despite Souichirou being his first name. Everyone except for his parents refers to him as Natsume (although perhaps Keito called him "Sou-chan" in the past? Would be cute)