#but then again they are both equally pretty to me so idk

[ningtual]

i'm gonna be real i still can't decide

[clockmax]

! STICKY

>> jjk kink hc's

FT!  gojo, geto, nanami, toji

! warnings 18+CONTENT, MDNI. , not proofread, fem reader, pure filth, breeding kink, mating press, overstimulation, switch!gojo(?), fingering, p in v, raw sex(wrap it b4 u tap it tho!), riding, oral, praise, oral

~ A/N: re-uploading this from my old blog LOL idk requests r open and make sure to take care of urself ily ཐི♡ཋྀ  likes + reblogs + comments r always appreciated!

𓇼 NANAMI

I think as a fandom we all agree Nanami is a family man. He’s got a steady and stable relationship with you, so who better to have his kids then you?

I like to think he got baby fever after he saw you holding your niece for the first time ,just falling in love with how sweetly you spoke to the baby, how gentle you looked, like a natural mother.

It for sure got his cock in a stir.

Thoughts of you round with his kid filled his head, thinking of you taking care of the little bundle of joy almost had him bend you over in the nearest room.

Guaranteed for the next few weeks(at least) he’d have you bent over, pumping you full of his cum. He’d hold your legs close to your ears, putting you in a mating press while his cock pumps you full.

Nanami would just keep stuffing you full over and over again, overstimulating himself just to get you pregnant. Fucking you until you’re nearly cross-eyed from just how many orgasms he;s pulled from your sore, stuffed pussy.

Nanami who would keep fucking you sore every night until he sees  a positive pregnancy test. And even with that, he’d fuck another one into you as soon as he can <3

𓇼 GOJO

Whether he’s being overstimulated, or overstimulating you, this man loves it.(he’s a whore.)

With you, he loves seeing the fucked out expression on your face and he pulls out your nth orgasm, watching how you writhe and shudder as his fingers delicately work you open. Or when he’s fucking you raw with his cock, mushroomy tip hitting that spongy spots that makes your toes curl. He makes it his goal to cum at least 3 times before he even thinks about coming himself.

But it also goes the same way when you overstimulate him. Could be from riding him, sucking him off, or just even a simple handjob. I like to believe he’s got a sensitive tip, so it’s  easy to overstimulate him. And for a fact, he loves it.

He’s a whimpering, moaner, and groaner 4 sure. So you’ll know he’s come enough time when he starts getting more vocal than he already is. Or when his hips rut into your mouth or hand, or  just straight up holding your hips while he ruts up into you. 

He’ll keep both of you overstimulated until you give out, or he’s practically ‘shooting blanks’

𓇼GETO

Geto in my heart will forever be a soft lover. He could fuck rough, sure, but i like to think a majority of the time he treats you very sweetly(unless you’ve been a brat but thats a diff talk)

He just loves to fuck you, even if he’s fucked you so dumbed that its gone in one ear and out the other. Something about the sparkle in your eyes when he coos sweet words at you just gets him going even more.

“Open your legs, baby, ‘wanna see that pretty pussy.” He’d coax at you, leaving wet, open kisses along your thighs. 

“That’s it, good girl, always listening to me.” Geto praised. He’d always take his time with his fingers, mouth, or cock. 

He’d talk you through it, praising how well you’re doing, how pretty you look with that look of ecstasy on your face. He’s just smitten with you, and it will always show when hes got you in his hands.

𓇼 TOJI

Toji’s a sucker for oral. I will not be fought on this

He seems like he would enjoy receiving oral and giving it just as equally. But when i tell you he’d fuck your mouth, i mean it.

He’s the type to hold your hair in a pigtail, gliding your mouth along his cock; just the way he likes it. His ears suck up all the lovely gasps and gags you make, the small moans and whimpers. He’d love watching as you try to circle your clit and suck him off at the same time, watching as you try to find something to rub your dripping wet pussy against.

When he’s giving oral, he might just be enjoying it more than you. He’d have a wole feast down there, spelling his name on your clit, sucking your juices; there's really no stopping him and his meal. 

He just can’t get enough of the way your thighs squeeze around his head, or how your hands pull at his hair, bumping your clit up against his nose.

He thinks you look equally as pretty on your knees between his manspread, face buried in his happy trail as you suck at his cock.

Suguru Geto who loves just how shy you get whenever her teases or flirts with you. Whether it be the gentle grab of your ass in that skirt, or the way he whispers filthy words into your ears even if there's people around.

Suguru Geto who makes sure to kiss your neck and leave hickies, provoking those sweet, sweet whines and begs for him that fall from your pretty lips. 

Suguru Geto who buries himself between your thighs, arms locked around the fat of your thigs, tongue working onto your clit as if it was his last meal. His eyes stay on your face the entire time, pulling his mouth away if you dare to look away from him.

“Look at me baby, wanna see that pretty face when you cum.”

Suguru Geto who can say the most filthy things about you with a straight face, with the taste of your juices on his lips after making you cum 3 times. He loves the look of pure euphoria on your half lidded eyes.

Suguru Geto who still teases you when he stuffs your cunt full of his thick cock. It’s sinful with his hands roam around your body, leaving marks on your hips, and playing around with your tits. His eyes watch those lustful expressions on your face as his dick slides in and out of you, hitting all those sweet spots from the curve of his cock.

Suguru Geto who has you keep your eyes on him as he drills your overstimulated pussy, pelvis bumping on your swollen clit. 

“That's it, good girl. Looking so pretty taking this cock, cunt’s practically talking to me.”  He’d whisper in your ear, gently kissing the trace of your jawline, feeling just how hot your face was.

Suguru Geto who loves the fucked out look on your face as he makes you cum for the nth time. Hazel eyes watching how your eyes practically roll to the back of your head, body trying to squirm away as you squirt on him again.

Suguru Geto who cums in you over and over again, the lewd look on your face nearly imprinted in his mind. He knows just how much you love feeling the warm, hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your gummy walls.

“Spread your legs baby, that's it.. Wider. Good girl.” 

Suguru Geto who loves watching the cum drip from your cunt, mixed in with your juices. Sometimes he’ll go back to eat you out after he’s came inside you.

Suguru Geto who loves to tease you, get you all flustered and worked up just to fuck you dumb minutes later.

[othercrossee]

if youre asking about my writing for palina and irida in the timeskip one, its probably that they will never ever be as close as they were before. or its better to say they were never that close to begin with

[dear-ao3]

hey wait im also new to f1 but i saw the other ask and i was curious abt what you meant when you said no one will ever do it like nico rosberg?? also retiring after your first championship win is insane lmao what a power move

nico rosberg is just. he’s insane. he’s cunty. he’s wonderful. he possesses sass and audacity unlike any other. we unfortunately do not have time to get into his whole story (my lunch break is only so long) but here’s some highlights:

-technically he’s a nepo baby. his dad, keke rosberg, won the world championship in 1982 and they remain one of the Few father son duos to both win a world championship (don’t ask me who the others are idk but i know they exist)

-he and lewis hamilton met when they were kids in the late 90s sometime and were gokarting teammates at some point in i think the early 2000s? (not fact checking i don’t have the time rn) and they were Besties. they’ve talked about this before, mostly in older interviews, but the gist is that both of them were outcasts from the other karting kid in opposite ways (nico was the son of a champion and rich and lewis was from nothing and pretty much the only poc most of the time) and that drew them together and they were Menaces according to legend. everything was a competition and they trashed hotel rooms and ate pizza and ice cream and kellogg frosties and went to greece and dreamed of being in f1 together

-nico signed with williams in 2006. his teammate was mark webber. and nico had long flowing blonde hair (this is important). he crashed at one race and mark webber said “britney’s in the wall” cementing the nickname britney, like britney spears. jenson button (another driver) said later on that they called nico britney because he was “very pretty” (do with that what you will)

-he was just. insane. cunty. constantly looked like a european bond villain. wore god awful shoes. whole bit. once he stayed in his car when it got craned off the track cause he didn’t want his hair to get wet. which is insane cause he’s wearing a helmet it would have gotten equally as not wet had he gotten out.

-anyway, lewis made it to f1 in 2007 and they had their first podium together i think that year (?) and it’s cute and fun and oh boy you’re not ready for what these two have coming

-lewis won the championship in 2008 (but he almost won in 2007, his rookie year) at mclaren.

-nico went to mercedes when they recentered the grid in 2010. his teammate was michael schumacher, who was fresh out of retirement. (yes the michael schumacher, 7x world champion). michael fucked with nico endlessly according to legend, including making him piss in a bucket pre race because he would hog the bathroom until the last possible second. nico still out preformed him most of the time, and the car was mid as hell.

-michael retired part 2 at the end of 2012. and who replaced him but lewis hamilton

-so the two of them were teammates again. the cards were absolute Stacked against them. because yes they were besties yes they’d known eachother forever but the first person you’re judged against is your teammate. and you’re trying to beat your teammate. and lewis already had a championship. nico wanted a championship.

-2013 was relatively chill. the car was kinda mid. they did well but not fantastic and did some fuck ass pr (highly reccomend looking those videos up)

-2014 they had a car that could win. and they started fighting eachother for wins. they played all kinds of mind games against eachother and withheld stats and nico ran illegal engine modes (supposedly) and lewis said they were no longer friends after nico supposedly wrecked his monaco qualifying one year but they claimed they still supported eachother and were friends off track. lewis won in 2014 and in 2015. but nico was right behind him and he wanted to win a championship, he didn’t want to be a number 2 driver

-so in 2016 nico did some insane shit. he stopped sleeping with his wife so that he could get better sleep or something, he did weird things to cut weight, he basically did everything and then some to win. and then he did. he won the championship and then at the prize giving ceremony announced he was retiring. he didn’t tell lewis this.

more after i get off work :)

[deeplymax]

! MIDAS TOUCH

☀︎ Kink Headcanons for jjk men <3

FT: gojo, geto, nanami, toji

CONTAINS: 18+CONTENT, MDNI. , not proofread, fem reader, pure filth, breeding kink, mating press, overstimulation, switch!gojo(?), fingering, p in v, raw sex(wrap it b4 u tap it tho!), riding, oral, praise, oral

A/N: i cooked i think, i tried a new writing style so erm! idk requests r open and make sure to take care of urself ily ཐི♡ཋྀ likes + reblogs + comments r always appreciated!

𓇼 NANAMI

I think as a fandom we all agree Nanami is a family man. He’s got a steady and stable relationship with you, so who better to have his kids then you?

I like to think he got baby fever after he saw you holding your niece for the first time ,just falling in love with how sweetly you spoke to the baby, how gentle you looked, like a natural mother.

It for sure got his cock in a stir.

Thoughts of you round with his kid filled his head, thinking of you taking care of the little bundle of joy almost had him bend you over in the nearest room.

Guaranteed for the next few weeks(at least) he’d have you bent over, pumping you full of his cum. He’d hold your legs close to your ears, putting you in a mating press while his cock pumps you full.

Nanami would just keep stuffing you full over and over again, overstimulating himself just to get you pregnant. Fucking you until you’re nearly cross-eyed from just how many orgasms he;s pulled from your sore, stuffed pussy.

Nanami who would keep fucking you sore every night until he sees  a positive pregnancy test. And even with that, he’d fuck another one into you as soon as he can <3

𓇼 GOJO

Whether he’s being overstimulated, or overstimulating you, this man loves it.(he’s a whore.)

With you, he loves seeing the fucked out expression on your face and he pulls out your nth orgasm, watching how you writhe and shudder as his fingers delicately work you open. Or when he’s fucking you raw with his cock, mushroomy tip hitting that spongy spots that makes your toes curl. He makes it his goal to cum at least 3 times before he even thinks about coming himself.

But it also goes the same way when you overstimulate him. Could be from riding him, sucking him off, or just even a simple handjob. I like to believe he’s got a sensitive tip, so it’s  easy to overstimulate him. And for a fact, he loves it.

He’s a whimpering, moaner, and groaner 4 sure. So you’ll know he’s come enough time when he starts getting more vocal than he already is. Or when his hips rut into your mouth or hand, or  just straight up holding your hips while he ruts up into you. 

He’ll keep both of you overstimulated until you give out, or he’s practically ‘shooting blanks’

𓇼GETO

Geto in my heart will forever be a soft lover. He could fuck rough, sure, but i like to think a majority of the time he treats you very sweetly(unless you’ve been a brat but thats a diff talk)

He just loves to fuck you, even if he’s fucked you so dumbed that its gone in one ear and out the other. Something about the sparkle in your eyes when he coos sweet words at you just gets him going even more.

“Open your legs, baby, ‘wanna see that pretty pussy.” He’d coax at you, leaving wet, open kisses along your thighs. 

“That’s it, good girl, always listening to me.” Geto praised. He’d always take his time with his fingers, mouth, or cock. 

He’d talk you through it, praising how well you’re doing, how pretty you look with that look of ecstasy on your face. He’s just smitten with you, and it will always show when hes got you in his hands.

𓇼 TOJI

Toji’s a sucker for oral. I will not be fought on this

He seems like he would enjoy receiving oral and giving it just as equally. But when i tell you he’d fuck your mouth, i mean it.

He’s the type to hold your hair in a pigtail, gliding your mouth along his cock; just the way he likes it. His ears suck up all the lovely gasps and gags you make, the small moans and whimpers. He’d love watching as you try to circle your clit and suck him off at the same time, watching as you try to find something to rub your dripping wet pussy against.

When he’s giving oral, he might just be enjoying it more than you. He’d have a wole feast down there, spelling his name on your clit, sucking your juices; there's really no stopping him and his meal. 

He just can’t get enough of the way your thighs squeeze around his head, or how your hands pull at his hair, bumping your clit up against his nose.

He thinks you look equally as pretty on your knees between his manspread, face buried in his happy trail as you suck at his cock.

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Mutual | Lucien De Leon x f!Reader

summary: you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.

pairing: lucien de leon x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. smoking, drinking. idk, hate fucking essentially. misuse of a champagne bottle, edging?, sexual tension, f!masturbation, unprotected p in v (you know what to do, and it's not this), oral (f!receiving). reader wears a dress and is implied to be shorter than lucien, but is otherwise undescribed.

wc: 4.8k

an: i succumbed.

The only thing you and Lucien De Leon have in common is the need for a cigarette after dinner. 

Nothing else.

You stand on opposite sides of the patio outside the open glass doors which lead back into Anna and Alex’s house, and you know that Anna, at the very least, will be watching you. Making sure you play nice.

Something you’d vowed to do when she’d called to invite you to this dinner party. Lucien will be there, she’d said, it’d be great for me, for us, if you two just tried to get along. 

So far, you’ve succeeded. You’d listened politely to his stories at the table, hadn't even rolled your eyes when he laughed and joked and flirted with your fellow guests. You’d drunk your wine and stayed quiet through it all, offering your own contributions to the equal delight of the friends who'd gathered. You’d been surprised when Lucien had smiled along with them, even going so far as to chuckle at your story about the dog next door.

And now, outside, the rule still stands. You eye each other as you smoke, finding yourself amazed again by the way he doesn’t speak. Not a snide thing to say, no quip to make, just him watching you. Eyes flitting from your legs, to your hips, to your chest, to your face. And you’d tell him to quit it if you weren’t doing the same thing. If you weren’t enjoying the way his silk shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, the way his curls flop over his forehead, the way his chains catch the light, the way his stupid, pretty eyes glitter across from you. You hate yourself for it, want to crack some nasty sentiment across the stone, but you don’t. 

You’re on your best behaviour, after all.

Something which Lucien has clearly forgotten as he pushes himself off from the wall he’s leaned against, stepping closer, closer to you by the bush with the red flowers. You brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say, for whatever smoke he’s about to blow in your face, gearing up for the taunt you’ll throw back. 

He stops before you, barely an arms length away. You tense, waiting.

He holds out the bottle of champagne he’d swiped from the table on his way out. You blink at him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m playing nice.’

You stare at him, sceptical. This is not Lucien. This is not something you’re used to.

But maybe he’s trying, too. 

You take the bottle from him, and he lets it go easily. You watch him as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up until the bright fizz of the bubbles meets your tongue. He watches your mouth, pink slip of his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as he drops the butt of his finished cigarette to the floor, not looking where it lands. You swallow, take another gulp for good measure, and hand it back to him. His fingers graze yours as you do. 

You freeze at the jolt of electricity his touch brings, hand remaining outstretched as he brings the bottle back to his side. You watch, aloof, as he plucks your cigarette from your fingers and flicks it into the darkness before slotting your hands together, mind swirling as he pulls you closer.

‘Come on. Want to show you something.’ 

Maybe it’s the wine, but you can’t find the words to protest as he tugs you away to a deeper part of the garden. 

Lucien turns you to face him at the furthest wall he can find, and you finally find your words as your back hits the concrete.

‘What did you want to show me?’

You glance around behind him at the flowers that burst from the ground, bright even in the darkening half light. The water feature Alex had installed last year trickles musically somewhere to your left, though you can't see it.

His answering grin is dirty, something fluttering in your tummy as you grind your teeth, nostrils flaring. You do not have the patience for this man, or the butterflies churning in your stomach.

‘Lucien.’

His hands find your waist and the curve of your ass in a flurry of movement, his grip strong, the bottle cold through the material of your dress. The air leaves your lungs. He hums as he draws himself close to your lips.

‘How beautiful you look tonight.’

You snort at him, disbelieving. He can’t be fucking serious.

‘Lucien, what the fuck -’

He cuts you off quickly, dipping to fit his mouth to yours in a searing kiss, hand moving from your ass to your jaw as he licks into your mouth. Your blood roars in your ears as your own hands scrabble to find purchase on his chest, slipping against the silk. You mean to push him away, but somehow you pull him closer, your body doing the opposite of what it’s told as you open your mouth further to him, groaning softly. He tastes like champagne and cigarettes, and you grip his neck to bring him further in, your other hand smoothing over his bunched shoulder, his strong bicep, down to his waist, fisting his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, and sharp anger surges in your gut. Shit. This is Lucien.

You use the hand at his middle to push him roughly away from you.

‘Get the fuck off me.’

He smirks, one hand still on your hip as he takes a swig from the bottle of champagne. You watch him, breathing heavily, stare as his lips close around the mouth of the bottle, and you're betrayed by what you’ve only pictured in your most secret moments. Your eyelids flutter, fingers twitch for him, cunt clenches around something that isn't there. He comes towards you again, and this time you close the gap, leaning forward to crash your mouth against his. You lick at the seam of his lips but he keeps them obstinately shut, and with irritation flashing through you, you drag your nails hard down his forearm in retaliation. He grips the nape of your neck, pulling your head back, and taking advantage of your open lips, spills the champagne off his tongue and onto yours. It's warm, still sparkling. Tastes like him. You swallow it down greedily, reminding yourself that you should be disgusted, certainly shouldn’t be pulling him in to kiss him again, shouldn’t moan so loud when he grinds his hips against yours as he rumbles how you drive him fucking insane against your neck. Shouldn’t be so wet, pinned up against this wall by a man you have long held such disdain for, shouldn’t grind back against him, shouldn’t be panting into his mouth like some kind of dog, shouldn't be forgetting where you are, who you’re with -

This time, you’re more forceful. Lucien stumbles back with hooded eyes and shining, swollen lips, his own breathing coming fast and deep. You stare back at him, still stunned, and without meaning to, your eyes drop down to his crotch, finding the fabric there tight with his arousal. He’s big, must be with the way his zipper is straining. Your mouth runs dry, your stomach swoops. Fuck.

You watch with as much disgust as you can manage as he palms himself roughly to relieve some of the ache, your own hands itching to do the same.

‘So pretty, baby,’ he teases, stepping forwards, head falling towards yours again. Why won’t he stay away? ‘So pretty, wanting me like this -’

‘Stop,’ you hiss. It’s unconvincing even to your ears, and he smirks like he knows. He knows. ‘I don’t - I don’t want you like this -’

He presses his forehead to yours, not touching you this time, instead letting his nose trace your cheekbone, your jaw, down to your neck.

‘You don’t want me like this?’ He purrs. You manage to shake your head. You can feel his smile as he laves a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, and you whimper, hot all over, so wet, so needy for him. He chuckles again. ‘No,’ he confirms. ‘Then maybe… like this.’

He sinks to his knees in front of you, curls mussed, lips parted, eyes blown. He stares up at you, reverent, taunting, as he skates his broad palms over the tops of your thighs, stroking the skin, murmuring how soft you are. Oh, and you are so fucking angry. So fucking angry as he grips and soothes your flesh, as he squeezes and kneads your ass, as you hold onto his strong shoulders and breathe his name. Even more pissed when he doesn’t have some kind of asshole comment to make, furious as he leans into you and presses kisses to where his hands have been, mouthing at your skin, leaving it wet with his spit, with champagne, so fucking mad as he sips from the bottle again and spills the liquid from his mouth onto your thighs, as he kneels back to watch it trickle over your knees, down your shins, to your feet, to drip onto the floor. You are on fire.

‘See? Beautiful.’ He murmurs. And oh, what you’d do. What you’d do to him. You’d pull at his hair and scratch at his chest and bite into his neck and you’d make him suffer, make him ache, make him feel the same heat you’re feeling. You just can’t seem to move.

Can’t seem to move as he brings his mouth closer to your cunt, splitting the folds of your wrap dress further, pushing his hands up to your hips, holding you still as he takes in your lace panties, the only thing covering you from him. He looks up to you again, burning with desire. Your cunt pulses painfully, and you hiss his name.

He smiles, cruelly.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, ‘We’re playing nice, remember?’

Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his face to your clothed cunt and breathes in deeply. He moans loudly, and you whimper in response, hands flying to his hair at the feeling of his hot breath on you, tugging as he mouths at your pussy through the material. You feel his tongue, warm and strong, drag over the lace covering your clit and you groan, going slack against the wall. He nudges the swollen nub with his nose, his free hand coming between your legs to touch you.

‘So wet,’ he breathes, ‘That what I’m doing to you?’

You shake your head no even though he can’t see you, still playing with your pussy through your underwear. A plea bubbles up your throat, and you swallow it down. You will not beg Lucien Flores to touch you. You don’t even know how you got here in the first place.

But that’s forgotten as he moves again, kissing your clit through the fabric as he brings his other hand, still holding the bottle, between your legs. You hiss as he presses the lip of it to your hole, all protests forgotten as he grinds it against you, the pressure easing a small amount of the ache you feel.

You forget that it’s wrong as he uses it to push your panties to the side. Forget as he runs the cold glass through your wetness, almost do beg him to touch you, to lick you, to do something before he settles it against your slit, right where you think you might need it most.

‘Still don’t want me?’ he breathes against your skin.

A shallow breath escapes you.

‘Fuck you.’ You whisper, no conviction behind your words. He rests his forehead against your hip, and begins to press, begins to relieve some of that ache, that want -

‘Luce?’ Anna calls out from the direction of the house. You freeze, fist tightening around his curls, but Lucien is unphased, working the mouth of the bottle past the tight opening of your pussy. You gasp brokenly at the cool feel of it, fingers constricting even further. Lucien moans beneath you, moving to nose at the crease between your thigh and your cunt, pushing the neck of the bottle further in. You moan loudly, knees giving a little, and he clutches your hip tighter to keep you from falling.

‘Luce?’ Anna calls again, a little closer this time. You groan his name in response, torn between wanting more and wanting this to end before disaster.

The next Lucien? comes even closer, and you use your grip on his hair to pull his face away from you, tipping his head back so that he meets your eye.

‘Stop.’ You bite out. He grins and gives one more pump of the neck of the bottle. You whimper, head falling back to the concrete behind you as he removes it completely, rising to his feet with a groan. You watch, bleary eyed, leaking, chest heaving, as he dusts off his pants and adjusts himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He steps back and away, eyes raking over your body as he raises the bottle to his mouth, licking around the neck before taking a deep drink and disappearing back up the path.

He’s sick. You hate him.

You return to the house on shaky legs through the backdoor, hoping to make it to the bathroom, only to be intercepted by Alex. He’s scraping leftover food into the bin, and smiles as you enter before double taking at your appearance. You must look wrecked.

‘Are you alright?’ He asks, brow creasing with concern.

You hum, clearing your throat before answering.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

Alex raises an eyebrow at you.

‘Did he say something to you?’ he asks.

‘Did he - what?’

‘Lucien. Did he upset you?’

You blink at him. Right. Play nice.

‘I - no. He didn’t. He was actually quite pleasant.’

Alex stares at you.

‘Pleasant?’

‘Yeah.’

You hold his gaze for a little longer, feel a guilty little heat crawl its way through your belly. 

You’re warm, so unbearably warm.

‘Is it alright if I go and lay down upstairs for a bit?’ You ask. ‘I feel kind of funny.’

Alex frowns, placing the plate he was holding on the counter.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘Do you need anything?’

You smile weakly, shaking your head.

‘No,’ you reassure him, ‘That’s okay, thank you. I just need a moment.’

The guest room on the top floor is cool, and the curtains are open. Warm, orange light floods in from the street outside, and you settle yourself on the middle of the bed, ready to get this over with. There’s no way you can go back downstairs with this need, this coil wound so tight in your belly. You swoop your palms over your body, nipples tightening beneath your dress, feeling the swirl, the drip of yourself between your legs. You grind the heel of your palm against your mound and moan softly, rucking your dress up to your hips so you can slip your fingers beneath the lace.

Fuck, you are so wet. So goddamn turned on by that stupid man that you may as well throw your underwear away. You sweep a finger over your clit, hips twitching at the contact, eyes falling shut as you dip the digit to your entrance to collect your arousal, working the nub in tight circles. 

Your legs fall slack as you build yourself up, moans falling from your mouth in quick succession as you imagine what it would have been like to have him take you there, against the wall. What it would have been like to be fucked with the bottle, to have his tongue really on you, mimicking your movements now, to fall apart against his mouth, see him pull away with your slick covering his face. You rock your hips against your hand, quickening your movements, fingers dipping in and out of your slit between working your clit as the coil tightens and tightens, as the hot, heavy feeling grows and grows, as sweat beads at your temples and the valley between your breasts, as you try not to moan his name -

Like you’ve summoned him, Lucien clears his throat in the doorway. 

You snap your legs shut, heart hammering in your chest, heat blooming through your cheeks.

‘You fucking - asshole -’ you seethe, and he laughs, eyes roving over your sweaty body. ‘Get out.’

‘Wanted to check you were alright.’

You gape at him.

‘Fucking bullshit, Lucien,’ you grit, snatching your hand out of your soaked cunt. You bundle it in the silk of your dress as you try to cover yourself, but his eyes follow, tracing the glint of your slick in the dim light. 

‘Seems like you’re okay, though,’ he continues, slouching against the doorframe. ‘Just look like you could do with some help.’

You choke on a laugh, frozen, glaring at him from the bed. He bites his lip.

‘You’re fucking insane.’

‘Insane enough to fuck you.’

You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the flash of arousal that shoots through you, clenching your jaw.

‘You are not going to fuck me.’

Lucien steps away from the doorframe, moving into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Without looking, he reaches out with one hand and twists the lock with a click. 

He comes towards you slowly, eyes hungry. Your heart is in your mouth as you watch him, adrenaline kicking in so hard even you’re not sure what you want. Aren’t sure whether you can admit what you want. 

He reaches the end of the bed before dropping a knee onto the mattress, reaching out to grab an ankle, pulling your leg flat. You burn at the feel of him holding you, preventing you from moving, from hiding.

‘Then stop me.’

You don’t. You can’t as he crawls his way up your body, as he touches every inch of skin he can so gently, so delicately. Fresh slick pools out of you at the feeling, at the sight - 

His stupid puppy dog eyes and floppy curls and broad shoulders beneath his silk shirt, silk shirt that looks like sin as it drapes over him, moves with him like water, and his chains, his chains, how they’d look swinging over you as he buries himself inside you, raw and hungry and -

You can’t stop the moan that slips from your lips as his hand cups your cunt, as his mouth finds your neck. Body quickly liquid, molten beneath his touch, legs falling open.

‘Please -’ it slips from your mouth before you can stop it, but it feels good, finally, to have him give you what you need.

‘Good girl,’ he says, ‘Playing so nice.’

He slips his hand beneath the lace of your panties, trailing two fingers through your arousal, mirroring your moan as he does. He circles your clit, dragging you back to where you were, drinking down your noises with his mouth close enough to swallow your breath, but not close enough to kiss. You stare up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, a line forming between your brows. You gasp, so pretty, and he hums, slowing his movements to an agonising pace before slipping them from your heat entirely. You whine at the loss, huffing against the mattress, pouting at him pathetically as he smiles down at you.

‘Let’s get these off.’

He kneels back to pull your underwear away from you, and you wriggle at the cool air that comes into contact with your cunt. You watch, breathless, as he bundles them up and slips them into his back pocket, irritated, but not irritated enough to demand them back. They were expensive.

He drinks in the sight of your bare pussy with ravenous eyes, resting his cheek against the flesh of your thigh. The scruff of his beard tickles and scratches, the feel of it so Lucien, but you can't find it within yourself to care. He brings a single finger up to trace through your folds, and you whine desperately, embarrassingly at the sensation.

‘Pretty enough to make a grown man cry, baby,’ he hums, nuzzling your thigh as he blinks up at you with burning eyes. ‘You ever made a man cry before?’

‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Wanna see if I can make you cry, too?’

He grins, a dirty little thing, before closing his teeth over the soft skin at your hip. You moan again, and he leans in closer, licking a long, hot, wet stripe from your hole to your clit. You shudder, a broken sound escaping your mouth. God, what is wrong with you?

‘So sweet,’ he murmurs, ‘You always this wet when someone teases you?’

You arch your back against him, head turning in the sheets.

‘No,’ you groan, ‘Get this wet when I’m about to make myself come.’

He huffs a laugh against you before driving his tongue against your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. He is hot and wet against you, so strong and soft like velvet as he tastes you, holds your thighs apart with his strong hands, fingers pressing in so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. You writhe beneath him, hands flying to his hair, grinding up into his face. He licks and licks, devouring you, moving his head from side to side, gripping your hips to keep you moving against him as he quickly builds you again back to your high, sliding two fingers inside easily, curling them up into the spot deep inside you. 

You can’t tear your eyes away from him, the strong curves of his body, the sweat on his forehead, the way his eyelids flutter at your noises, those deep brown eyes watching you with something carnal, something possessive in them.

You whine and moan above him, keening as he reaches his other hand up to swipe a thumb over your nipple, pinching it as you plead for more, as you tighten around his fingers, as you flood his mouth, as the toil tightens again, as you teeter on the edge -

Lucien pulls his mouth from you with a wet sound, withdrawing his fingers at the same time. 

You cry out.

‘No,’ you whimper, ‘No, Lucien, please -’

‘Atta girl,’ he says, ‘I knew you could ask nicely. Knew you’d beg.’

Your back flies off the mattress as you reach to claw at him, ready to rip him to shreds, but he’s too quick, kneeling back again to undo his belt, unzip his fly, pull himself out, and oh -

Oh. Fuck. He’s big. The heavy weight of him held in his fist as he pumps himself slowly over you turns your clawing into gentler hands, and he moves so you can wrap yourself around his cock. He feels like silk, so close to his shirt, rock-hard and twitching as you move your hand languidly up and down his length, squeezing, swiping your thumb over his tip as it drips precum. It's hard not to admire him like this, hard to remember why you hate him so much. The ache between your legs borders on unbearable.

He groans loudly, rocking his hips before wrapping his hand around yours, untangling your fingers to hold himself again, guiding his cock towards your entrance. He runs his length back and forth between your folds, covering himself in your slick, feeling your clit twitch beneath him until you beg again - ‘Please, Lucien, please - fuck me -’ before he’s sliding home in one long stroke.

The air is knocked from you at the feeling, at how full you are. He hinges to cage you with his arms, and you clutch at his shirt as he begins to move, slow, so slow. He licks his lips as he watches your face, your mouth in a little ‘o’, neck straining against the pillow, and you move a hand to the back of his neck, wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste him, taste him taste of you. You want to take his plush bottom lip between your teeth and hold it there, hold it there until you taste blood. Bu he picks up the pace, thrusting harder and faster, and you lose your grip, back arching as the delicious burn returns yet again.

‘Fuck -’ you gasp, ‘Holy fuck, Lucien, oh my god -’

‘I know, baby,’ he whispers, fucked out and broken as you already. ‘I know.’

He groans from somewhere deep in his throat, head thrown back to expose his neck, and you want to kiss him again, swallow him down, consume him whole.

You close your teeth over the chain that’s swinging in your face so he can't pull away, and he moans, forehead knocking against yours. You bite down harder, wanting it to break, wanting to shatter it, shatter him. As if he can feel it, he grinds deeper, harder inside of you. You feel yourself clench, feel it begin to spiral. You spit the jewellery out to whimper, scratch down the length of his back over his shirt. He feels so good. Feels so fucking good, and it’s infuriating.

‘I hate you,’ you whine breathlessly. He moans into your neck, breath hot and damp against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ he gasps, ‘Feeling’s mutual, baby.’

He marks the sentiment with a particularly dirty kiss to your throat, and with that, you see stars. You clench and break and stutter around him, splintering and bursting around his cock, crying out so loudly that he secures his large palm over your mouth.

‘Yeah, good girl,’ he pants, ‘Good fucking girl.’

You moan again, and he can feel your body twitch with the aftershocks, contracting and leaking around him. He takes both your legs in his hands and places them on his shoulders, folding you into yourself, fucking into you deeper, harder than before, hitting another angle even more intense than the last. You cry desperately into the pillow, wincing as you tighten again, impossibly fast, too intense, too far away to warn him. But he knows. He can feel it. Tries to hold himself back a little longer to fuck you through it, reaching down to thumb your clit, swiping through the mess you’ve made, he’s made, entranced by the sounds you’re making, the slick sound of him moving in and out of your cunt, the lightheaded feeling he’s got, the desperation, the urge, the need -

He breathes in the scent of your skin as his thrusts get sloppier, inhaling deeply through his nose. He wishes he could kiss you again. Wants to feel the press of your mouth against his, the breaths you take, your tongue against his.

But if he does, it’ll be over. The game will be up, because he won’t be able to hold back the real want he feels, where all this anger stems from. He’s so nasty, so mean because he wants you so bad. So bad, from the moment you met. From the moment you looked him up and down and listened to his arrogant introduction with a little sneer. He wants that attitude - wants to fuck it right out of you.

Your ankle smells sweet against his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss and bite the bone there, feeling you tense and pulse around him at the scrape of his teeth. You twist in the sheets, breathing ragged, eyes scrunched shut, fists clenching the cotton as you moan his name, as you try and bite back the gasps and cries of your second orgasm.

‘Again,’ he grits out, ‘Again.’

‘Lucien -' you cry, reaching for him, ‘Lucien, fuck -'

He comes at the first flutter as you clamp down around him. Buries himself right down to the hilt as he spills inside you, coming with a pained moan and a murmur of your name, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks in and out of your pulsing cunt, fucking his spend deep. He lets your legs fall from his shoulders as he catches his breath, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress as he watches you come down, staring at the rise and fall of your chest beneath your dress, nipples still straining against the fabric. He wants to take them in his mouth, wants to work you up to take you again, but he slips out instead, brushes his hair back from his forehead, watches his cum begin to dribble out of your puffy cunt. You catch him and reach down to run your fingers through the mess of you both, and Lucien looses a strangled groan as you feed it to yourself, tongue working over your digits. You remove them with a pop, sliding your legs closed and settling yourself on your elbows.

He kneels back on the bed, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to focus on something that’s not you for just a moment as you rearrange your dress and swing your legs off the bed. He feels like he should say something, something to cut across what you've just done. Something appropriately callous, but he can't bring himself to. Can't find it within him.

He hasn’t even finished buttoning his pants before you swan out of the room, dress as perfect as it was before, clinging to your curves, moving with your steps. You don’t look back at him as you leave, don’t utter a word.

That familiar flare of anger rises in his chest again. A muscle ticks in his cheek, and he sits down heavily on the bed, clasping his hands together over his knees. He takes a deep breath, exhales through his nose. He soothes himself with the thought of your cunt leaking his cum all over your seat downstairs, thinks about how it’ll ruin your pretty little dress. Tries not to think about how he won’t be tearing you out of it later, won’t be able to taste himself mixing with you like he wants to.

Tries not to think about the perfume you had applied to your ankles.

Tries not to think about how maybe, just maybe, you’ve thought about this, too.

[faith-forgxtten-land]

That smut you wrote for Donnie was so good OMFG do you think you could write something for 2007 Leo (if you write for them IDK if you do) where Reader is giving him a blowjob? 👉👈 

Mouthful | Leonardo

i definitely write for 2007! in fact, please send me more 2007 asks, i'm actually kind of obsessed at the moment because i rewatched it the other day and this ask kind of got me out of a writing slump, so thank you very much anon. also, i took 'blowjob' and made it more face-fucking because i felt like it... hope you don't mind! enjoy!

warnings: NSFW (not proofread, read at your own risk), slight choking? face-fucking, bruises, degradation etc. it's just a bit filthy guys. mentions of pussy for reader, awful title but i was blanking so bad so don't judge. everyone is 18+!!

summary: leonardo is a mouthful

word count: 887, pretty short

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your knees are aching, you can feel the bruises already blossoming like petals blooming, but you don’t dare move, not even to reposition yourself as Leo fucks your face harder. He’s not being gentle or loving tonight, not after you spent the entire evening teasing him, and you can’t help the way it makes your stomach clench and your pussy leak.

You groan drunkenly around his cock as he pumps it over and over into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease, then fucking down beyond. It's not possible, you know it isn't, but it feels a bit like he's fucking deep enough to puncture your lungs and the thought only makes you wetter. A whine that sounds more like a breathless wheeze escapes you as his hand wraps around your neck and he pistons his hips rougher and somehow even deeper.

Vision blurry with both pleasure and ecstasy, you moan something; it might be his name or a wordless plea, you’re not quite sure, but it makes Leo growl darkly as he tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you further down on his cock until your face is pressed harshly against his plastron and his sweat drips onto your skin. It’s filthy and not particularly comfortable, but you’re too far gone to care. You’d take anything he’d give you with a smile and a thank you, although your smile might be drunk and your words might be nothing more than slurs at this point.

“Please, Leo,” you say as best you can around his cock, heavy and thick and taking up all the space in your throat. "L-Leonardo." It’s the biggest you’ve ever taken or ever will take, bordering on too big, but that just makes you need it more. It’s so perfect, you think dazedly. You might whimper it out loud, too, judging from Leo’s tightening grip that burns your scalp. You feel dizzy, like you’re about to keel over even from where you’re kneeling.

“What was that?” He asks, face taut and jaw clenched as he holds himself back from pumping load after load before he’s through with you. “I couldn’t quite make it out.”

It's humiliating and tears are gathering on your lashes like diamonds, stinging and sharp, before rolling down your flushed cheeks. “Please,” you beg again and this time Leo barks a cruel laugh at how broken you sound, please sounding more like wheezing gibberish, the word unable to form from where he’s got his cock blocking your airway.

“You’re such a good slut,” he coos, hand squeezing tighter around your throat. He curses loudly as you whine in agreement, grasping firmly and feeling his length inside you. He can’t help himself as he fucks your face faster, using your mouth like a fuck toy, praise and degradation in equal measure pouring from his lips in tandem with the slap, slap, slap of your face against his keratin. “You’re so fucking good for me,” he snarls, hand still gripping your neck in a way you know will leave impossible to hide, three-fingered bruises. “So fucking dirty, such a perfect mouth for me to use.”

Your moan is loud even with his cock still deep within your throat and that’s what it takes for him to come undone. He doesn’t pull back, doesn’t grant you the slightest hint of reprieve as he spills thread after thread, filling you up until you feel like you're drowning. “Swallow it,” he gasps. “All of it.”

You try to do as you asks, desperate to please him even in such a pathetic state, and you almost manage. It’s impossible to swallow it all, and you cough as he pulls his softening cock out of your throat with an obscene squelch that ignites a modicum of embarrassment in the depths of your mind.

Leo, as smug as ever even as he pants like he's run a marathon, runs a finger across your mouth and down your chin with a self-satisfied smile, gathering what come you couldn’t keep down and pushing it back past your lips. “Come on,” he murmurs softly, and you let your mouth fall open, watching him with hazy eyes as you work instinctively to clean up every last drop he’s willing to give you.

He might be a conceited bastard, but he’s looking at you with so much love and affection, even after fucking your face with abandon, when you know you look like a drooling mess, and it turns your limbs to jelly. You sag against him and your breath catches as his smile turns soft and gooey and that hand still around your throat slackens into a reverent caress. “I love you.”

The moment doesn’t last long; his dark eyes darken further, traces of honeyed endearment melting as you try to speak. Your voice is wrecked. “I love you too,” you croak, and before you can blink you’re on your back and Leo’s there, strong and imperious above you, clouding your vision and blocking out everything but him.

You giggle deliriously as his teeth sink into the column of your throat, right over one of those already flowering bruises, and you make a mental note to call in sick tomorrow because there is absolutely no way you’ll be able to walk when Leo is finished with you.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Absolutely love your writing :) Would you be willing to do a enemies to lovers but with hero x villain? Maybe with like a controlling villain and the hero secretly likes it but is defiant externally? Sorry idk if that made sense lol

Thank you in advance though if you're able to!

"You can't just keep crashing my dates."

The villain glanced over their shoulder, raising an eyebrow in a mimicry of an emotion that didn't quite reach their eyes. "No?"

"No." The hero stalked closer, stopping in front of the villain, in time for them to turn. "I'm not yours."

"No?"

"No!" The hero's heart gave a little skip, at the possibility that the villain would then look at them and then say (in a growl, or devastatingly matter-of-fact, or in a teasing purr) 'yes, you are' or 'you're most certainly mine'. The villain had done it before.

The villain tilted their head, offering the hero one of the two glasses of wine they had just poured.

The hero took it, anticipating.

The villain didn't say anything, simply watching them as they took a steady sip.

The hero's face burned but they refused, stubbornly, to look away.

The villain set their glass down on the counter behind them. No rush.

The hero imagined the villain grabbing them, kissing them, as they had done before too. Twirling them, glass flying and wine sloshing, and pressing them up against the nearest flat surface. They would change every no to yes and please and more.

They both knew the routine, the dance of it. It didn't need saying.

"Your dates look increasingly like me," the villain murmured. "Have you noticed?" Their hands stayed, agonisingly, at their sides, as they leaned lazy against the counter.

The hero blinked, not expecting the comment. They took a sip of the wine instead of replying, hoping that perhaps an equally steady silence might come across as cool and mysterious instead of flabbergasted.

The villain smiled. "Say please."

"W-what?"

"Say please if you want me to screw your pretty brains out until you can't think straight."

The hero spluttered. "That's not - I'm not - that's not why I'm here." They undoubtedly would say please, but it had never been so close to the start, so when there wasn't any excuse they could possibly give for the desperate needing of it.

"No?"

"No." The hero swallowed.

"So you don't go on your little dates just to wind me up?" The villain finally straightened, taking a step closer.

The hero stepped back, but didn't run, didn't want to. Mesmerised. Their mouth felt very dry. "No." Such a lie.

The villain's smile grew. "You don't secretly wish I'd kiss you, claim you, in front of all of them?"

"No." The hero jutted their chin up. "I'm not a thing to be claimed."

The villain advanced; the hero back-tracked.

"You don't," the villain continued, a honeyed murmur, "say no, because you love all the ways I can persuade you. Because then you can pretend you don't want this. Because you like watching me take control of you."

The hero's back hit the wall. Miraculously, the wine didn't spill, still clutched uselessly in one hand.

"No."

"Mm." The villain set their palms on either side of the hero's shoulders, and the hero felt the very air between them might start vibrating with the urge to close the gap. "Perhaps I'll never crash one of your dates again then."

The thought was unbearable. The villain was bluffing, right? They had to be bluffing.

The hero wet their lips. The villain's gaze dropped to follow the movement, then flicked back up to the hero's eyes.

"You're a bastard," the hero whispered, because it was true and it wasn't no.

"Why yes," the villain's eyes gleamed, "I am." They waited.

The hero's stomach squirmed. "Are you actually going to make me say it?"

"I thought I didn't control you. I thought you weren't mine."

The hero shivered.

"So how could I," the villain leaned in to the hero's ear, still not quite touching, "possibly make you do anything?"

"...please."

"What was that, love?"

"I hate you."

"Do you?" The villain's lips finally pressed against their skin, kissing down their neck.

"Yes. So much." The hero's head fell back, offering more of their throat. The wine glass drooped in their hand.

"Don't spill on my floor."

The wine glass righted with titan concentration. There was nowhere to put it down.

The villain kissed them; soft, so soft, a promise of so much more to come.

"Would you like me to stop?" the villain asked against their lips.

"...no."

"No?"

"No."

The villain hummed and kissed them again, a little harder. The wine glass wobbled treacherously in the hero's hand once more. The hero's other hand clutched the villain's shoulder.

"I think we're done with the stage in our relationship where you pretend to date other people," the villain said, when they pulled back, breathless. They caught the hero's chin, and their stare was, for a moment, serious.

The hero scrambled past the kiss-drunk haze, brow furrowing. "It's actually bothering you?"

"No," the villain said, in the same tone that the hero said no, meaning yes.

"Okay." The hero leaned in to kiss them, just once, reassuring.

Tension eased out of the villain's shoulders. The wicked playfulness returned, and they shoved the hero back against the wall again. The next kiss was a consuming, hungry thing, and the hero could only chase after more than they were given, gasping.

The villain nipped the hero's neck, before giving a chiding click of their tongue. It once again sent an anticipatory shiver of delight down the hero's spine.

"Oh, would you look at that," the villain said, with soft and bewitching menace. "You spilled my wine. However shall I make you pay me back for that?"

"Make me?" The hero bit their lip. "You think you can make me do anything? Please."

The villain grinned.

There were no more dates with other people after that.

[justwinginglife]

thinking of a Hoshina/narumi x Vice captain! reader who was raised to be a traditional wife for wealthy clans 🤔 Like she looks and acts like what people would scream wife material and in the field she be an aggresive fighter but still keeping a graceful look on her....i imagine she'll be the type to use aggresive weapons like SMGs just to contrast her character

Disclaimer- I am a Hoshina girlie through and through and idk if I would even know how to write Narumi but I will give it a shot for you anon. Thanks for trusting me with this request, I will do my best.

Three's A Crowd

You always thought you'd marry well, after all, you'd always been told that being a wife was what you were made for. And not just because you'd been raised by a governess in a proper household, no- you made the act of being a wife look effortless. If being a wife was a job, you were the CEO. If being your husband was a prize, the raffle tickets would've sold out.

Your parents would joke to family friends that you glided out of the womb in stilettos, ready to host dinner parties with your best wine and your best smile. And then when you were the youngest female to ever make Vice Captain in such a short amount of time, people just assumed talent was in your DNA at this point. You could completely brutalize the hell out of a kaiju, not even get your hands dirty or break a sweat, and then be back home in time to instruct the household staff which table settings to use for dinner and maybe even recommend a nice dessert pairing for whatever meal the chef had prepared.

Now, coming from a well-established clan, you had always assumed you'd marry one of the Hoshina brothers as your family had deep ties to the Hoshina clan and you'd known them since you were young, but you had also recently caught the attention of the Captain of the First Division and you could never resist a man with power.

As the Vice Captain of the Second Division, you were constantly meeting with the Captains and Vice Captains of other divisions, but for some reason you didn't meet the Captain of the First Division at any of those stiff meetings. In fact, he never showed up so you thought you might never meet him. But fate must've had other plans because one day as you were on your way home from meeting with the Vice Captain of the First Division, a kaiju decided to take a bite out of a nearby building and that's where you met Gen Narumi.

It's like he had known they were going to strike because he was onto them in a matter of minutes, skewering them like a kebab. You were impressed but you didn't want to let him have all the fun, especially since this might be the only time you ever interacted with him again. So you raced him to take down the remaining kaiju in the vicinity, gunning them all down with equal parts aggression and grace. He had been quite impressed by your agility and the elegance with which you slew each creature. So much so that he actually started showing up to his meetings from then on just to get a glimpse of you. And then he got greedier and a glimpse just wasn't enough for him anymore, he wanted to talk to you, get to know you.

Soon, a rivalry had formed between Gen and Soshiro as they both raced after your heart. The two of them were so different, pretty much the only commonality they shared were their feelings for you.

Gen was a quiet lover, he'd shrug people off when they'd ask if he was seeing you, keeping to himself about the details. But then he'd secretly leave a vase of your favorite flowers for you to find the next morning and if you confronted him about it he'd simply say your apartment looked so sad that even a bunch of weeds he'd scrounged from some random field was an improvement to the place. The flowers were not in fact wildflowers as he claimed, you could tell he'd gone to great lengths to buy the most expensive bouquet he could find from the hothouse but he'd never acknowledge it.

Soshiro was the exact opposite- he was loud about his love. He'd sling his arm around you, and brag to anyone who'd hear him about what a catch you were. He'd remind you everyday how much he adored you. And though it bothered him that Gen was attempting to court you too, he always felt he had the upper hand, having never seen Gen make any grand gestures for you or declare his love for you as openly as he did.

You were used to many men vying for your attention but you never thought that two of the most powerful fighters in the JAKDF would be among your long list of suitors. In fact, the two of them paid such frequent visits to the Second Division that you didn't think you'd even have time to look at any other men. Not that they'd let you look anyway, they'd pretty much assumed that one of them would be the one to marry you.

They weren't wrong. You did intend to choose from one of them as you'd grown quite fond of your little daily routines with each of them. Soshiro was always the first person to text you something sweet in the morning, he wanted you to get a taste of what it would be like to wake up next to him. Gen was always going out of his way for you, picking up dinner from your favorite restaurant an hour away or buying you a pair of earrings you mentioned in passing months ago, once he'd saved up enough for them (you had expensive taste).

It was the first time you felt like more than just some prize, you were actually wanted and desired as a human being. You felt like maybe even if you didn't say the right things or laugh at the right time, even if you fell short of the perfection you'd worked so hard to achieve your whole life, they'd accept you as you were.

It was both a blessing and a curse as you knew you'd have to pick eventually. As different as Gen and Soshiro were, they both did not share well and this little arrangement you had, seeing both of them, would not hold up for long.

But you'd hold out for as long as you possibly could. For as long as they'd let you.

After all, true love is hard to find and you'd stumbled on double the jackpot.

[holycrimin]

Is It Casual Now?

12!Donnie x Reader

(Friends-to-Pining-Idiots)

AN: wrote this on a whim bc I'm bored and am procrastinating. and also because we don't get enough friends-to-lovers fics lmao (also might make a sequel?). also might be ooc? idk

warnings(?): not alot, mild cussing?, might be a little ooc, mention of apritello but only brief,

_______________

It was a warm summer night...

Actually, who were you kidding? It was freezing. Okay, wait, maybe a bit of an exaggeration. It was still cold though, you stand by that.

"Want me to lower the AC? You look like you're dying."

"hrnn... But what about your experiment-thingy-thing? Wouldn't that like... affect it or something? Or was that the other one?" You ask, sniffling. Oh yeah, did you mention you were sick? Because you're sick. Sick as hell! Haha! haha...

No but seriously, you felt like you were dying. You bet it's not even that cold.

"Nah, don't worry that was the other one. It's in the freezer."

"Aw dude, Mikey might eat it or something."

"No he won't, there're like, a million warning stickers on that thing, he wouldn't—" You gave him a look,

"Crap." He ran out of his lab and went straight to the freezer.

Wait a minute, why were you here again?

Oh yeah, the project. And to hang out with Donnie, sure that too.

He came back with his experiment-thingy clutched in his arms. You sniff, "Dude—" "—Gross,"

"Shut up, anyway,"

"Why didn't you put it in your freezer? You literally have one right there." You pointed at the small metal box (that you're pretty sure he built himself) next to his desk.

"Because there's ice cream in there, and I don't want to share with my brothers."

"So what's your plan now?"

"What?"

"Should we like.. eat some of the ice cream to make room for your weird jelly-thing, orr..."

"Well I didn't think that far, sure, why not." He places the container down on his desk and takes out a small tub of vanilla ice cream.

"Ew, vanilla? that's so... Vanilla." You smile,

"Excuse you, that's for me. This, is for you." He says, taking out an equally sized tub of cookies and cream.

"Bro that vanilla has nuts in it, you like your ice cream with nuts? Ew."

"Oh nevermind, guess this is going back in the freezer," He takes the tub of cookies and cream ice cream and tries to put it back in his freezer.

"Wait, hold on, your honor I'm innocent!"

He chuckles, you smile.

"Shut up, dork, take the ice cream."

"Speak for yourse— Oh, oops, nevermind I forgot you had full control of my ice cream privileges."

"Mhm, yeah, that's what I thought."

He hands you a spoon and you notice a little red button at the bottom of it.

"What's this for?"

"For heating up the spoon so that we wouldn't have to wait like, half an hour to eat the icecream."

"God, that's such a good idea, you're a genius."

"Yeah, I know right?"

The two of you laugh as you both open your tubs of ice cream. Well, it was more of an attempt in your part. You eventually got Donnie to open it for you.

"Oh wait, my project... Whatever, it's the weekend, I'll do it tomorrow."

"And that's why you end up pulling all-nighters and get all grumpy on us when we talk to you on schooldays."

"Shh... SShhhut up. Eat your ice cream."

He chuckles.

It's quiet.

"Soo... How're things with April?"

And that is definitely not the way to start a conversation.

"Eh.. You know. The same it always is."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And back to quiet. It's nice, but you wish it wasn't so awkward.

"..I should've given you soup instead. Giving you ice cream was a bad choice on my part." He stand up to take the ice cream (which was already a quarter finished, by the way) from you.

"Aww, come on Don. I can have the— ha..." You sneeze, "..have the soup later. After ice cream."

He snorts, "Come on," he gently puts the back of his hand on your throat, then your forehead.

"Oh damn, I did that as a joke, but you're seriously burning up. Yeah, no, I'm getting you soup."

You let out a whine of defeat as the tub of ice cream gets taken away from you, and hey, was it this cold before?

"I'll get you a blanket too. Why'd you even come here anyway?" He smiles a little, "And don't say that you needed help with your schoolwork. We already covered that like, a week ago? Get some rest, man." Before he leaves, he puts the experiment-jelly-thingamabob in the freezer.

"'Kay."

Why were you here?

Easy, you liked hanging out with him.

Why?

Because.

..Because?

Because he's fun to be around?

Might need to think deeper than that.

Who are you, my therapist?

You're literally talking to yourself.

Whatever. Because... I don't know, he makes me.. happy? that sounds weird.

Yeah. Keep going anyway.

This self analysis thing is getting weird.

And he's back. You smile.

"I got some hot chocolate too. Had to be quiet though." He covers the both of you with the blanket, and hands you the soup.

"Damn, you're cold too?"

"Yeah duh, turtles are cold-blooded."

"So you've said."

He leans back,

"You gonna finish your little experiment here?"

"Maybe. I'm tired."

"What time is it?"

"Uhh.." He checks his t-phone, "1:10 AM."

"Whatt... You're telling me I've been here for six hours?" It's fine, your parents were out of town. You liked it better here anyway.

"Also, I really don't think you should get that close to me dude. I'm, in your words, 'seriously burning up'."

"Ughh.. but you're warm. And I don't wanna get up." He dramatically lays his head on your shoulder, fake-snuggling up to you.

He gets a laugh out of you, he grins.

"I'm tired."

"Yeah, me too." Donnie yawns, pressing a button on his remote. Suddenly, the lights started to dim.

You let out a breathless chuckle, "When'd you install that?"

"A couple weeks ago. You said you didn't like how bright the lights were. So I made this remote to dim the lights, then I got distracted and made more options, then turned it into a slider... then just... booshhh... yeah."

"You remembered that?"

"Of course."

That's actually pretty sweet.

You smile at him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. I'm gunna.... sleep. G'night."

"G'night."

And like that, he was out like a light. You just realized how close he was to you.

He's next to you, head basically on the crook of your neck. Both of you sharing the same thick blanket, with the empty bowl of soup that you didn't realize you had finished, and the half empty cup of hot chocolate.

And now, you start thinking to yourself,

Is there more to this?

No, you're just friends. Right?

But that tiny voice in your head that's getting increasingly bigger as the minute passes, is asking you:

Do friends do this for eachother?

Yes.

Are you sure?

What else could it be? What else could we be?

Do friends go out of their way to show up to your school in a disguise while it was pouring out to take you home?

He's just like that. He's nice, he's caring.

Do friends install fancy advanced remote-controlled lights just for you because you mentioned once how the lights were overwhelming?

..He's my friend. I'd do the same for him. Well, If I had the smarts.

But the difference is that you know how you feel.

Well.. Yeah.

Do friends leave lingering touches?

...

..Didn't he say he had a heater in here?

[vikingknight90]

Those who forgot about the teaser trailer, I beg you to look at it again and then compare it to the finished movie version, the changes are hilarious like

In the teaser trailer, Miles is... SO awkward, he hides about a dozen more things (including underwear agdhsg) trips over himself and when Gwen looks at his sketchbook (she even only looks at one drawing versus several in the movie) he slumps over like he's dead that she just saw one of his drawings, meanwhile Gwen is just chill through the whole thing, acting like seeing Miles again is just a casual tuesday night, no hug, no remarking his "growth spurt", she's just like "hey nice to see you, anyway let's get out of here"? (I'm also pretty sure Miles is a slightly younger model here, it looks like a segway model between his ITSV and ATSV self, which is a curious detail. it might also be the model they used in the Spider Within short?)

then there's the final film version and they really said "you know what, let's make Miles less awkward and Gwen twice as awkward)

Miles hides maybe two or three things and briefly does the fake-deep voice thing but Gwen? instantly leaps for a hug, punches his arm, cringes at herself for nearly giving away that oh no he's hot is her first thought (like the "growth spurt" comment wasn't a product of that lmao), fangirls over his things and opens his collectible like that's apparently a normal thing to do in her universe (??) so it must be totally cool here too! she gains some leverage back when seeing his drawings and Miles is still embarrassed but at least remains standing behind her awaiting her judgement instead of nearly falling over, like it's hilarious how they decided that Gwen needs to be a more realistic awkward teenager seeing her crush again after a long while and sure Miles is awkward too but he still has some control of himself and has far more rizz than before (is that what the slang is nowadays?) and you gotta love the creators for that, the teaser scene in general made it seem like Miles' crush really was one-sided and he's still his awkward ITSV self who glued his hand to Gwen's hair, both their characters and relationship have evolved and speaks so much more in the final product and idk how to end this rant but just wanted to highlight it for those who forgot about the teaser trailer. (also for someone who wasn't that into gwiles in the first movie and the teaser did nothing to make me more interested it's equally funny to see how adorable and filled with chemistry I find their interactions now, all the credit to the atsv writers)

[russsiangirl]

art donaldson x reader headcanons ( both young and dilf art.. ) both banners by me!

starting off strong with young art ( heheh )

i feel like y'all met for a goofy reason

either he asked you for a piece of gum in a class because he ran out

that boy NEEDS his gum he can't live without it ( oral fixation? idk )

OR he saw you on the tennis court when you were meeting up with a friend of yours

you had heard of him of course, he had won the one tournament with his friend

but,, he sadly had his eyes on tashi duncan, not that you could exactly blame him, you've seen her - all lean muscle and tan skin.

that is until tashi starts dating patrick

he's kinda like a kicked puppy , a very jealous one

he's desperate to get his mind off of them, so he finds you

you're perfect for him, you're sweet, pretty, kind. but you're also pliable.

art's seen the way you'd look at him with those pretty eyes when he asked you a question, the way you would slightly stumble over your words

he would wanna laugh sometimes, not in a mean way, more of a 'how cute..' kinda way, yk?

he's a mastermind,, maybe manipulative but that just makes it better

he taps your shoulder one day and is like "hey so would you like,, wanna go out sometime?"

now you thought that he was just gonna ask for help with the assignment, but this- this was unexpected, but good. really good.

you obviously say yes & it goes great! after a couple dates you two start something that resembles a relationship

art is a sweetheart, buying you gifts, treating you to dinner when he can, taking you to his games - model boyfriend!

he loves being romantic and spending quality time with you

also double dates with tashi & patrick ( tension )

you notice the way patrick looks at art and you suspect something. had something happened between them?

you had heard about how tightly-knit the two of them were and something just didn't seem right

so after the date and you two go back to the dorm or wherever y'all are staying you ask him what was up with him and patrick

art shuts down, not saying anything and goes completely silent.

he's not one to talk about things like these or his past

art likes to talk as much as he loves to listen

like if you found a new interest and/or hyperfixation he would listen to you and find so endearing

he loves the way you get so excited and you just beam at him whenever you do something that makes you happy, it makes him just as equally happy

art also loves when you wear his clothes, he finds it funny how they drape over you since he's like six foot.

art does like being praised ( take that as you will ) but when you're reassuring him, especially after his games or practice or anything he just wants to shower you with all the affection he can muster <3

this is my late fathers day present to y'all.. enjoy

ah yes, art as a father, my favorite

he's not married at this point ( sadly no tashi, they got divorced )

he's a lot more tired than he was back in college, obviously

y'all definitely met at some sort of event, you were a reporter for a sports magazine who had sent you to cover whatever it was that you were there for

you just didn't know it would involve art

when you first see him, you didn't really know what to expect - but not this

art with his short-cropped sandy hair and pretty blue eyes and blonde lashes, he looks ethereal, almost like he doesn't belong here

he was distracted most of the interview, too distracted by you with your sweet voice and nice hands and silly questions

so you two rescheduled, over dinner! win-win, you get to spend more time with him and you get your job done

the two of you connect really easily and you agree to do this again, without the interview part

there's something about the two of you thats so entrancing to each other

IMAGINE WITH AN AGE DIFFERENCE

like you're 21 - 22 and he's like 32.. it only makes him crave you more, he can show you things you've never seen

you might be a bit skeptical, but art is telling you that you can trust him, he won't push boundaries, none of that and you do trust him

he does let you meet lily eventually and when you do, you're enamored with her, she's so sweet and you could see art in her

you knew about his past relationship with tashi, but you didn't mind

but older!art is also romantic, sure the paparazzi is interested in the two of you - so most of the dates are at home. he likes it better that way

ough,, this was a LOT - late father's day present yk.. i love you guys - enjoy this! like and follow if you enjoyed these hehe

[batboyblog]

The recent Chappell Roan thing is why I absolutely hate the lack of political literacy in this country. Big-name celebrities think they're really cooking when they say "well Kamala still supports blowing up Palestinian babies because she won't cut ties with Israel, so therefore I'm not voting for her and you shouldn't either! Both her and Trump suck so I'm not voting/voting third party!"

Like it or not, Israel is an ALLY of the United States. We CAN'T just cut ties with them unless it's a long drawn-out process, and even then it's probably NEVER going to happen. This is basic shit we learned in social studies, holy shit!

Trump would be so much fucking worse for everyone involved, including Palestine, and not voting or voting third party is pretty much just handing your vote over to Trump due to how voting WORKS in a two-party system dictated by the fucked up electoral college.

This was a long ramble and you've probably gotten similar asks the last few months like this, but fuck, I just have to get this off my chest, and the most recent event with her was like the straw that broke the camel's back. Celebs in general need to shut the fuck up about politics unless they are actually partaking in activism instead of this virtue-signaling bullshit.

Taking things one thing at a time.

I'll admit to having only seen Chappell Roan's final video on the subject, so idk what she said before that (outside of generally)

The two things that really stuck out to me and pissed me off about that live/video was she 1. accused Democrats (she said "the left" but was clearly in context talking about the Democrats) for "transphobic policy" (also genocidal, equally silly) and it was SUCH a groundless lie, such a baseless, stupid, uninformed, silly lie. It'd be like saying "yes the right is bad! but Kamala Harris says she wants to shoot a pony every day of her Presidency and I can't support that!" And to be a Queer artist who's whole thing is centering Queer art, particularly drag who's got a young maybe not very informed queer fan base who's made talking about trans rights your main political thing to just lie about the nature of the threat to trans rights and trans lives at this moment is fucking awful and downright criminal.

Listen right now Republicans are aggressively attacking Democrats on trans rights. Trump went after Harris at their debate for "trans surgeries for illegal aliens in prison!" Republicans are attacking Tim Walz as "tampon Tim" for the idea that he supports trans male students having access to tampons (and other crazy transphobic attacks on him) Republicans are centering transphobia as a main campaign issue, anyone who gives a fuck about trans people in this nation should know Trump and Creepy Vance in charge of the federal government? is the nightmare. You can't claim to care about trans people or be "centering" them and not be doing all you can to stop Republicans at the ballot box this November. And both siding it and saying bullshit that somehow it will be just as bad if Democrats win is not stopping Republicans no matter how you personally vote.

The Second thing in her video that really annoyed me was she said she was voting for Harris but then had a whole word salad about how everyone needed to make up their own minds about who would be best. Basically saying that while she was voting for Harris, a vote for Trump was a reasonable conclusion people could reach. Again if you truly care about the issues she says she cares about, no, you can't vote for Trump. And again to use your platform to push "both sides" is to throw the very people you claim are your brand under the bus in the worst way.

I don't like to throw people under the bus for their family, Tim Walz' brother is a MAGA lunatic for example, but Chappell Roan talked about Republican family that "loved her" and I can't help but wonder if she was thinking of her Republican State Rep uncle, Darin Chappell. Again people can't control family members and I'm not asking anyone to come out and attack their family in public. I'm just wondering if her views on Republicans and finding a middle ground and "they still love me" is colored by Uncle Darin and not understanding he might love her and be proud of her but he still walks into the Missouri state capital and votes for abortion bans and transphobia.

to move onto the meat of your ask which I think is less about Roan in particular and more generalized about a certain type of celebrity and GenZ very on-line types. On the whole Israel-Palestine thing, I think most of the people posting about it know very little or know a lot of misinformation, you every see people boldly posting "I don't need to know everything to know right from wrong!" you run into that a lot. And I'd say yes, you do need to know a lot to comment on a complex multi generational ethnic-political conflict with many state and non-state actors.

Last night JD Vance and Tim Walz had their debate and every time there was an issue, housing costs, medical costs, gun violence, inflation, Vance would move it around to how if we just deported all the immigrants the issue would be fixed, no more drugs no more gun violence, housing would be cheap, just get rid of the people I don't like.

And I see a lot of that with Israel, "Palestine is a climate issue!" "Queer as in Free Palestine!" etc where if we just get rid of Israel it'll all be fixed. Which of course connects to long standing antisemitic ideas about Jews running the world, people happily sub in the word "Israel" or "Zionist" and then repeat the same old racism thats followed the Jews around for 1,000 years.

So long and short I think most people talking about Palestine don't know enough to talk about it, but what's worse don't really care about Palestine at all

I'm reminded here of Trump's "Deal of the Century". Oh? you don't remember it? shocker, in January 2020 Trump released a "peace plan" drawn up with no Palestinians involved, where Israel would be allowed to annex everything in the West Bank it would want, the Jordan Vally cutting Palestine off from Jordan and totally encircling it with Israel. The West Bank would be Swiss cheesed up into little pockets connected by tunnels or overpasses but with Israeli territory running through it everywhere. The Palestinians said "no!" and then Netanyahu claimed that Trump had green lit Israel to annex the land it wanted even without Palestinian agreement to the plan and without giving the Palestinians anything. There was some confusion and thankfully that didn't happen. We may never know the fully story of what stopped it, but I do think Trump agreed to annexing much of the West Bank, but pulled back under pressure from Gulf Arab Oil states who later in 2020 made peace with Israel in the Abraham Accords in an effort to stop Netanyahu's annexation plans.

any ways to point out, 1. Palestine was on the edge of annexation the end of the dream of Palestinian statehood in any meaningful sense, and where were the protests? the encampments? etc? it never comes up, 4 years ago, and all the people who live and breath this stuff never mention it? 2. We have reason to believe Trump signed off on a far-right government of Israel annexing much of the West Bank, his "peace plan" abandoned the outlines that American Presidents since Bill Clinton set forward for getting a Palestinian state on 95+% of the West Bank in favor of "what does the Israeli right want?" and again no one is talking about it in the context of this election, we know what he'll do, because he's done it before.

but again its not really about the Palestinians, its not about building a Palestinian state, its "get rid of Israel" and then what? what happens to the 9 million people who live in Israel? and people don't have a realistic answer, because its a political fantasy that if they just do X everything will magically get better, even on totally unrelated issues.

[footballffbarbiex]

When World's Collide.

another of my "need to get these thoughts out" kinda blurbs.

idk if anyone is even still into this pairing but I am so idgaf. enjoy. (and yes, I already know where this is gonna go for a proper full length smut, should it be wanted)

warnings: restraints, teasing. full piece warnings may include and more may be added: restraints, teasing, edging, oral (m+f), fingering, threat of breeding, threesome, protected sex, dirty talk, size kink, praise.

A/N: I realise the tone of this may seem...a little non consensual, but I assure you it is. lets just say, she has an agreement between them for FWB and has previously divulged that she would have a threesome with the two of them. there's only so much back story I can try to slip into this snippet for context. but it's fully consensual. don't come for me.

_

"Shh, shh, shhhhh," Trent hums as you begin to tug at the restraints. his lips are against your ear as he whispers the instruction, with one finger pressing against your own lips as another silent command.

you hadn't felt him climb onto the bed, but the heat from his body tells you that he's not simply standing at the side of it, he's right there next to you. had you fallen asleep and not noticed him do so? no, you're certain you'd remember waking up at least.

"did you think we'd forgotten about you?" he asks, the tip of his nose rubbing against your cheek and you inhale the smell of his aftershave.

we?

"aww, you did, didn't you?" the voice hadn't come from Trent and against your better judgement, your head snaps to the side it came from to try and see him. the fabric covering your eyes annoys you now more than ever, the feel of it each time you move your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering against it makes you want to rip the eye mask off even more.

your body reacts and he laughs. "oh baby, if you're like this now before I've even touched you..." the voice trails off ever so quietly and you now feel another dip on the mattress. you'd know that unmistakable voice anywhere, and your pussy clenches at the sound of it as images of the two of them looking down at your body in such way leaves you feeling a mess.

"you liked the gift that I left for you, I see..." Dominik's voice sounds again and it's only now that you realise the underwear that you're wearing wasn't left by Trent like you'd initially thought.

"the gift that you..." you repeated to yourself out loud and he chuckles.

"what did you think was going to happen when you were playing us off against each other?" Dom's voice is closer now and a hand from the side of you where he seems closest traces gently over your leg. your instinct is to pull it away but those delicate touches turn harsher as his hand holds your leg in place.

"I don't know what you mean," you try and bluff but it sounds every bit the lie it is.

you hear the movements as much as you feel them; the footsteps, the way the mattress dips under the weight of another, the rattle of the handcuffs against the frame as his body jolts yours and finally the feel of the eye mask being tore away from your face. the sudden brightness of the room makes you squint, even though it's dimly lit from what you'd set up earlier.

Dom's face looks equally as annoyed as Trent's as you look between them. "you don't know what I mean?" Dom asks, tone just as pissed as his expression. "so you didn't say to me earlier how you'd be interested to see what pretty little noises you'd make while gagging on his cock if I fucked you?"

before you have chance to reply or really react, Trent intersects "or how you said to me that I'd find you here and that if I didn't want to walk in on Dom filling up your pussy instead of me, then I'd better get here quickly otherwise I'd be forced to watch how to really get you off?"

"Oh is that what she said?" Dom asks Trent, momentarily forgetting what they were doing, with genuine interest and changes his expression to one of pride. "Anyway, it sounds like you invited us both here for this." Dom turns back to you, and the hand which had gripped your leg begins to move gently once more, exploring over your thigh from your knee to the hem of the underwear. "and you're laid out like a fucking gift to be taken."

"sounds like the two of you have an ego clash and are now here to make a point." you backchat, trying to ignore the way your pussy reacts to having his fingers so dangerously close to the two points that you'd love nothing more than for him to touch.

"I'm not here to make a point princess, I'm here to prove your point." Dom grins.

you hate that he knows your body so well. you know that he's capable of bringing you to an orgasm quickly and earth shatteringly. he's spent hours getting to know what you like, what you love and mastering it all. Trent can bring out the best - and worst of your desires - in you, but Dom brings a whole new meaning to worship. your body knows his touch, knows what it's capable of and acts on its own accord, tilting your hips towards him pleadingly.

"look at you, so needy." Trent tuts, his dark eyes seem darker as lust glazes them.

"is this what you wanted?" Dom asks, sitting beside you now as his fingers stroke gently over your covered pussy. you buck beneath his touch, silently trying to manoeuvre his fingers to where your clit is.

ah ah ah, they both seem to mutter, forcing you to clench your teeth and wait impatiently. both had very different styles when it came to being with you, leaving you wondering how they would work together.

"spread your legs wider," Trent instructs and you do so, not wanting to give them reason to edge you. "it's a nice set," Trent says, running a finger over the cup of your bra, taking in the way it hugs your body in the way it should.

"what can I say?" Dom begins, circling his finger over your clit until it makes you whimper. he adjusts himself and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your lower abdomen, across to your hip, grazing your skin with his facial hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your thigh and playfully nips at the inside of it before you feel the heat from his mouth over your clothed slit, "I have excellent taste."

[iamnmbr3]

I hate it when people say Ginny "deserved better" when it comes to the way she was written and portrayed in canon. I'm sorry but no she didn't deserve better. She was a barely there Mary Sue character who existed primarily to be the future wife of Harry and link to him joining the Weasley family. She was also supposed to be this very powerful witch but again it never paid off. She didn't amount to anything. She turned out to be a big nothing burger of a character.

Idk. I do think she deserves better, though I definitely get where you're coming from. Ginny as a character really annoys me from book 6 on. Book 6 and 7 Ginny feels like a shallow and annoying Mary Sue and also is just kinda mean and I hate that she never gets called on her bad behavior. As soon as I feel like a story is trying to shove a character down my throat and insist that I love them and that they are flawless, I kinda feel turned off by the character and I want to hate them out of spite. Ginny's pettiness and stuff like her being pretty awful to Fleur and getting angry at Harry for even saying something nice about Fleur even though he has no romantic interest in her just really rubs me the wrong way. Especially bc these flaws are ignored and even glorified by the story. Plus there's not much there with her character.

She feels like this kinda wish fulfillment empty vessel. And I hate that she gets touted as this perfect girl for Harry when their romance feels so empty and her character feels so un-compelling - which is honestly pretty unusual because generally the characters in HP are really interesting, even the ones we only hear a little about.

Now that said, I still do actually feel that she deserves better. What do I mean by that? Well, first of all, in-universe she ends up with someone who frankly, doesn't pay much attention to her. Harry barely knows anything about Ginny and never makes her his priority. Even in the epilogue it feels like he barely even consulted her on naming their children. He never really views her as an equal or respects her opinion. And she seems to feel pressured to act a certain way to please him. Like not crying in front of him because it might bother him, but apparently having been extremely upset after their breakup according to Ron etc. I don't think they are really compatible or have a deep or substantive relationship and I think that's sad and she (or anyone in that situation) deserves better.

Also from a more Doylist POV she deserved better because her character had so much potential. I actually loved Ginny in book 5. She has a lot of growth but also still feels connected to who she was in the first 4 books. She doesn't need to be amazing and perfect at everything. She's human and real. She catches a snitch by luck because it was slow and her competitor looked away at the wrong moment - and she has the humility to notice and admit this. And it doesn't matter. Harry's professional-level good at Quidditch. She's good at other things. Also Harry and Ginny actually have a deeper and more trusting relationship in that book than in book 6, but I digress. She doesn't need to suddenly be an amazing seeker and an amazing chaser and be #NotLikeOtherGirls and super into Quidditch (even tho she wasn't in book 4) to be likable but book 6 makes her all these things and it just takes away from the real and human and flawed and empathetic and actually funny Ginny we have in book 5.

Also her whole backstory from book 2 was really promising. She and Harry could've bonded over both having had Voldemort inside their heads. She could've provided critical insights about Tom Riddle since she spent a year essentially being pen pals with him. She could've had an epic arc where in book 7 she took on a more central role in the fight and ultimately got to face her childhood monster and destroy a Horcrux. Also there was just a lot to explore with her dealing with the trauma from book 2. She could've done so much. But nope. She just gets reduced to Love Interest TM. So yeah we had this really great character who was just coming into her own in book 5 and had all this amazing potential and then gets absolutely torpedoed by JKR bc she doesn't know how to write romance. And I do think that's a shame.

Now I ship drarry and I think that's always going to be the most interesting and well set up relationship for Harry to be in. But I think Harry and Ginny getting together the way they did is realistic but I think they would then realize they aren't really a good match - they don't know each other and both are more attracted to the idea of each other than anything else. I think them realizing this and working through it would be something interesting to explore in an 8th year fic.

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world! 

playlist 

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.