#and the entire second half was just lifts

[lowkeyren]

—close call.

in which : crammed in a maintenance closet with boothill, his audacious plan saves you both from the ipc —but not without leaving your heart racing for reasons far beyond fear.

pairing : boothill x gn!reader

wc 1.4k, "enemies" with tension, forced proximity, banter banter banter, reader implied to be a galaxy ranger + shorter than him, flirting (re: dialogue. he's a tease), reblogs r much appreciated!! enjoy <3

from event req: here ; art by @/kiu30750

the rain hammers down on the tin roof above, its rhythmic pounding the only sound aside from your ragged breaths and the distant shouts of the ipc agents scouring the area. you barely managed to wedge yourself into the maintenance closet with boothill; and now, here you are —cramped, drenched, and undeniably screwed.

pressed chest-to-chest with him, the infamous galaxy ranger whose charm is as notorious as his tendency to get into trouble, you can’t decide which is worse: the likelihood of getting caught or the suffocating proximity.

“just wonderful,” you mutter under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm. you shift, trying to create even an inch of breathing room. though it’s hopeless; the movement only presses you tighter against his chest, and the slight tilt of his wide-brimmed hat brushes your ear, sending an uninvited shiver down your spine.

boothill, as infuriating as ever, doesn’t seem the least bit shaken by the situation. if anything, his composure is maddeningly relaxed, a sharp contrast to the rapid thuds of your heart and the faint shuffling of ipc agents just beyond the door; as though you aren’t currently hiding from people who would gladly haul you both in —or worse.

“things would’ve gone better if you hadn’t tripped the alarm back there,” you hiss.

he lifts an eyebrow, eyes narrow slightly as he glances down at you. “me? yer the one who—”

before he can finish, you press your hand over his mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. his words die against your palm, leaving only the thrum of his breath against your skin. but even that is drowned out by the frantic beating of your hearts, the air thick and suffocating as you both listen intently to the shuffling sounds just outside the door.

you can hear footsteps drawing nearer, the unmistakable clink of weapons being adjusted, the subtle scrape of boots on metal. your pulse quickens, the pressure in your chest building with each passing second. you instinctively press your hand harder over boothill’s mouth, a desperate attempt to suppress even the smallest sound.  

his skin is surprisingly warm pressed against you —a sharp contrast to the coolness of his metal body, making the entire sensation feel disturbingly real.

"ya gonna fudgin' suffocate me if yer press so hard," he mutters, the words barely audible under your hand. his fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but careful, and he gently pulls your hand away from his mouth. 

before you can retort, the sharp sound of the lock breaking pierces the tension between you. both of you snap your heads toward the door just as it starts to creak open. without hesitation, boothill reaches out and kicks a broom across the floor, jamming it under the handle to hold the door shut —for now. 

the door rattles violently as the ipc agents push against it, the muffled voices on the other side growing louder. each thud against the flimsy barricade reverberates through the cramped closet; the handle straining under the pressure, threatening to give out at any moment.

"seems like it ain’t gonna hold for long,” his drawl thick with that familiar, unbothered tone. his eyes flick to the door, then back to you, his stance relaxed despite the impending danger. “ya better start thinkin’ quick, 'cause i ain't exactly got a plan here."

the words barely register before your mind starts to race as panic crawls up your spine. your thoughts begin to spiral —there’s no escape route, no backups, and little to no time left. you’re running through options, half of them nonsensical, as the door rattles louder with each passing second.

“heh, adorable.” his infuriating grin is more felt than seen, a slight tilt of his head as he takes in your flustered state. “wreckin’ yer pretty head over this an’ sacrificin’ yerself f’me?”

your heart stutters in your chest, a mix of frustration and embarrassment flooding your system as you snap a glare up at him, your words coming out sharp and defensive, "you wish!"

boothill chuckles, his irksome grin still in place. “d'worry, i was just kiddin’. i have a plan.”

“what is it?” you ask, your voice betraying the flicker of nervousness you feel.

instead of answering, he takes off his wide-brimmed hat and places it on your head, tilting it slightly so the brim is low enough to cover the side of your face, shadowing your features.

you shift under his touch, an odd shiver running through you. “stay still, will ya?” his voice is surprisingly soft as he adjusts the hat, his movements so gentle it catches you off guard. though you still can’t help but be curious. 

you blink up at him, still trying to piece things together. “what... what’s this supposed to do?” 

his eyes meet yours again, “just trust me, darlin’.”

before you can ask any further, his hand cups your jaw, tilting your head upward. thumb brushing over your lips as he leans in, and for one heart-stopping moment, you find yourself holding your breath, your pulse quickening in anticipation.

but the contact doesn’t land —not entirely. instead, his thumb slips between your lips, a barrier that keeps the distance just shy of crossing the line. your breath hitches in your throat, the aching proximity making everything feel too intense, as his presence fills every inch of the space around you.

heat prickles across your face, a flush creeping up your neck as you feel the tension in the air thicken. his mouth hovers, almost brushing against yours; instead, brushing against a small barrier —the press of his thumb between your lips, just enough to keep you both from closing the gap. 

before you can fully process what's happening, the closet door swings open with a sharp metallic clang, flooding the cramped space with light.

“whoa,” one of the ipc agents blurts, freezing mid-step as their eyes flicker between two figures; whose faces are far too close, and posture far too intimate for any doubt to remain.

“oh,” another grunt stammered, a hint of awkwardness in their modulated tone. “apologies. we, uh… didn’t mean to intrude —carry on!”

the words tumble out in a rush, and they hastily pull the door shut, leaving you both in the dim, suffocating silence once again.

boothill doesn’t immediately pull away. his lips curl into a smug grin as he eyes you with a hint of amusement. “that wide-eyed stare of yer just now? kinda pathetic, ya know,” his voice dripping with a taunting, teasing tone. 

you can almost feel the heat of his smirk against your skin; his next words come softer, “but, i reckon it’s also kinda cute, i’ll give ya that.”  

flustered and irritated all at once, you reach up, grabbing his ear and tugging it, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding through you. “cut it out, you idiot.” your face burns with frustration and a whole lot of confusion about why his teasing is driving you crazy.

thank aeons the closet is dim, because you have no idea what more he’ll tease you about if he sees the heat flooding your cheeks, or worse, if he knows it’s his words —or rather, his actions —that’s causing it. 

you hear shouts from outside, the voices muffled but unmistakable. “nothing here, move on! we’ll scout the next area!” one of them calls out, the sound gradually fading as they move further away.

you let out a soft exhale, your posture relaxing as you shift slightly. “looks like we’re clear."

“we are, so how 'bout ya let go of my ear now, sugarplum?” 

rolling your eyes, you do your best to ignore the way your pulse is still quickening. “fine, let’s just get out of here before they come back.” 

curse that damnable, cocky grin that makes your heart race in ways you wish it didn’t.

boothill seems to know exactly what you're thinking as he leans in, patting his hat down onto your head. "whaddya blushin’ for? can't handle a lil’ close quarters?" he hums.

"shut up, boothill," you mutter, trying to sound annoyed, but even you can tell it’s less convincing than you'd like.

“alright, alright, ain't no time to be standin' round lookin' pretty.” he drawls, backing away slightly, but his eyes never leave yours. “let's get movin', before them ipc shirtbags change their minds and come back lookin’ for us.”

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

[badathumanemotions]

Good Boy

Spencer Reid x Reader MDNI Masterlist Category: Smut CW: Light Angst, Puppy Play, Sub Spencer, Collars, Dry Humping, Oral Sex (F. rec), Vaginal Sex, Breeding. WC: 6,376 Spencer is being short with you and you put him in his place. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer had been off for the last couple of days. Not just stressed, but moody and unusually snippy, especially with you. It wasn’t like him to be short-tempered, let alone with you, but every little thing seemed to set him off lately.

You’d given him space at first, figuring he needed time to sort through whatever was bothering him. But the attitude hadn’t stopped, and your patience was running thin.

You leaned back in your office chair, the glow of your laptop illuminating the quiet room. The sound of the front door closing signalled Spencer’s return from the grocery store. Without looking up, you called out, “Hey, did you grab the almond milk?”

“Yes,” came Spencer’s curt reply, sharper than necessary.

You frowned, glancing up from your work. His tone hadn’t gone unnoticed, and after two days of his snippiness, your patience was starting to wear thin. “Everything okay out there?” you called, keeping your voice calm.

“Everything’s fine,” he snapped, followed by the sound of a cabinet door shutting harder than it needed to.

You pushed your chair back with a sigh, making your way into the kitchen. Spencer was at the counter, aggressively stacking items on the shelf with an air of irritation that felt entirely unwarranted.

“Fine, huh?” you asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

He glanced at you briefly before returning to the groceries. “Yes. Fine,” he repeated, his words clipped.

“Right.” You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his jaw clenched and his fingers trembled as he shoved a box of crackers into place. His irritation was almost palpable, though it clearly had nothing to do with you—or at least, it shouldn’t have.

“Spencer, talk to me,” you said, your tone soft but steady.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he replied, still not looking at you. “Why does everyone always have to make everything such a big deal?”

Your eyebrows lifted at his choice of words. “Everyone?” you repeated. “Who’s everyone, exactly? Because I don’t recall making anything into a big deal.”

He froze for half a second before continuing with the groceries, clearly realizing his misstep. “Forget I said anything.”

You straightened, no longer leaning against the door frame. “No, I don’t think I will,” you said, stepping into the kitchen. “You’ve been snapping at me for two days now, and I’ve let it slide because I know work’s been rough. But I’m not your punching bag, Spencer. If you’re upset, you need to say so. Otherwise, this little attitude of yours needs to stop.”

He turned to face you then, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and guilt. “I said I’m fine,” he insisted, though the tension in his voice made it clear he wasn’t.

“Spencer,” you said, your voice firm now. “Look at me.”

His eyes darted to yours reluctantly, and you could see the flicker of conflict in his gaze. He was digging in his heels, and it only made your resolve strengthen.

“Last chance,” you said, stepping closer. “Either tell me what’s going on, or we’re going to handle this another way.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered finally, the stubbornness in his voice enough to push you past your limit.

“Alright,” you said, your tone calm but unmistakably authoritative. “Then we’re done talking. You’ve been brimming with misplaced annoyance, and since you can’t seem to control yourself, I’m going to handle it for you.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his defiance faltering as your words sank in. His eyes widened slightly, the hint of challenge quickly giving way to submission as he realized where this was going.

“Finish putting those away,” you instructed, your voice low and steady. “Then we’ll deal with your behaviour properly.”

Spencer’s defiance started to crack when you caught his eye. You could tell he was trying to soften you up with that look—the one that always got him out of trouble. His big, doe eyes widened slightly, his lashes fluttering as he looked up at you. It was his signature puppy-dog eyes—and you knew exactly what he was trying to do.

He stepped closer, his voice taking on that quiet, almost childlike quality. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be snippy.”

You stood firm, arms crossed over your chest. “Spencer,” you said, your tone resolute. “This has been going on for two days now. You don’t get to just apologize with those eyes and expect me to let it slide.”

He leaned in a little, his lips pouting just enough to make it clear he was trying to charm his way out of trouble, those puppy-dog eyes fixed on you. “Please,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you weren’t giving in. “What happened to my good boy?” you asked, your voice dropping into a firm, almost disappointed tone. “This attitude? It’s not like you.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped a little at the words, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more uncertain. The pout deepened, and he dropped his gaze, clearly feeling the weight of your words.

“Good boys don’t act like this, Spencer,” you continued, your voice cool but with a trace of affection. “You’ve been a bad boy, and now you’re going to be punished for it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then his eyes flickered up to yours again, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. The blush wasn’t from embarrassment—it was the warmth of something else, something you knew well. His gaze lingered a little longer, and you could see how hard he was trying to hold himself back, but the arousal in his eyes was undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time, as though he was willing to accept whatever came next.

You nodded, keeping your voice calm but firm. “Good. You know the rules. You’ve earned your punishment.”

Spencer’s blush deepened as he nodded obediently. “Yes, master.”

You took a step closer, giving him a final look. “Finish what you’re doing. When you're done, come find me. We’ll take care of your punishment then.”

Spencer’s hands trembled slightly as he placed the last of the groceries in the cabinet. It was a quiet task, but his mind was far from focused on it. The weight of your words hung heavy in his thoughts, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation building in his chest.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he finished closing the pantry door, and gave the kitchen one last glance. His stomach twisted in knots as he straightened up, wiping his hands nervously on his pants.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, standing still in the kitchen as his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want to disappoint you, but the thought of what was coming next made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t want to be punished, but part of him knew it was exactly what he deserved. He had been snippy, and now he had to face the consequences.

With a shaky exhale, he finally moved toward the study. His footsteps were soft as he crossed the hallway, and as he reached the door, he paused, running a hand through his hair. The sound of his breath felt louder than it should’ve been as he stood on the threshold, his eyes casting a quick glance inside.

You were sitting at the desk, your posture relaxed, but there was an undeniable air of authority around you. Spencer swallowed hard, feeling a rush of both fear and excitement coursing through him. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, but stayed a few feet away, not sure how to approach you.

Spencer softly called out your name, his voice quiet, almost uncertain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes downcast. He didn’t want to look too eager, but his body was already betraying him, the flush of arousal still lingering under the surface.

You didn’t look up from your work, not even acknowledging his presence at first. You let the tension build, letting him stew in his anxiety for a few moments before finally speaking. “Strip,” you said simply, not bothering to look up from the documents in front of you.

Spencer’s pulse quickened at the command, his hands moving almost of their own accord to the buttons of his shirt. He fumbled slightly, his fingers trembling as he began to undo them one by one. The fabric parted, revealing his pale, slender chest.

His eyes remained on the floor as he slipped the shirt off, letting it fall to the ground behind him. His breaths grew shallower as he reached for the waistband of his pants, the anticipation of what was to come making his heart race.

The silence in the room was unnerving, the only sound the rustle of fabric as he undressed. You remained focused on your work, not looking up, as if he wasn’t even there. It was a thrilling kind of power play, one that Spencer knew well, and it never failed to get his blood pumping.

He stepped out of his shoes, socks following suit, and then worked on his belt. His pants pooled around his ankles, and he stepped out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The fabric was tented, a clear indication of his arousal, and he knew you had to be aware of it.

With his heart racing, Spencer took the final step of obedience and pushed his boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them, leaving himself completely bare before you. The air was cold against his skin, making his nipples pebble and his cock jut out even more. He was fully exposed, vulnerable and at your mercy.

You finally looked up from your work, your eyes raking over him, taking in every inch of his trembling body. You nodded in approval, then pointed to the floor beside your chair. “Kneel,” you said, your voice still firm but with a hint of warmth.

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He took a step forward and sank to his knees, his hands resting on his thighs as he awaited further instruction. He felt the coolness of the hardwood floor against his knees. His eyes remained downcast, his breath shallow and fast as he awaited for what you had in store for him.

You reached into the drawer of your desk and pulled out the leather collar that signalled his role in your games. It was black and simple, yet held a significant meaning between the two of you. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as you held it up to him, the metal tag jingling slightly as it dangled from the leather strap.

You fastened the collar around his neck, the cold metal of the tag brushing against his skin. The leather was smooth and cool against his throat, a stark contrast to the heat that flushed his cheeks. He felt the weight of the collar settle into place, it was a symbol of his submission, a physical reminder that he belonged to you.

“Good boy,” you murmured, the words sending a shiver down his spine. You returned to your work, not looking up, just letting the anticipation build. Spencer felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. This was a dynamic that played out between the two of you often, one that allowed him to shed his usual layers of intellectual armour and just be.

His cock pulsed in anticipation, the blood rushing to the tip as he waited for your next move. You knew just how to push his buttons—how to make him squirm and crave your attention. The silence stretched out, the air in the room filling with tension, and still, you did not look up from your work.

You felt his eyes on you, his need palpable, and a smug smile curved your lips. This was your favourite part, the moment when you had all the power. Spencer’s breath grew shallower, his chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale and exhale.

Finally, you reached out, your hand coming to rest on his head, stroking his hair gently. Spencer leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly as he felt the tension in his body melt away. It was a simple gesture, one that could be interpreted as comforting or patronizing in other contexts, but here, it was a clear assertion of dominance, of care.

You began to pet him, your fingers running through his soft hair, guiding his head downward. Spencer didn’t resist, his body moving instinctively as he felt the urge to be closer to you, to be held and controlled. His forehead came to rest on your thigh, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. The weight of your hand remained on him, grounding him, reminding him of his place.

But as quickly as it had come, you removed your touch. Spencer whined, a soft sound of protest escaping his lips, his eyes flying open to look up at you. The loss of contact was sudden, and it left him feeling needy.

"What's the matter?" you asked, your voice deceptively calm. "Does the little puppy want more?"

Spencer whined again, his eyes pleading. You knew exactly what he needed, but you weren't going to give it to him just yet. "Bad puppies only get what they're given," you reminded him, your voice firm.

With a deep breath, Spencer nodded, his cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and excitement. He knew you weren’t just playing a game; this was his chance to make amends, to show you that he could be the obedient one when it mattered.

You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely. “Good boy,” you murmured, and his cock twitched at the praise. “Now, show me how much you want to be my good boy. Hump my leg, Spencer. And remember, no cumming until I say so.”

You leaned back in your chair, watching him expectantly. Spencer took a moment to compose himself, then, with a soft whine, he leaned forward. His cock was already erect, bobbing slightly as he positioned himself closer to your leg. He pressed his forehead to your thigh, his hands gripping the fabric of your pants for stability.

He began to rub the hot flesh of his cock against your leg, his movements tentative at first. The fabric of your slacks was a barrier, but you could feel the heat of him, the way his cock slid against you with a gentle, needy insistence. The whine grew louder in his throat as he picked up the pace, his hips rocking slightly with each stroke.

The friction was minimal, a mere tease of what he craved, but it was enough to make his body respond. Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, and his breath grew more ragged as he lost himself in the sensation. It was a simple act of submission, one that never failed to make him feel so alive, so present in the moment.

You watched him with a mix of amusement and desire, the way he moved with such unbridled need against you. His cheeks were flushed, and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps that matched the rhythm of his hips. The sight was undeniably arousing.

You could feel the warmth of his cock through your pants, the gentle pressure increasing with every thrust. He was lost in the moment, his body moving on instinct, driven by a deep craving to please you. His movements grew more frantic, his breaths more desperate. You knew he was close to the edge, but you weren’t ready to let him come just yet.

Reaching down, you placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping his movements. Spencer whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, his eyes flying open to meet yours. “Not yet, pup,” you said, your voice a gentle reprimand. “You’re not allowed to cum until I give you permission. Remember?”

He nodded, his eyes wide and desperate. You could see the effort it took for him to hold back, his body trembling with the need to release. The sight made your own desire flare, but you remained in control, stroking his shoulder soothingly.

"Good boy," you said again, your voice a gentle purr that made his cock throb.

Spencer nodded, his breath coming in shallow pants as he leaned into your touch. The fabric of your pants was rough against his skin, but the warmth of your leg beneath it was a comfort. He took a moment to compose himself, then started again, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he rubbed his cock against you.

You could feel the tension in his body as he held back, his muscles straining with the effort. The whine grew more insistent, his need for release palpable. Each stroke was a silent plea for more, for the sweet release that only you could give him.

You watched him, the sight of his naked body, so vulnerable and eager, making your own pulse race. Your hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, gripping his collar gently but firmly, reminding him of his place. “That’s it, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing. “Just like that. Show me how much you want it, how much you need it from me.”

Spencer’s hips rocked against you, his cock sliding against your leg with a wet sound that filled the room. He was so close, his entire body quivering with the effort to hold back. You could see the muscles in his abdomen contracting with every stroke, the desperation in his movements as he sought the relief he so desperately needed.

You leaned down, your hand moving to grip the base of his cock, holding it firmly in place. “Easy, pup,” you murmured, your voice a gentle reprimand. “Remember the rules. No cumming.”

Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, and he nodded, his breath hitching. His body was tight, wound up like a spring, and you knew he was just moments away from breaking. You watched him, his face a picture of pure need as he struggled to maintain control.

With a smirk, you decided it was time to give him a little more. You undid the button of your slacks, sliding the zipper down. Spencer’s eyes snapped open at the sound, his gaze dropping to the opening of your pants as you reached inside.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down to give him a glimpse of your damp folds. He licked his lips, his eyes glazed over with lust. You knew he was dying to touch you, to taste you, but he remained obedient, his movements against your leg never faltering.

With a smirk, you began to stroke yourself, your fingers slipping through your wetness with ease. Spencer’s eyes followed every movement, his own breathing growing more ragged with each pass of your hand over your clit. The sound of your wetness filled the room, complimenting the quiet whimpers escaping his lips.

You watched him, enjoying the way his cock bobbed with each stroke he gave it against your leg. It was clear he was desperate to taste you, to feel you, but he remained still, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for permission. The power play was intoxicating, the control you had over him in this moment.

With a sly smile, you decided to give him a taste of what he wanted. "You've been such a good boy, Spencer," you murmured, your voice dripping with desire. "You've earned a little treat."

Spencer's eyes widened he watched, entranced, as you offered your glistening fingertips to him. "Taste," you said simply, your tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky hand, he reached up and took your fingers into his mouth, his tongue eagerly lapping at your essence. The taste of you was intoxicating, making him even more desperate to please. He sucked gently, savouring the flavour as you watched him with hooded eyes, your own arousal clear in your expression.

Then, without another word, you stood up, pushing your chair back. You stepped out of your shoes, then slowly slid your pants and panties down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles. Spencer’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of you—bare, open, and ready for him.

You sat back down on the chair, spreading your legs wide, giving him full access to your wet, waiting pussy. The leather was cool against your skin, contrasting the heat radiating from your core. Spencer stared for a moment, his eyes dark with lust before shuffling forward knees, his cock bobbing eagerly.

"Eat me out, Spencer," you ordered, your voice a seductive purr that sent a thrill down his spine. "And be a good boy keep humping my leg."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He leaned in eagerly, his tongue flicking out to trace the folds of your sex. The salty sweetness of your arousal filled his senses as he lapped at your clit, the movements of his hips against your leg becoming more insistent. Each stroke of his cock sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he could feel the precum leaking onto your skin.

You watched him with hooded eyes, your hand still on his neck, guiding him closer to your heat. His tongue was rough and hungry, exploring you with an intensity that made your toes curl. You could feel yourself growing wetter with each pass of his tongue, your hips lifting slightly off the chair to meet him.

Spencer lapped at you with a fervour that was almost animalistic—like a starving animal ready to feast. Each stroke of his tongue was desperate, eager to taste more of you, to please you in the most primal of ways. He knew his punishment was coming, but for now, he was lost in the task of making you come, of serving you.

Your thighs quivered under his touch, your grip on his neck tightening as his tongue delved deeper. He nuzzled into your folds, his nose pressing against the base of your clit as he licked and sucked with a rhythm that made you gasp. You could feel your orgasm building, a pressure that grew with each flick of his tongue.

Spencer's movements against your leg grew more urgent, his hips jerking as he felt your thigh muscles tense. He knew you were close, and the anticipation was driving him wild. The warmth of your cunt washed over his face, and he breathed you in, the scent of your arousal making him light-headed. His own cock was aching, but the promise of your climax was all that mattered.

As you felt yourself approaching the brink, your grip on his neck tightened, your hips bucking into his mouth. You moaned out, "Good boy," your voice thick with need. The words sent a bolt of pleasure through Spencer, making his cock throb against your leg. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision, eager to taste your release.

Spencer’s own hips were moving faster now, his cock sliding against your skin in a slick, desperate dance. The sound of your moans grew louder, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your thighs tightened around his head. It was intoxicating, the power of knowing that he was the one giving you so much pleasure.

With one final, hard suck on your clit, you shuddered, your body arching as the orgasm crashed over you. Spencer's eyes went wide as he watched you, your face contorted in ecstasy. His own need was almost overwhelming, and he had to grip the base of his cock with a firm hand to keep from spilling his seed on the floor.

The head of his cock was a dark shade of red, the precum slick and plentiful. He could feel his pulse beating in the vein that ran along the underside, the desperate throb of his cock made him whimper. Yet, he held back, his eyes never leaving you as he waited for your command.

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. You looked down at him, a smug smile playing on your lips. You knew just how much he was fighting the urge to cum, the way his hand tightly gripped the base of his cock, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the effort.

Pride filled your chest at the sight of him, so eager, so obedient. You leaned down, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His eyes searched yours, desperate for approval, for a sign that he had done well.

"Such a good boy," you whispered, the words a warm caress that sent a shiver down Spencer's spine. "I'm so proud of you for being such an obedient pup." His cock throbbed against your leg in response, the need to cum almost painfully intense. He had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, and yet, in this moment, with your praise, he felt more loved than ever.

Your kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of your lips to his, a silent praise for his submission. Spencer’s eyes closed, and he melted into the kiss, his body relaxing slightly. But you didn’t let it linger. You pulled away, leaving him panting and needy.

With a single word—“Follow”—you stood, the leather of the chair protesting with a soft squeak. You turned and walked out of the study, your bare ass swaying slightly with each step. Spencer’s eyes followed you, his hand dropping to his cock involuntarily before he caught himself.

He scrambled to his feet, his knees popping as he straightened up. The room spun briefly, a side effect of the intense need that had been building in him. But he didn’t hesitate, his eyes locked on your retreating form as he followed you into the hallway. His cock bobbed with each step, the cool air of the house making him even more sensitive.

When he walked into the bedroom, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You were completely naked, on your hands and knees in the centre of the bed, your ass in the air. The light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over your skin, highlighting the curve of your back, the swell of your ass, and the wetness glistening between your thighs.

You looked over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you watched him approach. "You were so good for me, pup," you say seductively. "Come claim your reward."

Spencer didn't hesitate for a second. He practically leaped onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his desperation. He positioned himself behind you, his cock brushing against your wet folds. You could feel his breath on your skin, hot and heavy with need.

With a low growl, he slammed into you, the force of his entry making your eyes roll back in your head. He didn't pull out at first, just rutted into you with quick, short thrusts that had you gasping for breath. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your pussy clenching around his shaft, eager to keep him deep inside.

Spencer's hands gripped your hips, his nails digging into your skin as he fucked you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. His teeth were bared, and his eyes had taken on a wild, desperate look as he chased his own release, his hips snapping forward with each punishing thrust.

The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his grunts of exertion. Each impact sent shockwaves of sensation through Spencer's body, making him feel more alive than he had in what felt like an eternity.

His balls slapped against your clit with every deep, hard thrust, the rhythmic sting adding to the crescendo of pleasure that was building within you. It was an incredibly satisfying sensation, one that had you pushing back into him, urging him deeper, faster.

Spencer’s breath grew ragged as he claimed you, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm. He could feel your body tightening around him, your muscles clenching in a silent plea for more. He was lost in the heat of the moment, his mind a blur of need and desire.

The idea of breeding filled his thoughts, an animalistic instinct that took hold and consumed him. He could feel the urge to fill you, to mark you as his own, to claim you in the most primal of ways. It was a driving force that went beyond the confines of their usual role play, reaching into the depths of his soul.

“You’re going to breed me, aren’t you, pup?” you panted, pushing back against him. “You’re going to fill me up with your seed and make me yours, aren’t you?”

The words sent a bolt of lust through Spencer’s body, his cock hardening even further. He nodded, his voice a low, animalistic growl. “Yes,” he managed to get out. “I’m going to breed you. I’m going to fill your tight cunt with my cum until you’re overflowing, until you’re begging for more, until you can’t think of anything but me fucking you, breeding you, claiming you as mine!”

You moaned at his words, the idea of it making you wetter than you already were. Your pussy clamped down around his cock, the walls spasming as he fucked you harder. The sound of his voice, so raw and unfiltered, was like a drug, pushing you closer to the edge.

But as much as you loved hearing him talk this way, you knew you had to reestablish your dominance. With a swift move, you pushed yourself up onto your knees, taking hold of his leather collar. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his pupils dilating with anticipation as he felt your grip tighten.

With surprising strength, you yanked him, pushing him onto his back on the bed. The snap back in power dynamics had him panting, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. He stared up at you, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his orgasm at bay.

Straddling him, you lined his cock up with your entrance, then slammed down onto it, taking him fully inside you once more. Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. You began to ride him, setting a pace that was just shy of punishing.

Your hips rolled and bucked, each movement sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. You could feel the head of his cock hit that perfect spot inside you, making your toes curl and your eyes water. Spencer’s hands found your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he met your rhythm, thrusting up into you with a ferocity that had you gasping.

You leaned forward, your breasts swaying with each movement, your nipples brushing against his chest. The smell of sex was filling the air, a heady mix of your arousal and his desperation. You lowered your mouth to his ear, whispering, “You’re going to fill me up, aren’t you, puppy? You’re going to breed me like a good little boy, until I’m leaking your seed all over the bed.”

Spencer’s hips jerked in response. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, the need to cum almost unbearable. You could see the desperation in his eyes, the way his body tensed beneath you.

With a wicked smile, you leaned down, your breasts pressing against his chest as you whispered, “Claim me, Spencer. Make me yours. Fill me up until I’m swollen with your cum. I want to feel you in every part of me, forever marked as your bitch."

The words were like a trigger, and Spencer’s eyes lit up with a fiery need. With a snarl, he bucked his hips upward, slamming into you with a force that had the bed frame groaning in protest. Each thrust was punctuated with a needy grunt.

You could feel your own climax building again, the delicious friction of his cock against your walls driving you wild. Spencer’s eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive as he pounded into you.

"I've been such a good boy, please, can I cum?" he whined, his voice high and needy. The desperation in his tone sent a thrill through your body, making your pussy tighten around his shaft.

"Beg for it," you said, your voice a low, seductive purr. Spencer's eyes widened, and he did as he was told, his voice a desperate wail as he pleaded for his release. "Please, ma'am, I need to fill you up. I need to claim you, to make you mine. Please let me cum."

You smirked at his desperate pleas, feeling the power of your dominance over him in this moment. With a single word command, "Cum," you gave him the permission he so desperately craved.

Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hips jerking up to meet yours as he released his load into you. The sensation of his warm seed filling you up was intense, sending you hurtling over the edge into your own orgasm. Your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him for every last drop as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

Feeling him cum in you only added to your pleasure, the warmth and wetness spreading through your core, mixing with your own juices. You moaned deeply, your head falling back as you basked in the feeling of his possession. Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a low growl, his body shaking with the force of his climax.

As the aftershocks of your shared orgasm began to subside, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, your breaths mingling as you both panted. His cock was still twitching inside you, the aftermath of his release sending delicious tremors through your body.

You slid off of him, his cum spilling out of you and onto the bed, a warm, sticky mess that neither of you seemed to mind. You both collapsed onto the mattress, limbs tangled as your bodies cooled down.

The room was quiet now, the glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. Spencer lay against you, his head resting on your chest, the collar still snug around his neck—a tangible reminder of the dynamic you shared. His fingers traced aimless patterns on your hip, and while his body was relaxed, there was a faint tension in the way he held himself, like he was still carrying something unsaid.

You combed your fingers gently through his curls, waiting for him to speak. You knew Spencer well enough to know he needed time to gather his thoughts, especially when something was weighing on him.

Finally, he let out a small sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?” you prompted gently, your tone free of judgment but firm enough to encourage honesty.

“For snapping at you earlier,” he admitted, his fingers stilling on your hip. “For the last couple of days, really. I’ve just been… overwhelmed.” He paused, his voice faltering slightly. “And I didn’t know how to handle it, so I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You tilted his chin up so he could look at you, your gaze steady but warm. “It wasn’t fair,” you agreed, “but I’m glad you’re telling me now.” You ran your thumb along his cheek, offering him a soft smile. “I need you to talk to me when you’re feeling like that, Spencer. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

His eyes flickered with guilt, but also relief. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s just hard sometimes. I don’t want to feel like I’m burdening you with my problems.”

“You’re never a burden,” you said firmly, your hand cupping his face. “We’re a team, remember? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ll try to be better about it,” he promised, his voice earnest. “I don’t want to push you away.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But I need you to be open with me, even when it’s hard. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard, but his nod was resolute. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said, your tone softening. “That’s my good boy.”

A faint blush rose to his cheeks at the praise, and he nuzzled against you, his arms tightening around your waist. You continued to stroke his hair, letting the moment settle into something tender and comforting.

“Thank you,” he said after a while, his voice muffled against your skin. “For being patient with me. For… everything.”

“Always,” you replied, your voice filled with quiet affection.

As the last vibrations of pleasure faded away, you reached up to unbuckle the leather collar around Spencer's neck. He flinched slightly at the touch, his body still hypersensitive from his intense climax. You took the collar off gently, setting it aside on the nightstand.

A soft blush rose on his cheeks, and he hid his face against your neck, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, but the way you held him made it feel natural.

“Are you comfortable?” you asked after a few minutes, your hand brushing along his side.

He nodded, his voice muffled. “Yeah. Just… don’t let go yet.”

“Never,” you promised, pulling the blankets up around you both. “I’ve got you.”

Spencer let out a contented hum, relaxing further into your embrace. The weight of the past few days had lifted, replaced by warmth, trust, and the quiet intimacy of the moment.

[aprilthearcher]

replaying your laughter

harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader ― Harry has a crush on a Slytherin, which could collapse the entire school, but he doesn't seem to care much.

slightly inspired by 'message in a bottle' by taylor swift. there could be a second part if anyone's interested in it. don't forget to like, or reblog, or leave a comment! those are always appreaciated.

word count: 1.4k

#masterlist!

Harry was sure that half – maybe even more than half – of Gryffindors House would never forgive him for having a crush on a Slytherin. Yet, Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care. The lot of them had called him a liar just last year, and none of them, friends or not, had the right to tell him who was appropriate enough or not to go on a date with. 

It was hard not to miss her when she was one of the few Slytherins in Harry’s year who had never insulted him nor any of his friends. As a half-blood, she didn’t care about ‘blood traitors’ or muggleborns nor was she a member of Malfoy’s gang. Also, the fact that she was best friends with Luna Lovegood made her trustworthy in Harry’s eyes. 

Although they had shared many classes during their years at Hogwarts, Harry didn’t know when he’d started to feel this way towards her. Had it been during their third year, after he’d seen her yell curses at Marcus Flint because he didn’t want girls in the Slytherin Quidditch Team? Had it been during their fourth year, after he saw her in an elegant, deep blue gown at the Yule Ball dancing with a Ravenclaw a year older than them? Had it been during their fifth year, after he’d seen her comfort two first years from Slytherin and Hufflepuff that had spent their afternoon in Umbridge’s office? Had these feelings been there since he’d met her on the train in their first year after she couldn’t find her older sister? 

Has he always been so clueless? 

Now, despite the fact that this recently discovered crush made Harry’s heart almost burst out of his chest any time he’d see her – whether in real life or in his dreams –, it didn’t mean that he would easily hand the victory to Slytherin in the match they were about to play. 

Standing face to face with Urquhart, Slytherin’s new Quidditch Captain, Harry tried to avoid her eyes and how imposing she looked dressed in the deepest hue of emerald green. Still, when Madame Hooch blew the whistle, Harry couldn’t help but raise his head in her direction. Her eyes quickly settled on his, and Harry almost punched himself for being the first one to look away. 

Up in the sky, a hand on his broom keeping him steady, he thought he’d have a moment of peace from her. But, in his defence, flying round the pitch looking for the snitch and making sure that his team was playing well eventually led him to find the force of nature that was her on top of a broom. Watching the speed at which she flew, Harry was somewhat relieved that she had never intended to become a Seeker. Yet, as magnificent as she was with a Quaffle in her hands, Ron’s confidence that there was Liquid Luck running through his system managed to block all of the shots she’d thrown at him. Anyone could tell from the look on her face and her stance on her broom that she wanted to rip off Ron’s head, probably use it to mark a few points as well. Her kindness, Harry realised then, did not make her less of a competitive hothead.

The match finished with the snitch in Harry’s hands, granting yet another win to Gryffindor. A smile on his face, he let his eyes trail over his team, each with a grin on their faces as big as his. He saw Ron lifting both of his arms, celebrating with the scarlet and gold crowd, and Ginny dive-bombing into the podium from where Zacharias Smith had been calling the match. 

Harry looked for her once more, finding her already on the ground with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. He’d started descending when he saw what seemed to be a fight between her and Urquhart. The Slytherin Quidditch Team had a finger pointed to her chest, which she quickly dismissed with a jab of her hand and a hissed that Harry got to hear as a ‘Don’t fucking touch me’. This infuriated Urquhart more, making him get closer to her face, but with only a stamp of her foot, she sent him flying backwards. 

Madame Hooch’s whistle blew loudly across the pitch, and the crowd finally caught on what was happening. Harry saw them go from celebrating, or sulking in the case of the silver and green sea of people, to whispering excitedly about the tussle. Urquhart was now marching in her direction, though Harry noticed some hesitation on his pace when the determination settled on her face. He had known, not that Harry spent a lot of time observing her, that she was very capable at wandless magic. In Urquhart’s case, he was always ready to start a brawl, yet he never saw through; opting, instead, to play it cool when he realised that he wouldn’t come out triumphant. 

Because of some kind of instinct, Harry drew closer to the Slytherin Quidditch Team, standing a few paces behind her. Zabini observed him, his eyes were narrowed and his arms were crossed; it was clear he wasn’t there to stop his teammates from fighting each other. Suddenly, Snape stood between Urquhart and (Y/N). His face was rougher than usual and with only a few words he sent the Slytherin Captain back to the castle. Then, Snape turned to them, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Harry.

“Potter, shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Said Snape. The mere mention of the word ‘celebrating’ added a layer of disgust to his face. “Or is it that you cannot bear that the attention is not on you?”

Before answering, he looked at her. She had glanced back at him at the mention of his name, clearly surprised that he was here. Their eyes met for a brief second, one in which Harry noted the colour of his eyes was similar to that of her robes. 

“I was only making sure that none of the players of your house got hurt. Seeing as Malfoy wasn’t here to play today, to get yet another replacement would surely affect the team.”

“How… heroic. Always ready to save the day, Potter.” Harry smiled sarcastically at Snape’s comment. “Miss, I expect to see you at my office tomorrow morning. We will discuss your detention.”

“Detention? Urquhart was the one to start the fight. He was the one yelling at me and getting all over my face.” Harry was certain that weren’t for the fact that Snape was a professor and the Head of her House, he would have suffered the same fate as Urquhart, thrown back across the pitch. He stopped himself from laughing at the mental picture of that. 

“It’s not up to discussion, but if you keep complaining you will do a month of detention rather than two weeks.” With her silence and the matter already settled, Snape started walking towards the castle, Zabini and the rest followed him.

Now that the two of them were alone, Harry didn’t know what to say. The bleachers were emptying, some members of his team had already left the pitch. 

“Um, thanks for that, I guess,” she mumbled. It seemed she didn’t know what to say either. 

“Uh, yeah, no problem.”

There was another moment of silence where both of them avoided each other’s gaze, looking at their shoes or the brown gloves on their hands.

“What did- What did Urquhart say to you?” Harry asked. He was curious, but he also wanted to keep talking to her. 

“He basically blamed the loss on me, saying I wasn’t fast enough or my aim was off, which could be true, but it’s not as if the rest of the team got the same. He said it to me because I’m the only girl, so…”

“So he’s a prick and no better than Flint.”

She laughed at that, softly and probably reminiscing that time she cursed him for not wanting to put her on the team. Harry swore that if he could hear that laugh play in the back of his mind forever, he wouldn’t need anything else. It would be her laugh that’d spurred him on. He thought about running to Dumbledore’s office and using the pensieve to replay this moment over and over again.

“Yeah, at least Montague would yell at all of us.” She mentioned while beginning to play with the strap on her gloves. “Anyways, I think it’s time for me to get back, and you have a win to celebrate.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. But, um, you played well today. You’re a great Chaser.”

She whispered a small ‘thanks’, biting her lower lip in an attempt to contain the grin that was about to erupt in her face. 

thank you for reading!

[benoitblanc]

okay other various ftf thoughts:

scully and mulder getting dragged in front of opr and reassigned because they *checks notes* saved hundreds of lives by getting the building evacuated even though they broke protocol is absolutely fucking infuriating but unfortunately believable

"kill mulder and you risk turning one man's quest into a crusade" is an insane line to drop in a film where literally every single one of mulder's friends shows up to help (or at least those who are able to... marita girl are you okay...), multiple people betray the syndicate for him, and scully is the one who gathers 99% of the tenuous evidence they have to prove what just happened. they already turned it into a crusade! they just don't realize it!

oh scully. she spends the entire film complaining about running around with mulder illegally in the dead of night and then continues to do it anyway because she loves him and she loves their work. she spends half an hour hiding in morgue cold storage that is NOT behavior of a woman who really means what she's bitching about

i audibly cheered when the gunmen turned up. i love them

rest in peace to the well-manicured man. you showed up you served cunt you grew morals and you pulled a javert about it

mulder's rescue of scully is definitely the most action hero and damsel in distress they've gotten but i by and large don't have an issue with it for two reasons. one is that dd's performance and to some extent bowman's direction make it VERY clear that mulder doesn't give a shit about being an action hero. his entire motivation is just that he loves her and she's in trouble. the second is that it's fucking gross. scully ends up vomiting bile on him multiple times. even though it's literally hollywood, it very much doesn't feel that way

also on that note i know people are always like "oh how did mulder get to antarctica with a cranial gunshot wound???" i think about 50% of that is plot hole and the other 50% is the kind of adrenaline rush that mothers who are able to lift cars off their children experience. the sun that his world revolves around is in danger of COURSE he's going to get to her no matter what

that being said literally how the FUCK did they get to and from ANTARCTICA

can't get over the fact that they put scully in makeup for the scene when mulder wakes her up at 3am. this is chronologically later in this post because it's such a stark contrast to the last hearing when they put her in no makeup and she understandably looks like a (still very beautiful) zombie

they ended the film walking off into the sunset together holding hands and i just KNOW they are never going to bring it up again. oh x files never change

[mintmentos]

Ngl I feel like they overmarked Sarah

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

having thoughts about nine, and i think one of the biggest things i would personally do to fix him and his role in the story (without making him a flat out villain) is to change the core theme of his character from 'missing stair will not and should not ever be held accountable for their actions,' to:

cruelty and defiance are not the same thing. existing out of spite is not an evil thing; refusing to lay down your weapons under the guise of being small and soft and palatable is not evil; defending yourself and others from being wiped out or made less than you are is not evil. it is not cruel. making good on 'fuck around and find out' can be one of the most important things you will ever do.

and because it's not cruel, it does not excuse cruelty. 'kind does not mean nice' doesn't mean 'cruelty is acceptable as long as it's for a Good Cause'; it also doesn't mean that cruelty in some instances and kindness in others balance each other out. if anything, the latter just ends up becoming part of the former with a different face. it doesn't matter how soft or palatable or loud and rough-edged you are: either your worldview is built on kindness or it isn't, and that will show in how you act on it no matter how hard you try to quarantine one philosophy from the other.

there are lots of other things i'd change; a major one being to pull the fuck up on said cruelty by a LOT, holy shit. as well, don't make him abusive, whether as a) a tactical abuser who pretends his trauma took out the filter he absolutely still has, or b) someone whose trauma has taken out their filter, and left them a disoriented, barely functioning wreck with no idea what the hell is going on inside or outside their own head; whose confused flailing manifests as lashing out in abusive ways, and who wants to do better, and would actually improve with both help and accountability for their actions. that last one has worth as a narrative, but it requires pulling on the sensitivity gloves so far up your arms that it's just a whole spandex suit, and these writers have well and truly proven they are just not fucking capable of that lmao

but in the end, one of the things that does absolutely have to change is that his character has to have a point other than getting away with being a missing stair. there might be other ways to write him as a static character and still a good one; they do have their place! but given that the conventions of the genre would generally involve a growth arc for a character like him, i feel like this interpretation is one that probably falls closest to what they were actually going for.

(or at least, what they wanted to trick the audience into thinking they were going for. lol)

anyway yeah, i have a piggy bank full of cents about this and that is two of them. tl;dr justice for nine, we could have had it all

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[screampied]

you always had a bad habit of falling asleep—not just anywhere though, but on sukuna ryōmen’s notorious throne. .

he hated it.

he hated how how you hogged up his space.

he hated how your near-quiet snores would echo through his poorly aged walls.

most importantly though, he hated how frustratingly cute you looked . . all scrunched up, curled up in a ball, and occasionally shivering a bit from the cool air that settled against your bare skin.

“tch..” he’d sigh, feeling his muscles ache with each step he took toward you. as usual, sukuna had just returned from some battle and here you were, always waiting for him to return. he’s probably told you over about a hundred times that you could have slept in his private chambers but no—you always preferred his throne. always.

you never told him, but part of the reason why you loved sleeping on it was because of his strong scent that always lingered on the piece of ancient furniture. a musky scent that you’d grow to always miss whenever he wasn’t with you.

“oi. you awake?” sukuna grumbles, and you shift a bit once he lifts you. you could hear him murmuring vexed curses under his breath as he positioned you to lean up a certain way. crimson-velvet eyes bore into your sleeping state and sukuna held back a snickering smile. “pft. ‘course not,” and you felt him starting to trod away with you snugly cradled in his broad arms. as sukuna made his way upstairs, he softly strokes a thumb underneath your nape. “brat. sleep in my bed next time. you’re gonna get back aches at this rate.”

despite his cold-hearted, rough exterior he was always gentle with you. only you. just you.

sukuna carried you in his arms like every other night—sometimes, he wonders if you do this on purpose. purposely falling asleep on his throne just so he could pick you up bridal style, bringing you back to his bed.

each step he took shook your entire body, and you let off a groan in your sleep from the abrupt bumps. “i know. i know little one. just a few more steps.” he rolls his eyes, secretly finding your slumbering state adorable. never in a million years would he ever admit it though.

as the wooden stairs creak—he continues to walk, occasionally looking down at you. right as he’s at the final groaning step, sukuna tenses a bit, feeling your head brush up against his soft exposed pecs.

his fleecy kimono was half open and you’re just buried in his arms, snuggling all against him like a needy cat.

the audacity. .

his pink slit brow furrows as he scoffs at the sight, bringing you inside his quiet spacious bedroom. gently, he starts to lie you down on the mattress but that’s when your arms wrap around him.

“eh? what are you-” sukuna grunts, and that’s when he collapses right against your chest. sukuna deadpans once your warm legs and arms sneakily snake around him—clinging onto him tight like a koala. “keh.. such a handsy pest, even when you’re dead asleep.” he clicks his tongue, letting you drag him further into the bed with you.

sukuna feels a strange feeling pooling near the very bottom depths of his heart.

it’s eerily strange . .

it doesn’t feel like the usual resentment, hatred, or even arrogance he feels toward others ‘below him’.

he finds himself melting into your tender touch, his chin gradually burying itself in your shoulder.

the soreness in his muscles started to subside as he was just on top of you—inhaling your sweet scent, stubbornly grumbling swears in your neck.

sukuna was feeling . . . soft.

he was so closely pressed up against you that he could feel the steady racing beats of your heart. each slow-paced ba-dump! that pumped out of your chest quickened by the second.

was . . he the one making your heart race?

sukuna heard how your shallow breaths significantly slowed, and your arms started to tighten more around his thick neck. he didn’t think he’d ever feel like this. whatever… emotion this was.

sure, he’s had to carry you up to his chambers so you’d sleep more comfortably lots of times but this- this moment felt more a bit different.

“i . . can’t sleep like this, y’know,” the demon breaks the silence, huffing at the awkward predicament he was in. sukuna was currently lying on top of you, hovering over you just so he wouldn’t crush your cute human body. with each longing second passing, he could already feel his limbs starting to ache from just idly hanging over you. “at least let me rest near the side.”

no reply.

sukuna scoffs again, realizing he’s practically talking to himself. but instead of responding with actual words—you cling onto him even tighter, your non-verbal way of saying ‘stay.’

“you’re even more annoying when you’re asleep,” he sighs, pinching his forehead. “fine.. i’ll- i’ll stay like this. here, with you. ‘s not like i plan to go anywher—” sukuna gets cut off once he sees you shifting a bit in your sleep again.

the silence was undeniably loud. with his lips mutely parting, he watches as you get more comfortable, letting off a few heavy exhales.

sukuna starts to ponder to himself. you looked so peaceful . . sound asleep.

he wondered what you were dreaming about. he was so busy staring at you while you slept that he didn’t even notice that he was starting to get drowsy himself. sukuna’s eyelids started to droop and he grunted, letting off an obnoxious yawn.

with watery eyes, sukuna stretches his arms before sinking his face back into your left shoulder. your warmth made him quietly purr into your neck. it was faint, but you heard it.

sukuna even mimicked some of your movements from earlier, softly rubbing his forehead against you as you held him close. “huh. this isn’t . . that bad,” he gruffly utters, his gravely voice pitching.

your chin rests on the top of his head, and sukuna gives you one last glance.

“i. . i love you.” he quietly whispers, thinking that just because you were asleep you couldn’t hear.

but- you did, you heard it all. every word.

little did sukuna know, you were actually wide awake the entire time. you woke up when he was carrying you up the stairs, but you just pretended to be asleep from that point up until now.

a small genuine smile curves on both sides of your crooked lips as your eyelids remain closed. in a sweet groggy voice, you instantly replied, “love you too ‘kuna. it’s about time you finally said it.”

sukuna’s eyes widen as his head quickly rises from against your chest. you’re looking down at him with very much open eyes now and the world’s smugest grin.

his cheeks—they’re burning, flushing with a rosy flamed color and you don’t think you’ve ever seen sukuna ryomen more embarrassed.

“you . . you didn’t . . hear that.”

“i definitely heard it.”

“ugh. i hate you.”

“i love youuu.”

“i… love you too, stupid cheeky human. now go back to sleep. hmph.”

[shawtuzi]

thinking about choso and the succubus that just won’t leave him alone :((

“p-please i can’t take any—hah! a-anymore,” choso sobbed, his fingernails digging roughly into the fat of your hips. you’ve been riding him for the past hour and a half and he was sure by this point he was shooting blanks. you’ve pulled four orgasms out of him and frighteningly enough you were showing no signs of stopping.

“i’m not done yet though cho,” you giggled, leaning down to press your lips against his. choso whimpered when your tongue, that was slightly longer than the average humans, slipped into his mouth. you could tell help but smile into the kiss when you felt him get harder inside of you.

choso’s eyes rolled into the back of his head when your tongue swirled around his, his mouth opening wider to give you more access. ‘what a slut’ he heard your voice echo in his head, arousal building up in his tummy. you abruptly pulled away from the kiss, a line of spit connecting your mouths.

“o-oh!” choso’s abs clenched when you lifted off of his cock, a loud squelching sound following. “pretty…y-you’re so pretty,” his voice was shaky as he praised you, tears of awe and overstimulation brimming his eyes. you didn’t say anything, instead you kissed your way down his chest, stopping when you reached his pelvic area.

choso heard your voice in his head once more, nodding at your question. ‘you want it?’ you had asked, the seduction in your voice as tempting as ever. choso’s back arched off the bed when he felt your tongue slither around the base of his dick. now this was new for him.

your tongue was able to wrap around almost every inch of him, massaging his most sensitive parts. you the felt the veins on the underside throb rapidly against your tongue, he was already so so close.

“s-stop—wait, w-wait no keep going, no n-no wait stoppp,” choso sobbed, tears now steaming down his reddened cheeks. he gasped finally at the loss of contact, his chest heaving rapidly. “w-why’d you stop?” he whimpered, his bottom lip pushing into a pout as if he wasn’t just begging and crying you to stop :((

choso jumped slightly when your wings expanded, shielding both of you from the light of his bedside lamp. “from this point forward i wan’ you to keep those pretty lips shut, got it?” he heard your honey smooth voice say firmly. choso nodded quickly, “yes, y-yes i’m sorry. no more talking i promise.” such an obedient lil thing.

choso’s mouth dropped open, a loud, pornographic moan belting from his chest. you focused your attention on his weeping tip, moaning at the sweet yet salty taste that was him. you toyed with his balls in your hand, giving them a hearty squeeze—

“o-oh f-fuckkk!”

you pulled off his tip with an obscene slurping sound, “cmon cho gimme all your cum. be a good boy and give it to me.” choso mewled, his thighs now trembling rather violently.

“i-i can’t it’s too much i don’t think i—”

“nonsense. i know you got one more in you for me pretty boy,” you cooed, sloppily kissing the inside of his thigh before sinking you teeth into the soft, sweaty flesh. choso let out a loud cry, the whites of his eyes showing before he came. hard.

“f-fuck!”

choso jolted away, a thin sheen of sweat covering his chest and face. his palms were sweaty and his heart was beating a million miles a second—the fuck happened to him?

he turned on his bedside lamp and looked around the entire room, although he wasn’t entirely sure what he had been looking for. his lips turned into a frown when he noticed his boxers had felt sticky. “again?” he sighed in defeat once his eyes landed on his messy boxers and very hard dick.

he lightly touched his cock over his boxers, immediately whimpering at how sensitive he was. “i’ll be quick, r-real quick,” he let out a sigh of relief when his hand began to palm at his boxers, he internally cringed when he felt how wet and sticky they were. his nostrils flared once he finally reached his hand in his boxers, gripping his throbbing cock with need.

his eyes trailed from his dick to his thigh, his brows furrowing when he noticed a bite mark???

while still stroking his cock he lightly touched the bite mark, his breath hitching when it actually felt good? why did it feel so good?

“hah! o-oh wow,” choso breathlessly chuckled, his hips bucking up when he pressed down on the mark once more. oh how he desperately wished he had something to fuck right now. his eyes fluttered shut, his mind trying remember the very lewd dream that had him so worked up.

as choso fucked his fist desperately you hid in the darkest corner of his room, watching him with lustful eyes. choso was always such a needy lil thing, if he had even a semi hard on he couldn’t contain the urge to relieve himself—that’s why you liked him so much and ventured into his dreams every night.

your lips lifted into a smirk when you heard him cum with a needy whine, white ropes on cum shooting onto his toned chest. he didn’t stop there though no no, he kept going, milking his dick until he was writhing in overstimulation. what a slutty man he was.

“m’still hard,” choso mumbled, poking the tip of his leaking cock. his lip caught between his teeth, his nose scrunching when he wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing softly. “one more s-should—mmph! do it,” he sighed, now slowly stroking his dick, a wet shlicking noise echoing throughout the room.

oh you were in for a real treat tonight.

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[kleftiko]

❦ HOW TO GIVE HEAD

cw: mature, sexual content, blowjobs, swearing

here are the tips i give my friends so that they get 10/10 sloppy top ratings

"baby~" you coo from beside him on the couch.

the corner of choso's lips lift slightly in response, but his eyes still focus on the screen of his phone.

"babe~" you call again. "cho~"

although your voice is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard in his life, your boyfriend grants you mercy and finally answers you.

"yes, baby?" he asks softly, eyes not leaving his phone but the small smile still on his face. he can't see the beautiful, but maniacal, grin on your lips.

"teach me how to give a blowjob~"

the tendons in his hand tighten, nearly cracking the poor device between his fingers. besides his entire body going rigid, his eyes lock onto yours, only to nearly lose himself in the look of lust in your gaze.

"y-you can't just ask that shit with a smile on your face!" your boyfriend sputters, cheeks and neck blooming with a harsh blush.

"but who else am i supposed to ask?" your question is just too pure and innocent for the look in your face, and yet, choso can't help but fall victim to you.

"fine, just-fine." he takes a tense breath before saying "sit."

with a little too much enthusiasm, you kneel on the floor between his legs, hands gently resting atop your thighs. you look like a doll to him, so eager to please and so pretty that his cock would twitch even if he didn't know what was going to happen next.

he runs a hand over his face.

"fuck, baby, don't look so eager." his deep voice is muffled behind his fingers.

you giggle. "can't help it."

"'kay, now—um—fuck." choso pinches his nose for a second, gathering his own courage to say, "you're gonna need, like, a lot of spit." while he speaks, your fingers dance across the waistband of his sweatpants, littering his v-line with goosebumps as you free his half hard cock from his boxers.

"it needs to be messy, yea?" you look up at him and lick your lips, coating them with a shine that.

he nods silently, jaw clenched.

"t-then, you're gonna wanna -fuck!" you don't let him finish when you take a lick against his tip. the rough texture of your tongue dulled by the coating of saliva you gathered across it. as you continue to pleasure him, he lets out a low groan of satisfaction, his grip tightening on the edge of the couch. the intensity in his eyes tells you that he's enjoying every moment, encouraging you to take him further down your throat.

"fuck." he whines, taking note of your comfortability, just like always. "breath through your nose."

your head bobs up, taking a breath through your nose now that your throat is clear. swirling the tip of his cock with your tongue, you tease him with slow, deliberate strokes. his hips buck involuntarily, a desperate plea for more. the taste of his precum on your tongue only fuels your desire to please him further.

"the tip-the tip, baby." your tongue pays special attention to the slit at the top of his pretty dick that's leaking absurd amounts of precum, and your boyfriend squeaked out a small, "yes, fuck."

as you continue to focus on pleasuring him, you eagerly comply with his request, intensifying your attention on the sensitive tip of his throbbing member. the combination of his desperate pleas and the taste of his precum drives you to further explore and satisfy him, ensuring his pleasure remains at the forefront of your mind.

"b-balls."

your manicured hands cup his balls. you gently massage and caress them, feeling their weight in your palms. the soft moans escaping his lips encourage you to continue, as you use the pads of your fingers and palms to fondle them.

"oh fuck."

it feels like a shame to waste your nails, so with one of them abandoning your boyfriend's sensitive balls, it creeps up to his v-line. You trace teasing circles along his v-line, feeling the shivers of anticipation ripple through his body. the combination of your delicate touch and the sensation of your nails grazing his skin heightens his arousal, making him tremble with desire.

the combination of all your minstrastions causes choso to buck against you, whimpering out obscenities as he jumbles out a warning of going to cum.

"fuck!" he whimpers as your lips release him.

spurts of cum fly into the air, landing in splats across choso's thighs, pants, and your hands as you lazily jerk him off.

the fucked out expression on his face and the mess he made of himself all because of your doing just made you crave him even more, so with one last move, you gave his angry, red, tip a soft lick, nearly causing him to cry in ecstasy.

when he calmed down, he gave you a look.

"you've done this before."

[rae-writes]

angelic alteration

om brothers x reader

wc : 1.k

warnings: nsfw, corruption kink based

synopsis : when Solomon and Diavolo can't fix the problem, it's up to Mc

a/n : thought the angel event (og) could use some more spice so I poured my entire spice rack on it

“Mc…I’m afraid we have bad news.”

You sighed into the receiver, “Yeah? You guys can’t reverse the magic, can you?”

“Nope!” Solomon chirped cheerfully, “Diavolo and Michael’s magic mixed together too strongly for us to reverse ourselves. You’ll just have to wait for them to go back to normal, or…”

“Or…what?”

“Well, this is just a theory, but what if you just corrupted the angelic magic and forced their demonic sides back out?”

“Corrupted, huh..? I like the sound of that.”

†

“I can feel the magic trying to stop me…how. stupidly. annoying.” Lucifer accentuated each word of his complaint with a sharp thrust, face pinched in concentration as sweat beaded at his temple. 

He’d be damned if something as trivial as a hexed bracelet from the celestial realm kept him from indulging in you, the one temptation he would never dare ignore. 

Your nails dug crescent moons into his shoulders, thighs squeezing at his hips tightly as you moaned and panted beneath him. “Lu-ci-fer! S-slow d-own!” 

He growled and sped up in response, snapping his hips into you harshly, “How dare they try to turn me back? I am the Avatar. Of. Pride!” Once again, each word was accentuated with a thrust, making his cock hit deeper and deeper each time. 

And he was so fucking proud each time he had you a moaning mess underneath him, crying out his name, begging him not to stop— you made his sin flood his entire body every time. 

An electric charge cracked through the air for a brief second before the bangle broke in half, magic forcibly shattering under Lucifer’s sheer prowess. 

He grinned sharply, capturing your legs against your chest in a mating press as he went even harder. His wings shedded to black, spanning out proudly behind him as the halo melted down into his horns. 

“I’m going to ruin you, do you hear me? You’re not leaving this bed- not tonight, or in the morning, or maybe even until tomorrow afternoon…I’m keeping you until I’ve had my fill.”

†

The sight of Mammon’s blue eyes peering up while his mouth was busy pleasuring you had always been a pretty sight— the shimmering halo was only a little bonus this time. 

But you wanted his horns to hold onto. “Just like that, Mams…doing so well, pretty boy.” Your hips rocked over his mouth, grinning down at him with gold flickering in your eyes. 

He was all about giving now that the bangle had taken hold, which even before, Mammon always keened when you sat on his face and just used him. 

The second born was moaning and whining and whimpering against your skin as his tongue lapped up everything he could, “Mmph- like this? ‘M I doing good, Mc?” 

“Y-yeah, baby, fuck— so good…” you carded your fingers through Mammon’s hair, feeling him get more and more excited before you lifted up off his face. 

And he was absolutely distraught with the lack of your taste, desperate cry leaving him as he tried to chase after you. “No, no, no! Mc, please, come back— wasn’t done, wanna taste you still, wanna make you feel good, please!” 

The laugh you let out made him whine even louder, fingers gripping frantically at your thighs. It was like a switch flipped, magic being overtaken by his greed. 

His eyes flickered gold like yours, a whiny growl escaping him. He forced you on your back within a second, mouth working at you even more desperately now as he held you down and took what he wanted— and he wanted to make you cum. 

“Jus’ let me, please let me make you cum— you taste so good, Mc, I don’t wanna stop. Want you to scream my name and yank my hair, grip my horns, just give me more- more, more, more!” 

†

A small shriek left Levi when you rammed against his prostate, hiccuped cries of your name following. His back arched, wings flaring out behind him, making you hit even deeper spots inside of him. 

With his new attitude, he’d been letting everyone else spend time with you and he was finally feeling the built up envy creep along his spine, right beside the spikes of pleasure. 

“Aww…look at you. So sweet for me, huh? Why so shy, Levi? Wasn’t this what you meant about strengthening connections?” 

Garbled sounds left him, courtesy of your fingers stuffed in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, hands gripping at your hips desperately, though it wasn’t clear if he was pushing you away or pulling you closer.

“How am I gonna know I’m doing good if you don’t tell me, ‘vi? C’mon, sweet thing, tell me. Or do you not want me?” 

It was like you asked the unthinkable. A loud whine left him and his tail returned, knocking the halo right off his head before it coiled around your abdomen. 

“No! I want you, I want you so badly, please keep fucking me— don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Diamond shaped scales scattered across his body as the magic wore out. 

You cooed, thrusting into him sharply, making his body lurch, “Good boy, Leviathan..” 

†

“Fuck!” Satan cries out, fingers digging into his white wings to try and keep them from fluttering. His back arched almost painfully, loudly begging you to keep going. 

“Oh, look at you…” the coos that left you made him flush red, giving you a great sense of satisfaction. This was the most he’d been riled up since putting that ridiculous bangle on.

Your thighs were burning at the unforgiving pace you were riding him at, beads of sweat splashing onto his skin, so you decided to change the game a little. 

“Come on, Tannie, if you want it, work for it.” You settled your weight on top of him, ceasing your movements as you cockwarmed him instead. 

A displeased growl comes from the back of his throat, eyes snapping open with a glowing green. “Mc, move! Please!” 

Slowly, the halo above his head began to flicker and dim before it shattered, dissipating in the air. Another growl escaped him as his wings followed suit, tail lashing out like a whip. 

“That’s it— c’mon-!” You gasped when he yanked you forwards, chest pressing against his as his tail locked you in place. The only sounds that could leave you now were broken moans as he fucked you almost viciously. 

“You know how I feel about you fucking. teasing. me. Feels good doesn’t it? Yeah? Cause I’m not stopping. ‘M not stopping until I physically can’t fuck you anymore— fuck, I needed you.” 

†

Unabashed moans echo off the walls of Asmo’s bathroom as the fifth born writhes under your touch. The sound of water sloshing makes his cheeks burn fiery red and the sound of you moaning back at him makes it even worse. 

“W-wait! You d-don’t have to— oh!” 

“Shh, Azzy…’m just taking care of you. You were so hard and aching…could see it even though you tried to hide under the water.” 

The white feathers ruffled with pleasure (slowly shedded away and turning back), hips jerking frantically to chase the pleasure. The bangle’s magic was completely buried under how hot you made him feel and the feeling of you licking along the edges of his leathery wings increased it ten fold. 

“Yes, Mc, like that— don’t stop, just like that, just like that!” Amso curled over on you, horns knocking against your shoulder as he cried out even louder. 

You fisted his cock harder and swiped your thumb over the tip relentlessly, “Yeah? Made you feel so good, you corrupted yourself, huh? Pretty little Azzy…come on, cum.” 

The squeal he let out cracked halfway through, broken cries of your name following like a mantra. His hand encased yours, making sure you didn’t stop jerking him off. 

“K-keep going, don’t stop! Wanna cum for you again ‘n again, gotta make up for when I was giving you away to the others, please, please, let me cum again for you!”

†

“H-haaah…ah! M-Mc…what’re you..o-oh..doing?” 

“You said it made you happier seeing others get to eat, so…” you hummed, licking your lips before digging your tongue back into the slit of his cock, “I’m just..enjoying my meal…” 

Beel had always lost his cool when you went down on him, finding your mouth to be too good at pleasuring him. The growl he let out was something only a demon could make. 

The glowing of the bangle did nothing to deter you— in fact, you only laughed and peered up at him with the red sin of gluttony swirling through your irises. With another hum, you enveloped his cock in your mouth and forced your head as far down as you could, swallowing around him. 

He tried so hard to not buck into your mouth or grip at your head as the magic worked to keep his ravenous nature at bay, but…that’s just not who he was anymore. 

“C’mon, Beelie…want you to cum in my mouth, I wanna taste you..pretty please? Let me have it…” 

A low groan fell past his lips, hips finally jerking up and accidentally making you choke. A rushed apology was given as his fingers tangled in your hair and gently guided your head at a faster pace. 

The beating of his insectual wings was rapid as he got closer, magic completely dissipating when he let out a sound akin to a small roar, grabbing at his own horns when he came. 

Watching you pull away with visibly stuffed cheeks, slowly working on swallowing it all (though drops still ran down your chin) made a sharp pang shoot through him. 

“Thank you…you always make me feel so good, Mc…but..now ‘m hungry. Let me return the favor..wanna taste you too.” 

†

“A-are you sure…this is o-okay?” Belphie chokes out quietly, hands pressing down on your hips to keep you pinned to the bed with your knees bent to your sides. 

Your fingers curl in the sheets, body lurching forward at each thrust, “yeah, ‘s okay— feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so good, Bel…” 

The clipped whines and gasps that Belphie was making made his cheeks flair with an embarrassed flush; but you were right. It felt so. fucking. good. And he didn’t think he ever wanted to stop. 

Through the pleasure, it was easy to ignore the glowing bangle on his wrist and the voice in the back of his head telling him that he should have more reservations- that he shouldn’t be doing this— that voice wasn’t even his. Belphie wanted this, he did! 

As your hands stretched back to claw at his lower stomach, you moaned out his name and wiggled your hips, begging him to go faster. 

“Please, Bel…know you can go f-faster than this, want you to fuck me— please, please, please! Don’t wan’ you to be an angel, want you to be my demon again-!” 

Magic cracked in the air, sending the hair on the back of your neck rising before a familiar tail curled around your stomach and yanked your lower half higher up, forcing your chest further into the mattress. 

The attic bed creaked with the force he slammed into you at, whines mixing with growls now; his horns pressed against your skin as he rested his forehead against your back, making it arch even more. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you senseless again? Couldn’t even go a couple days without having me play with you, fuck, you’re such a slut for me.”

[werecreature-addicted]

going to underground fighting rings not to place bets or to drown your sorrows in cheap booze and blood sport but because the werewolf who fights in the cage matches is so. fucking. hot. You're no better than a sad man in love with a stripper. but you come back every week, you sneak in after dark and stand in the jeering crowd looking up at the hulking monster and watch him fight. Sometimes you hope he'll look down and see you, most nights you're too embarrassed to show your face.

There's something about watching that werewolf tear into the other opponents that sets your blood on fire, the blood, the sweat, the way his lips curl back in a snarl when you're close enough to the cage you can hear him pant and growl, every punch he throws makes your knees weak. It's better than porn. you almost never make it through the entire match. Not when he's the one fighting at least. You watch the werewolf punch the other guy so hard he's lifted off the ground and your brain goes fuzzy picturing those big hands lifting you up by the hips, pinning you against the cold metal grate of the cage that surrounded the fighting ring, you picture him forcing your thighs apart with those scared hands of his and drop you down on his cock.

You push your way out of the crowd and to the dingy bathroom. You can't help it. You really can't. you lock yourself in one of the stalls and touch yourself, fingers quick and messy just trying to be quiet as you picture The fighter breaking your nose and licking up the blood. choking you with his big hands while he mounted you from behind on the dirty floor of the ring. One time you'd seen him bite another opponent and now the thought of him biting you like that, sinking those sharp teeth into the side of your neck or into your thigh was the only thing that could get you off. You thought about it now, feverishly touching yourself with one hand, the other covering your mouth, still, little whimpers of pleasure escape you.

You need to be more careful, more people are coming in and out of the bathroom, the fight must be over. someone's going to get pissed that you're taking so long soon. You're surprised when a half-hard cock pokes through the glory hole an inch in front of your face. You jump. In all your time masturbating in this shit-hole bathroom, you'd never noticed the hole in the side of the stall wall.

You stare at the cock for a second, hand still in between your legs. it's too big to be human, and the half-swollen knot throbbing at the base makes you think of your fighter, your werewolf.

"I know you're in there, i can fucking smell you, just like i can smell you getting horny in the crowd, fucking surprised you don't leave a puddle on the floor slut." he snarls and bangs on the side of the stall.

"Go on take what you want, suck this dirty cock you've been drooling over," You lean in and smell him, it's almost enough to make you cum right there. You should do what he wants, blow him like a good whore, but you are so so bad at denying yourself. Instead, you run your tongue over his balls, whimpering at the taste, you're drunk off of the musk of him, and the low groan he lets out is almost enough to make you cum right there. Eventually, though you move your mouth up, kissing and licking his shaft, and take the tip of the werewolf's cock into your mouth. He wastes no time thrusting into you, fucking your face. You let him, really it's the least you can do for the champion.

[spatialwave]

BRAT TAMER.

➸ ask: “our brat tamer vik and “oh no. i’m not finished with you yet.” 🤭🤭” – ➸ pairing: viktor x fem!reader ➸ word count: 911  ➸ tags: mdni! shameless smut, nsfw, pwp, semi-dubcon, rough sex, dominant viktor, brat/brat tamer, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: hehe 🤍🤍

Viktor adored the way your voice squeaked out his name when he pleased you, how your tongue snapped against the back of your teeth at the ‘t’. You were everything to him, there was no one else in the world he’d want to hear screaming his name. How it cracked in your throat when it mixed with a particularly loud gasp.

“Please,” you whined, your body hot as you lay on the couch in your apartment, legs spread wide so invitingly. His face was buried between, tongue sliding along your cunt and tasting you slowly.

This had been a common occurrence lately, neither of you were able to take your hands off of each other the second you were alone in the same room. Call it the honeymoon phase.

Your head lifted from the couch, hardly able to keep your eyes open as you watched your lover eat you out with experienced movements. His were closed, arms wrapped around your thighs as he listened to your sweet sounds that urged him to keep going.

He’d made you cum twice already, working you slowly to each release and watching you unravel with cries of pleasure and body writhing along the couch. Your fingernails had ripped into the fabric beneath you, adding to the tears that had accumulated over the past few months.

“Now,” he breathed against your cunt, the air from his lips warm as he moved to press chaste kisses to your inner thighs, “what did I say about being patient?”

A shaky breath escaped your lips, head falling back again in defeat. 

When you first met Viktor, you hadn’t pegged him for the… well… dominant type. He was far too kind, always wearing that small smile on his lips as he ventured through the academy at Heimerdinger’s side. He shook your hand gently, your eyes taking his entire appearance in. Big, sparkling eyes, thinned cheeks, and two moles on his face that seemed to sweeten his features.

It wasn’t until the night you finally fucked after weeks of tension that built between you and him. You half-imagined to spend most of your night riding him, his hand sliding up your body as you took control and put on a show for him that he’d never seen.

Yet, you were greeted with deep rumbles in his throat as he fucked you from behind, standing at the edge of the bed with you on your hands and knees before him. A harsh hand in your hair, tugging it back when you misbehaved, nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

You were so fucking addicted to him, and the feeling was mutual.

“I am being patient,” you whined, back arching as two fingers slipped easily into your pussy, stretching your tight hole. A gasp settled into the back of your throat, hands settling on your tits so you could distract yourself from the way your cunt clenched around his fingers pathetically tight, needing release.

“Good girl,” Viktor purred, licking at a hickey he’d left on your inner thigh, lips trailing back to your heat so he could lick tantalizing slow circles around your swollen clit.

Your face twisted into one of pleasure as the coil in the pit of your stomach began to twist uncomfortably, signifying your third release of the evening. Here you were, a goddamn mess when Viktor had hardly touched himself yet, aside from a few needy strokes along his cock that he gave himself.

His name fell from your tongue again, eyes snapping shut tight as the fingers inside you pumped in and out, fingers curling just right. Those golden eyes watched you with desire, the way your fingers pinched at your nipples and back arched as you reached your climax.

It was intense, like always, leaving you babbling out his name as your body went limp. You were covered in sweat, hips stuttering as he coaxed out your orgasm with a few slow pumps of his fingers.

“Viktor,” you mewled after the feeling finally washed away, pouting as you pulled away from his hands until his fingers slipped out from your cunt, “please, let me make you feel good,” you slurred, properly fucked out. You attempted to sit up, but his free hand pressed against your stomach and forced you down while he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“I let you cum because you were being such a patient girl,” he murmured from his position on the floor. Ignoring the pain in his legs to please you, “Stay down.”

Slowly, he climbed onto the couch above you, trapping you. You buried your face into his neck, whining as he settled between your legs.

“Viktor,” you breathed out his name again, the feeling of his fingers back within your folds causing you to cry out a loud whimper. You twitched, hips trying to run from the fingers that had made you see stars and had your body oversensitive, “too much.”

He smirked, ignoring your pleas as a hand wrapped around your throat.

“Oh, no, love,” Viktor whispered into your ear, teeth dragging against the shell of your ear as grabbed the base of his cock, the tip rubbing along your wet cunt, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your pussy stretched as he fucked you, a rough rhythm that had you clawing your nails down his back and leaving behind red lines. There was no escaping him when he desired you, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

[ccwpidsblog]

crashing out — onyakopon

⭐️: nsfw 18+ in which you learn why your fiancé retired from his old ways

cupids arrows: if you’re new here pls ignore my old post 🙏🏾

Onyakopon was the chillest man you’d ever met.

You remember the first day you met your fiancé like it was yesterday. Your puppy had slipped her leash and bolted after the two of you got caught in the rain. Mud was everywhere—on her paws, on the soaked sidewalk—and you watched in horror as she ran straight for the tall, dark-skinned man with deep waves and glistening golden grills, his baggy jeans and fresh Dunks standing no chance against the chaos she brought.

The muddy paws left stains all over his jeans, and you were mortified. You snatched her up quickly, firing off apology after apology, even offering to clean his shoes and pants. You were so embarrassed you swear you felt your soul leave your body.

But he just shrugged it off, his low brown eyes soft, paired with a small smile that eased your panic.

“You good,” he said simply, his voice calm and mellow, while you were seconds from collapsing in shame.

That day never left your mind, especially after you somehow ended up in a relationship with the man. Ony was so... nonchalant.

You yapped his ear off from morning until sundown, never running out of things to say, and he never once complained. When you accidentally knocked over his grinder, spilling his entire stash of weed, he didn’t get mad—he just kissed you on the forehead to quiet your babbling apologies. When you bleached his Chrome Hearts hoodie, almost crying over it, he shrugged and said, “It’s just a hoodie. I’ll get a new one.” And he did.

He was a sweetheart through and through. He spoiled you, listened to you, and made you feel like you could do no wrong. Even when he proposed—after three years together—it was the most emotion and the most words you’d ever heard him say all at once.

Most of your love lived in unspoken gestures. A look, a kiss on the temple, his hand resting on your knee when you ranted about your day. You always seemed to read his mind before he had to say anything. And you were okay with it—Ony’s silence spoke volumes.

So when his friends sat around telling wild stories—about your Ony chasing some guy down three blocks for stepping on his shoe—you just blinked, completely dumbfounded.

“That was not my Onya,” you said, shaking your head.

It was one of those late summer days where the air felt heavy with heat and conversation. You and Ony were at one of Sasha’s backyard barbecues—loud music, too much smoke in the air, and way too many faces you didn’t know. You didn’t mind, though. Ony always brought you along, hand warm in yours, whispering low in your ear, “You good, ma. I got you.”

But today, Ony had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Probably off somewhere smoking a blunt to cool. You didn’t mind. Coco was leashed at your side, her tail wagging as she sniffed around, and you were content grabbing a soda from the cooler, letting the afternoon sun warm your shoulders.

Until you noticed him.

Tall, built like Ony but rougher around the edges. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and something about him set you on edge.

“Cute dog,” he said, nodding at Coco, who barked happily.

“Thanks,” you replied, polite but wary. “She’s a menace, but she’s ours.”

The man chuckled, eyes lingering on you. Too long. “Yours and Ony’s, huh? Never thought I’d see the day Ony got himself all... domesticated.”

You blinked, thrown off by his words. “Yeah. We’re engaged.”

For emphasis, you lifted your hand and showed off the engagement ring sitting proudly on your finger. Ony had picked it out himself, saying something about it being “the only rock that could keep up with you.”

The man’s grin faltered for a second before turning sharp again, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. “Man... Ony really cleaned up. Bet you don’t know half of what he used to be on.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Do you know Ony?”

Before he could answer, you felt it. The shift in the air.

You turned to see Ony stepping up, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His calm, lazy demeanor was gone, replaced with something cold and dangerous.

“Yo,” Ony’s voice was low, sharp like a blade. “What the hell you doin’ here, Ricky?”

The man, Ricky, smirked, completely unfazed. “Relax, bro. Just catching up with your girl. Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to say hi.”

Ony ignored him and stopped in front of you, his hand gently brushing your elbow, like he needed to feel you there, steady and safe. “You okay?” he murmured, voice softer now.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, searching his face. “Who is—”

“You don’t talk to her,” Ony cut you off, his voice sharper again as he looked back at Ricky. “Ever.”

Ricky barked out a laugh, shaking his head like the whole thing was a joke. “Damn, Ony. You really changed, huh? Wife. Dog. Family barbecues. You think this erases all that sh*t we did? Think it makes you better than me?”

You looked between them, confusion swirling in your chest.

Ricky’s smirk widened. “You ain’t gonna tell her? About Kev?”

The name hit Ony like a physical blow. His whole body went rigid.

“Who’s Kev?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Ricky grinned, ignoring you. “The one who didn’t make it ‘cause we were out there actin’ reckless. But you remember that, huh?”

It happened so fast you gasped. Ony’s fist collided with Ricky’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Ony!” you cried as Coco barked wildly.

The crowd turned, the music seeming to dim as Ony’s voice rang out. “Keep my name out your mouth!”

Ricky spat blood and grinned like he’d won. “Same old Ony.”

Ony let Eren drag him back, but his face was still tight, his body vibrating with rage. He didn’t stop to explain. He just scooped Coco into your arms and pulled you out of the backyard, his hand gripping your waist.

“What the fuck was that, Onyakopon?” you hissed as you reached the car.

“Get in the fuckin’ car,” he snapped.

The tone stunned you into silence. It was the first time in three years Ony had ever raised his voice at you. Before you could argue, he lifted you off your feet, set you in the passenger seat, buckled you in, and slammed the door. 

The ride home was silent, the tension so thick it choked the air. Ony’s jaw was set, teeth gritted as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. You sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest as you stared out the window. Even the low hum of the engine felt deafening.

When you got home, the silence followed. Ony unlocked the door, opened it for you like he always did, and set your purse down, but his movements were robotic, like he was on autopilot. You didn’t move—just stood there staring at him.

Finally, you snapped.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened, Ony!” Your voice trembled with anger, eyes blazing as you threw your hands up. “What the hell was that back there?”

Ony didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the couch, walking straight to the kitchen like he hadn’t heard you.

“Don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, following him. “Don’t you dare—”

“I said it don’t matter!” he barked, whirling around. His voice was sharp and raw, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but stood your ground, refusing to let him shut you out. “How can you say that? That man knew you, Ony. He knew things about you I don’t! And the way you hit him? Who was that?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the man I know!”

Ony ran a hand down his face, pacing back and forth. “You don’t need to know that part of me.”

“Why?” you shot back, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Because you’re ashamed? Because you don’t want me to see who you used to be?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving as he looked at you, eyes dark and stormy. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it, Ony?” you pushed, voice trembling. “You can’t stand here and tell me you love me—ask me to marry you—and then keep this huge part of yourself locked away like it doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t get it!” he snapped, voice booming. “I was reckless, alright? I was a dumb kid, running around, doing shit I ain’t proud of. You really wanna hear how bad it got? You really wanna know the kind of man I used to be?” His voice cracked, his fists shaking at his sides. “I ain’t that man anymore. I can’t be.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I want all of you, Ony,” you whispered fiercely. “Not just the version you think I deserve. I don’t care how ugly it gets. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect from the truth.”

He froze, shoulders slumping as he stared at you, something breaking behind his eyes. “I’m tryin’, ma,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tryin’ so damn hard to leave that shit behind. You don’t know what it’s like, carryin’ that with me every day. Losin’ Kev... I don’t ever want to feel that again. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m some monster.”

Your face softened, tears spilling as you stepped closer. “I’m not gonna look at you like that,” you said, your voice shaky but sure. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to stop pushing me away.”

Ony’s gaze flickered to yours, the fight finally draining out of him. He let out a long, unsteady breath and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I scared you back there. I just... when I saw Ricky talking to you, all I could think about was keepin’ you away from that part of my life. Away from him.”

You took a deep breath, the anger still simmering but softened by his words. “I’m not going anywhere, Ony. But you gotta stop keeping me out.”

He looked up at you then, eyes raw and vulnerable. “You deserve better than the mess I used to be.”

You stepped in front of him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “You’re not that man anymore,” you said softly. “I see you, Ony. I see who you are now. And I’m here because I love you—all of you.”

His expression cracked, something deep in him finally breaking free. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands sliding up to rest on your waist. “Damn, ma,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Stop saying that.”

Ony’s hands tightened on your waist, his eyes holding yours. “Let me make it up to you,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, breath hitching. “Ony...”

His gaze darkened, the tension between you shifting—charged and electric. Slowly, he stood up, his towering frame forcing you to tilt your chin up to keep looking at him. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it made your knees weak.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of promise. “Let me make it up to you, baby. I got you. Always.”

His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, his touch both gentle and possessive. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss—soft and tender at first, then hungrier, like he couldn’t get close enough to you.

“Ony,” you breathed, your voice trembling as he kissed down your jaw, his lips trailing warmth along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your neck, his words punctuated by soft kisses. “For everything. I swear I’m gonna be better. You just gotta let me show you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Show me, then.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours. “I will,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Starting right now.”

And that’s how you found yourself lying back on the bed, your body a tangled mess of need and warmth as your fiancé, lost himself in your ocean. His hands gripped your thighs with a possessive force, pulling them up and against your chest as his tongue worked in ways only he knew how to, bringing you to places you’d only ever reached with him. Every motion was deliberate, skilled—each flick, each touch of his fingers pushing you further, deeper into pleasure. His strength held you in place, leaving you no space to escape the sensations he stirred in you. His mouth, hot and insistent, tasted you, marked you, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The pleasure became too much. Your body jerked, squirming away from the relentless skill of Ony’s tongue, but he was quicker, stronger. His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His large palm landed on the side of your thigh with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you freeze and gasp.

“Where you think you goin’, mama?” His voice was low, husky, as he leaned up, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. His golden grills caught the light, making him look both dangerous and divine. “Why you runnin’ from me? I’m just tryna apologize.”

Your whine came out incoherent, the words caught in your throat as his dark, smoldering eyes stayed fixed on you. He towered over you now, his body an imposing figure as he crawled over you, caging you beneath him. His breath was hot against your cheek, and you stared up at him, dazed, your vision swimming with glassy tears of overwhelming bliss.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that half-smile, wet and sinful. His smooth, dark skin gleamed, catching the dim light in a way that made him almost unreal, too beautiful to belong to one person alone—but he was yours. Completely yours. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he praised, brushing a thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear.

Your body trembled as he shifted, lining himself up with slow precision. Then he pushed into you, your shared groans filling the room as he sank in deep. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he stretched you perfectly.

“My pretty fuckin’ wife,” he growled against your lips, his voice thick with possession and reverence.

You didn’t have the strength to reply—just a soft moan as your legs locked around his waist, anchoring him to you, letting him take you to where only he could.

The slow, deliberate roll of Ony’s hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you trembling beneath him. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “You feel so good, baby. Perfect—just for me.”

You could only moan in response, your hands sliding down his back, nails raking gently across his skin. Every movement he made was precise, deliberate, and meant to unravel you. His pace quickened, his control slipping as he pushed deeper, his grunts mixing with your cries.

“Ony,” you gasped, your voice breaking. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist, desperate to feel all of him.

“I got you, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ain’t lettin’ go. You hear me?” His words were both grounding and intoxicating, pulling you further into the bliss he created with every stroke.

The heat built between you, your breaths turning shallow and ragged. Ony’s forehead rested against yours, his dark, hooded eyes never leaving your face. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice deep and low.

Your glazed eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice raw, almost breaking.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a sob catching in your throat. “I love you too,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your hands cupped his face.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, his pace growing erratic, matching the desperate beat of your heart. “You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his movements growing sharper, deeper. “All mine.”

Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in your core until it finally snapped, sending shockwaves through you. Your back arched as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Ony wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping his throat. His body shuddered against yours, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer.

For a while, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room your mingled breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Ony’s weight was solid and grounding on top of you, his hands still gripping your thighs as though he was afraid to let go.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone before rolling to the side, pulling you with him. He tucked you into his chest, his large hand splaying across your back.

“You good, mama?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“More than good,” you murmured, your voice still shaky. You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his gaze. “I love you, Ony.”

“I love you more,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before resting his forehead against yours.

As your breathing evened out and sleep began to tug at your senses, Ony whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, baby. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you replied softly, nuzzling into his chest. “And I’d do the same for you.”

The last thing you felt before drifting off was Ony’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss to your hair.

[cherrygirlfriend]

is it new years yet? pairing: reader x neighbor!rafe synopsis: seeing your old neighbor on christmas during your break leads to you going down memory lane - and into each other's pants. warnings: smut, spit play, degradation, piv, unprotected sex, MDNI wc: 2.4k inspired by 'is it new years yet?' by sabrina carpenter and me being the only one single in my family during christmas. fun fact; i wrote half of this while celebrating christmas with my family and the other half on my way home. enjoy!

everything in life comes with pros and cons; the same applies to being the youngest in your family.

your two sisters and your brother all came to christmas with their significant others; you came with the hangover you were nursing from going out for drinks with some of your high school friends.

your oldest sister just had her first child. your other sister had just gotten married, and your brother brought his girlfriend of two years, that he was planning on proposing to.

you? the closest thing you'd come to something even resembling a relationship was a fling with a guy who ended up ghosting you after telling you he loved you. and although your new nephew was adorable, everyone around you being in relationships made you feel utterly alone.

as mariah carey's 'all i want for christmas is you' played in the speakers for the fifth time that night and you were served another slice of the mediocre fruitcake, you felt like taking the knife set down in front of you and making your eye socket it's new home, the urge only worsened by the words your eldest sister uttered.

"so, do you have a boyfriend?" she asked in a sing-songy voice, looking at you with an inquisitive look on her face, and you knew the comment was meant to be goodhearted, but all it managed to do was make you irritated; your relatives always knew what to say to piss you off.

you swallowed the remaining food in your mouth, "nope."

"what do you mean? you're gorgeous. there's gotta be someone who's into you!" your other sister exclaimed, rubbing salt in the wound. all you wanted was to forget that you were the only one at home with no one to hold. you just wished it was new years already.

your family didn't even notice when you slipped away from them to the patio that wrapped around your large house, hanging your head and your upper body over the railing, your hair dangling in the air as you let out a long breath that you'd held the entire time you'd spent in your family's company, feeling the blood rush to your head as you stared at your legs through the wide holes in the railing.

"you know that could kill you, right?"

you heard a smug voice say, one that was eerily familiar, and your suspicions over who it belonged to were confirmed when you lifted yourself up, your hair flipping and your eyes landing on none other than rafe cameron.

rafe cameron. a name that you never wished to even have to think about, a face you never wanted to have to look at. he had been your neighbor your entire life up until you moved for college, and he'd always enjoyed making your life hell.

"for that, i'm pretty sure i'd have to hang here for longer than fifteen seconds, but thanks for the unwanted medical advice, cameron. why are you creeping around our backyard?"

"aw, you didn't miss me?" he said with feigned sympathy as he slowly ascended the steps leading onto the porch, a small pout on his face.

"what's there to miss? you being a dick?"

rafe tutted, looking at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, "see, the last time things were about my dick, you didn't seem that hostile."

...oh.

"that was a mistake." you said, trying your best not to make your voice shake, rolling your shoulders back and straightening your spine to try and seem confident, but he simply chuckled.

"you seem to make a lot of mistakes."

as he said those words, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to all the times you'd let him pin you against the wall of a small, skeevy janitor's closet that smelled of clorox and your mingling hormones, or the way he'd made you plead and beg before he'd let you come undone, coating his fingers in your creamy liquids.

but it felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over your head when those memories blended with ones where he'd said such cruel words about you, and then saying the same things in private, in such a different way.

"god, you're such a slut." he'd scoff, shaking his head as he looked from topper to kelce, both boys laughing at his words.

"god, you're such a slut..." he'd whisper against your skin as his long digits hit the spongy spot deep inside you, "such a good little slut f'me..."

you cleared your throat, your hand traveling to fiddle with the pearl earring in your ear, rolling it around between your thumb and your forefinger to try and not to focus on the way you had to shift from one foot to another, not wanting the wetness that was beginning to gather between your legs to stick your panties to your pussy. "what are you doing here, cameron?"

"i heard you were back in town. wanted to come see you."

his words made you roll your eyes, "last time i checked, we weren't exactly friends, cameron."

your eyes widened when his hand slid behind your back and he pulled your body flush to his, your heart hammering against your chest like someone was doing renovation inside your body. you didn't want to have these reactions for the man, but your body was betraying you.

"and last time i checked, the nickname you liked to use for me wasn't cameron."

"i'm never using that name for you again." you said, trying not to let your voice waver, to stay strong in what you knew to be the best thing for you to do, to not show how much you wanted him to ruin you in the way you hadn't been ruined in so long.

"i bet i could make you." rafe's lips were so close to yours that you could feel the breaths he let out as he whispered those words.

"bet you-"

before you could finish your sentence, the hot lips you used to know so well were once again on yours, and just like all those times, you gave into it, gave into him way too easily, your lips parting almost automatically to allow rafe's tongue into your mouth.

rafe pushed you against the wall, his hand creeping down from your waist to under the hem of your skirt, his fingers traveling up your thigh painfully slowly, your body so attuned to his it's like you can feel every small ridge, as well as the bones and veins of his fingers. he always loved taking his time, loved making you suffer, loved making you feel like you were going to explode if you didn't have him right at that moment.

"i've missed this so much..." rafe mumbled as his lips moved from your lips, slowly meeting your neck, the small nips he left behind causing your breath to hitch, his other hand groping your tit through your bra, and it reminded you of all the times he'd treat you like shit in front of others, only to pull you into a dark corner and manhandle you, and how much you loved it.

you arched into rafe's touch as his fingers teased the edge of your panties, and when his fingers only brushed against the wet spot in your panties, you let out a small whine, and you knew he was thriving from how easy it was for him to make you come undone.

"tell me you want me..." he mumbled against your neck as his hand started circling your clit through your panties, making them cling to your panties.

it was the last thing you wanted to say; but your vocal chords disagreed with you. it was like the warm feeling in your stomach was controlling everything you did, everything you felt, everything you thought.

"i want you..." you managed to breathe out, the man adding pressure onto his finger as he continued rolling your clit.

"say it."

"i wa-"

"not that." rafe delivered a sharp smack to your pussy and you gasped at the small squelching noise it'd caused, "call me what you used to call me."

"rafe..."

he brought the same hand that had slapped your pussy, and slapped your cheek, making you wince. it wasn't hard, but rafe always knew how to push your buttons. rafe grabbed your jaw, making you look up at him.

"say it."

"s-sir..." you whispered, your cheeks burning with shame, and you were overtaken with thoughts of all the things he had done to get you to call you that, but rafes lips twisted into a wicked grin.

"awww, such a good little slut." he cooed mockingly, "open your mouth." hesitantly, you opened your mouth further, rafe gathering some saliva onto his lips before he spit it into your mouth, enjoying the look of pure humiliation on your face as he watched you swallow it. "pull up your skirt."

you pulled up your skirt, your face still burning hot from humiliation as you looked up, wanting to look anywhere but at him, feeling rafe's long fingers on the waistband of your panties, the fabric starting to detach from your folds, rafe's breathing getting heavier.

you were attacked by sensations when rafe's lips ravenously attached themselves to your cunt, your head throwing back in pleasure as he basically made out with your sopping wet folds, your hand going to his buzzcut, reminding you of the way you used to grip onto the douchey haircut he used to have, on a boy who didn't look quite as defined as the man currently devouring you.

when you felt his tongue circling your entrance, dipping in and out of you teasingly, your walls started clenching around nothing, the world around you might as well have disappeared and turned into heaven. rafe detached himself from your pussy, and as you looked down at him drowsily, rafe's pupils were dilated, his lips covered in your arousal, the man looking like he'd gotten drunk just from tasting you.

"i missed my girl..." rafe murmured, pressing gentle kisses on your pussy, "she still gets so fucking wet f'me... she probably misses my cock so bad... you probably haven't found anyone who fills my princess up like i do, have you?"

"n-no..." you stuttered, making rafe tsk.

"that won't work. she gotta remember who her daddy is."

rafe lifted you up by the back of your thighs, causing you to let out a small squeal as your arms flew to hold on to the back of his neck, only for him to turn around, taking a few steps and placing you onto the edge of the railing, starting to unbuckle his belt.

"rafe, we're on my patio..."

"so?" he chuckled, his hands on his zipper, "it's not like outside of your house is the most scandalous place where we've had fun, is it?"

your cheeks started warming up when you remembered all the places where rafe had managed to get you to give in to him, where you'd begged for him to touch you in the way only he knew how to.

rafe pulled his trousers down, his cock bulging in his calvin kleins, a small wet spot visible on the white fabric until he tugged his boxers down just enough to free his cock, giving it slow, languid strokes. "tell me how you've much you want me inside of you..."

as you looked down at his cock, your tongue between your teeth, you felt hunger like never before; you couldn't care that you were outside your house and anyone could walk in at any moment, or that rafe was an asshole, the only thing you cared about was the way his cock felt inside you, the way it reached something in you no one else managed to, the thing you'd spent various nights trying to mimic with your rabbit toy, to no avail.

"so bad..." you choke out, and although it was the god-honest truth, it felt like the words were razorblades coming up your throat, only made better by the feeling the tip of rafe's cock rubbing on your clit, the man drawing circles on it like he was creating a masterpiece instead of just teasing the hell out of you. "please..."

he slid his length down your plump folds, making you held your breath as you waited to feel him invade you, only for rafe to stop at your entrance. if you were able to even think at that moment, you would've simply pulled him closer to you, but with rafe, he always held all the cards. he knew how to control you.

but the moment you felt only the head of his cock enter you, your vision was blurred. one of rafe's hands moved to grab the flesh of your ass while the other one still held you up. as he starts moving further into you, you let out a mewl that was meant to be his name but ended up being incomprehensible. it was like he was fucking made for you, like his cock was shaped just to fit inside you like a puzzle.

"my baby's still so fuckin' tight..." rafe rasped, and what started as a calm pace turned into him slamming all of himself into you, and if he didn't keep moving inside of you, you could've sworn you died the moment the head of his cock was slammed against your cervix.

"still such a good little slut f'me, hm?"

you rolled your hips against his, every thrust feeling more and more delicious; and like always, you forgot everything. you forgot who you were, where you were, what this was. none of it mattered. nothing, but him.

rafe's thumb moved to circle your clit as he continued rolling his hips into you, timing every slam to your cervix with a roll of your clit, making you ascend. he knew you, and he knew just what to do to make you weak, to make you his.

you tried to tell him you were close, that you were coming, but all that'd leave your lips were incomprehensible moans.

rafe moaned when he felt your walls tightening, pulsing around his cock, a sound so delicious you wished you could've recorded so you could touch yourself to it, yet he continued his movements in you, only now much slower and with much more groaning due to the muscles clenching around him.

"g'na come in you..." rafe mumbled against your shoulder, and you squealed and nearly screamed, when the head of his cock pressed against your cervix mid-orgasm. "f-fuck, you still feel so fucking good..."

he stilled inside of you, pulling your body even closer to his, letting out a groan, and although you couldn't feel it due to the intensity of your orgasm, you knew rafe had just delivered on his promise.