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fayes-fics · 5 months

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Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers.

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer.

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered.

“Are you sure?”

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him.

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict.

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room.

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby.

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you.

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?”

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later.

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse.

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank.

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours. “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome.

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot.

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is.

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body.

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area.

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.” His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise.

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you.

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time.

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly.

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does.

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone.

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage.

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm.

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world.

Which to you both, they are.

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jadeneppy · 2 years

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Hmmmm

#i really miss playin sky but im so behind and beleeeeh #I MISS DAU AND LERA SMMMM #idk what the new season is and i dont wanna spend money for the cosmetics even tho i REAAAALYY want em #grinding for 20 candles took 3 hours for me last time and i just dont have that free time anymore :(#xzzt #i miss playin with all my sky friends i also dont even wanna THINK about goin through eden with the new mechanic #LIKE YOU CANT EVEN HONK TO REVIVE OTHERS???#but anyway its in vent tag so might as well vent a bit #still kinda lonely and i wanna cuddle some 1 :(((#all i can think about is cuddling and kissing and i wanna be with someone who can make me feel warm n fuzzy again #i miss being in love so much #maybe it was infatuation but i really thought i did love them for 7 years it was the happiest time for me #all i would do was gush about how much i loved em and how i wantrd to grow old and live together and how we'd decorate the house #how many pets ect #but then shit eith w*ndy happened and my world crashed for the first time and bleh ough #i dont think we ever recovered from that like i honestly wanted to end myself after that and i finally went on anti dependents #tho they burned my throat so much and made me feel numb i took em everyday and acted like they helped but they really didn't #hm hm this should really go on my vent blog if it gets any deeper so #hm ig i just wanna be loved and held and cherished like when i was over there #us crying the day before i had to leave will always be in my memories #i was so fuckin sad when i had to leave but i didnt wanna wake em up cuz i knew theyd cry again and id cry too so i just kissed their cheek #but yeah i think that was the last time i saw em irl #:neppyflop: god those were good times tho #bleh i think i should sleep before i trigger myself

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astralnymphh · 10 months

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stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy.

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes?

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak.

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?"

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.."

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table.

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead."

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?"

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.."

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els?

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate?

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish.

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~"

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut. You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped.

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.."

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods.

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.."

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either.

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring.

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around."

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit.

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.."

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–"

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out.

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches.

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from.

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–"

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much.

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.."

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto.

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!"

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.."

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar."

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

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francixoxoxo · 2 months

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⋆.˚ Rose Gold ᡣ𐭩 ୨ৎ

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝟏𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭. 𝐇𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 �� 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!! 🫶🫶

Ballet seemed to be the only way for you.

Your feet were molded to fit into slippers, never mind if your toes were bruised and broken. You were gratefully blessed with thick hair, because years of updos would have thinned it to a rag-doll’s amount otherwise. You grew used to the dull ache of an empty stomach. Your body was made to be tugged and bent and manipulated without so much as a complaint, you were made to push every comfortable limit. You were born to sacrifice comfort for greatness.

Coriolanus had recognized that greatness since you were children. He saw that immense talent, as he sat in the very back of the theater in a seat you’d begged your director to provide. You’d been so young, at the first show you brought him to. Perhaps just twelve. But so, so magnetically beautiful.

The stage was your Eden, Coryo could tell from the start. The dainty way you moved, the way your brows pulled taught in an expression equally as emotional as the dance. He couldn’t peel his eyes off you, clearly the company could see that was the overwhelming sentiment because you got most of the lead parts. You were their prima ballerina, and you deserved every ounce of the praise for your bone-cracking work.

Coryo, even in your academy days together when he could hardly afford a half-decent tie, never came empty handed to your shows (which he seemed to always find a way to attend). He always had a bouquet of flowers for you, the bright tulips you adored or soft pink peonies to match your tutu. It was always worth it to see the way your eyes lit up.

It was needless to say that Coryo fell in love with the beautiful-souled, elegant ballerina. How could he not, after years of being so close to you?

Tigress and you were the ones to teach him how to dance for his first prom, his cousin not-so-discreetly recording Coryo learning to dance the lead with his “little girlfriend” in the Snows’ apartment. (Coriolanus had protested to that nickname, claiming you were a “friend who was a girl.”) He still remembered the feeling of your waist under his hand as you gracefully moved, stark contrast to himself. More embarrassingly he still remembered you and Tigress had both broken into giggles at Coryo’s unrelenting stiffness. He liked to think he was a better dancer now.

You’d been the one to walk with him to the library, if only to check out classical dance magazines into your backpack while he studied. You’d always leave early for ballet lessons. He knew you were a hard worker, dedicated to your craft. But Coryo hadn’t known the half of it.

Once, he recalled, you’d gone straight to the changing room instead of coming to greet your father or Coriolanus. He’d been puzzled, holding his bunch of white roses in the crook of his arm and asking the other dancers what’d happened. They’d only shrugged. So he might have snuck behind stage, confident that the rest of the ballerinas were still taking photos and chatting with family, and knocked on the changing room door.

“Yes?” Your voice rang out, croaky and raw. His heart had dropped at the sound.

“It’s just me. Can I come in?” Coryo called to you, his ear to the door. You shuffled around before opening the door yourself.

Just as he’d expected, your eyes were red and blotchy, mascara running. You’d taken out the comb in your hair but not the updo itself. Your tutu, though you’d been raised and reprimanded to take extreme care of the company’s accessory, was discarded on the floor beside your ballet slippers. As Coryo stared down at you, hips brows furrowing in concern, you stood in your pale pink leotard and snow-white tights. Through the sheer fabric he could see the bandages around your feet, scabs reopened and bleeding through the gauze to your tights.

You’d sniffled. “It’s fine. It wouldn’t show under the slippers.” As if that was his cause of worry. You stepped aside to let him into the dressing room, stiffly sitting himself down on a mauve chaise. He set the roses beside him.

“Are you all right?” Coryo cooed, watching you as you sat beside him. You pulled your knee to your chest with your foot on the upholstery.

You shook your head. “I made a mistake on my pirouette en dehors.” You wiped your eyes, spreading more mascara onto your cheeks. Coryo just stared, so you swallowed down the lump in your throat. And yet still your voice was meek and raw. “The spin. I ended it far too early, made a fool of myself. Nearly fell over, too!”

Coriolanus shook his head, watching you tear your updo down and shake out your hair with a roughness all too aggressive for his liking. He reached for your hand. “I thought you did amazing.”

“Because you don’t know ballet!” You bawled, your lips pulling in a grimace as more tears poured down your rosy cheeks. It was evil of Coryo to think, but he couldn’t deny you were pretty when you cried. “Oh, Coryo, I’ve never danced so sloppy in my life! And there was a critic in the house!”

He didn’t get it one bit. You were lovely. Every ballerina adored your kind nature or was jealous of your undeniable talent. You’d entranced him, mind, body and soul, with every move you made— on and off stage. He hadn’t realized how much effort it took to look, well, effortless.

It was then that Coriolanus realized just how hard you worked, just how much of your life ballet consumed. And he adored you more for it, as he folded you into his arms and promised you were a born star.

For years, you flourished. Your grace was unmatched, the emotion you could convey in the simplest of movements spoke volumes in a medium that used no words. You had the loving care and support of your father, your mother long gone. Coryo provided a kind of companionship that was invaluable. You were, with no exaggeration, a star.

When Coryo became a mentor for the Hunger Games, you saw him a bit less. It was all right, you supposed. You were busy too. Though, it did sting when he didn’t attend your ballet company’s performance of Appalachian Spring. The only show he had ever missed. After the news of his cheating in the Games and his relationship with Lucy Gray got out, it was only salt in the wound.

You weren’t sure why you expected letters from him when he was sent to the Districts. Life went on, you supposed. Even though you sorely missed seeing his face in the crowd, which seemed to only diminish.

The company was failing. They were holding on, grasping at straws, under the immense pressure of closing. That just about ripped your heart to shreds. And, as if the world was endlessly trying to knock you down, your father fell fatally ill. Dead within the month.

Ballet was the only way for you. But without your father’s support, and (though your family name had never been particularly prestigious) no social standing, other companies were reluctant to take you on. Your talent didn’t seem to matter in a world that revolved around social status.

With the ballet company’s sinking, so was your career. You saw yourself walking languidly towards a cliff, your mind in despair, your eyes witnessing where the road ended, yet your feet betraying you— It was hardly their fault. The finale of your passion, your life, was impending and inevitable.

The theatre was putting on A Midsummer Night’s Dream tonight. Coriolanus’ platinum blonde curls were still cropped, he rubbed a now-calloused hand over his head as he sat in the back row. It wasn’t difficult to score a seat anymore, perhaps now that his new internship with Dr. Gaul put some money in his pockets the cost of a ticket seemed less steep. Perhaps his memory served him wrong. Or, more likely, the prices had lowered exponentially.

Coriolanus was stone faced as he watched the stagnant red curtain, inoffensive music playing before the ballet began. He’d expected there to be as much of a turnout as there had been the last show he attended; but he could only count fifty-six people finding their seats. He couldn’t see your father, who he usually sat with, anywhere.

He paid it no mind. The moment the performance started, his icy blue eyes were focused solely on you. You could’ve been the only ballerina on stage, though the program in his lap said otherwise. You were a magnificent Hermia, as the program listed you were dancing.

Even after years of watching ballet, Coryo wasn’t very cultured in it. But any fool could see you looked utterly stunning in a pale pink, flowing dress to your calves with a gold-trimmed bust. Your tresses were done in an intricate updo, topped with a decorated comb. Watching you move, daintily and freely yet practiced— he forgot to breathe.

Coryo was entranced.

In Coryo’s lap he held a bouquet of hawthorn, purple hyacinths, pansy and bluebells— wrapped in white, tied off with a dainty, baby pink ribbon. It was rather beautiful, he’d taken care in which he chose, double-checking the meanings of the specific flowers with the florist. He knew you’d understand them, he recalled your raving about a secret language hidden in petals. He’d never been able to afford such an intricate bouquet for your previous shows.

Coriolanus wondered what you would think of him now, in a crisp white dress shirt, a simple black suit to let his red tie and coat pop. Those blonde curls you loved shaved down. Bearing expensive flowers. And in his pocket, a rose-gold bracelet dotted with diamonds.

Oh, he felt like a little boy again, admiring your radiance on stage, blue eyes round and glimmering with adoration. You were exuding passion, an overwhelming and raw talent.

When the final curtain drew, he set about finding you. It wasn’t how it had been when you were younger; ballerinas no longer took photos with family in their little pink tutus. He followed the masses to the lobby of the theatre, hanging by the grand door he knew you and the other dancers would come flooding from. In his red coat’s pocket he rubbed a thumb over the velvet jewelry box for you. The other hand clutched the bouquet, the flowers that bared every feeling.

None of the ballerinas that slipped from the backstage were you, to his dismay. For a moment he thought you might’ve slipped out a back door. Coryo still hadn’t seen your father, there wasn’t a point in coming to the front if he wasn’t attending. He leaned his back against the marble wall, frowning down at your flowers, until the door creaked open, and his azure eyes flicked up to see if the girl was you, and to his delight—

“Coryo?”

Oh, you hadn’t realized how large the hole he’d left in your heart gaped until Coryo was standing in front of you. Your Coryo.

“You’re here.” You must’ve sounded so silly. You certainly felt silly. You were already out of your costume, in a loose white sweater, soft and short pink skirt over black leggings. And here he was, in a sharp suit and tie, a gorgeous coat.. Stark contrast to the young boy who couldn’t scrape together a decent suit-jacket for your shows. The young boy who had filled out and chiseled into a man.

Coryo smiled softly down at you, eyes twinkling fondly. He offered the bouquet to you, his voice gentle and smooth as silk. “I’m here.” You took the bouquet absentmindedly, admiring it for a brief moment before shifting it to the crook over your elbow and turning your attention to Coriolanus again.

He looked so different, yet all the same. Those soft blue eyes slightly sharper but not any less attractive. His hair, Christ, that was the thing you couldn’t keep to yourself.

“Your hair!” You breathed, reaching up to push a dainty hand through his grown-out blonde buzzcut. It caught him a bit off guard, but he leaned his head down and chuckled.

“It’ll grow.” Coryo shrugged, letting your hand slip from his hair but not without grabbing it with his own. He leans down to press his lips to your knuckles. You think you might be in heaven. “You were amazing up there. Just.. angelic.”

You wondered if the heat in your cheeks was obvious. “Thank you..” Suddenly you had no words. Well, you had plenty to say. Plenty of thoughts, certainly. But no way to say them just yet. Coryo must’ve been able to tell.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Coriolanus’ brows drew together hopefully. You got a faint idea he might actually be nervous. To your dismay he dropped your hand gently. “You must be tired, but..”

“No, no, I’d love to.” You blurted, cutting him off with a bright smile. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow.

Coryo couldn’t stifle his grin. He decided to save your gift for later, as he guided you through the grand doors of the theater and to his car. Your lips had formed into an “o” at the long, cream-white vehicle. It even had a hood ornament, the silver logo of the expensive brand. “Oh, Coryo, it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t stop yourself from gasping your next words, though you were mortified after uttering them, “Since when could you afford something like this?”

You thought he’d be offended, but he just chuckled and opened the passenger door for you. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Restaurants weren’t exactly open at this time of night— atleast not any that Coryo found good enough to bring you to. So he settled to bring you to a gelato place he recalled you loved, sitting outside with you and watching the people go by. The streetlamps cast the dark street in soft yellows, the city was still very much awake.

You felt awake. For the first time in months, you felt your heart beating, you felt an honest smile gracing your lips. Seeing Coryo again was a breath of fresh air you hadn’t realized how bad you needed.

Coriolanus told you about his time in district twelve, though he left out some details. You told him about your father’s passing. You were hesitant to mention how poorly the theatre was doing, though. You had a feeling he knew.

Your feeling was correct. While the two of you were walking home, your hand comfortable in the crook of his elbow, Coryo spoke up. He breathed your name hesitantly, waiting for your acknowledging hum. “Tell me the truth. Is the dance company failing?”

You frowned, eyes on your feet. Well. What was the point in hiding it? It wasn’t exactly private information. “It is.” You murmured, almost ashamed.

“But you’ll go to another one?” Coryo immediately jumped to you. He didn’t seem to care about the theatre, only whether your talent would be in one.

That was the issue. Your breath caught in your chest, your lips pressing nervously and your eyelids fluttering shut to avoid the sting of tears. “I haven’t gotten any offers.”

It seemed your hard work simply.. Wasn’t enough. Not without a family name. In the capitol, where everything depended on a girl’s parents, an orphan whose name hadn’t been prestigious in the first place didn’t stand a chance. The only reason you were with this theatre was because your father and the owner had been friends in the war.

That just didn’t sit right with Coriolanus. He found your hand in the crook of his elbow, resting his roughened hand over your soft one, squeezing. “But you’re a natural talent.” His brows pulled taut. You shook your head.

“It’s not that simple.” You sighed, using your free hand to dash away the tears wetting your cheeks.

But it could be, Coryo knew as he turned over the jewelry box in his pocket, but didn’t say. Oh, you’d hate the idea. You’d be furious. You were a hard worker, anybody could see. You prided yourself in making a career for yourself without nepotism or assistance, very few favors. Of course you’d deny the idea brewing in Coryo’s mind, you’d write it off as a shortcut.

But he saw your talent. He’d just make it so others would see it aswell.

Coriolanus would never be ashamed of his cunning mind. He should be. But he never could.

He was like a snake. The next socialite party he attended, he slithered his way into every sophisticated conversation, networking, whispering his agenda into men’s ears, men with the power he thirsted for.

Politics was exactly where a snake like Coriolanus Snow belonged.

Usually it was for himself. Coryo was climbing the capitol’s ladder, collecting pons at each rung and using them as he went. But this time, this particular snobbish event, he smoothly brought up the name of a beautiful, immensely talented young ballerina looking for a new theatre to perform to. A ballerina he would personally vouch for, a ballerina he insisted would bring pride (and fame, of course,) to any company she danced for.

Eventually Coryo pulled on the right string, his words reaching the right ears. He got acquainted with an older man, Darien Jeux. The owner of a very, very prestigious ballet company. Oh, he was skeptical at first, but wasn’t Coriolanus a charmer? By the time the glittering champagne in his glass was finished, a deal of sorts was sealed. Jeux had a grandson in need of work, an internship would be arranged for the dolt. In exchange?

Coryo was the first person you called when the letter came in the mail. You had just arrived at your apartment after a late-night rehearsal, a crisp envelope left in the slot in your door. Stabbing an ornate letter opener, a gift from your father, into the paper and tearing it, oh, the words printed almost brought you to tears!

“Coryo, you won’t believe it!” You cheered over the phone, the joy in your voice as you gushed about Yeux’s ballet company extending an audition, the possibility of a contract, the prestige of this company! “Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” You breathed, the hope in your voice washing away every qualm Coryo had about going behind your back.

“It is.” Coriolanus smiled softly to himself, his eyes fluttering shut in an overwhelming relief.

Ballet was the only way for you. Coryo would kill a man to keep you happy, to keep your career alive. It was only right, that if he had the capability to make everything easier for you, he should use every resource available. Anything for you.

“You deserve it.” Coryo cooes, leaning back in his leather desk chair and letting your lilted voice keep him awake for another hour.

Hope had been thrust into your life again, the air under your wings, keeping you afloat. It seemed like your life was brightening in every corner now. Coryo insisted on taking you to dinner to celebrate when your audition went smoothly. How desperately he wanted to lean over that table and kiss you silly. He settled for taking you to dinner the next week. And the week after that. And after that.

In his eyes, his help was just that. A bit of help. This society was idiotic and venomous, your immense talent would have been enough to bring you to the top if that was the sole factor. It would be such a waste of great potential if you were stifled simply because of your name. He couldn’t have that.

Once Coryo gave you that little push, simply just got your name out there, your ability spoke for itself. You really were a star, landing one of the large roles in the first performance the theatre put on since signing you.

Coriolanus also pulled some strings to get a seat in the gallery balcony of the theatre. The company was putting on The Sleeping Beauty, which in your delicately graceful nature you landed the role of Princess Aurora. Tigris sat beside him, she’d absolutely adored you even when you were young. He even had a little pair of opera binoculars to watch you dance, not minding his cousins giggles at how old he looked holding them up to his eyes.

Coryo felt waves of pride, seeing the seats full. All eyes were on you, your grace on a pedestal display— exactly where it should be. Oh, the smile it brought to his lips each time the crowd roared with applause and whistles for you. You deserved no less.

When you came out after the show, you donned a simple yet elegant white dress, a boat-neck A-line that fell to your mid thigh, accentuating your delicate figure. Coryo had specifically told you it would be perfect for the after party, which technically wasn’t solely for your first performance with the theatre, but you’d be on display no less. He was certain that your name would be in headlines by tomorrow, and he told you so, which you’d smiled shyly and shaken your head at.

You’d never been to such an extravagant party. Your old theatre was never this grand, and whatever luxurious events they held were distant memories by the time you were old enough to attend them. The ballroom was classically beautiful, marble pillars along the walls and a painted rotunda ceiling.

You hadn’t a chance to look up and appreciate the mural before you were swarmed with people wanting to meet you, shake your hand and congratulate your performance. Coriolanus was right at your side the whole time, a strong hand on your shoulder. It shouldn’t have made you feel such excitement, but your heart was betraying your mind at the protective gesture.

Eventually, you grew a bit tired of all the introductions and stale small talk. Coryo could tell, he bowed his head and murmured against the shell of your ear, “I think it’s time for a dance. If you aren’t tired of it by now?”

“No! I mean, yes. I’m not tired of dancing. I’d love to dance.” You stumbled over your words, feeling the flush come to your cheeks. Oh, you weren’t tired, quite the opposite. You were restless. You were infinitely grateful for Coriolanus as he guided you by the hand, pulling you into a dance. He was a better dancer than you remember, you told him so. He’d only chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he lifted his hand to twirl you.

Coryo wore a boyish grin while he watched your dress flower and billow as you twirled. “I’m glad I’m not embarrassing myself, then.”

Perhaps it was then that you truly realized the boy you’d grown up with had turned into a man in the blink of an eye. A man who laid a strong hand on the small of your back, blonde hair combed neatly, cheeks roughened with stubble and eyes sultry. A man who was staring at you in a way that nearly made an expert ballerina stumble in her dancing.

You weren’t sure what moved you to lay your ear against his chest, feeling the solid and comforting warmth of him. You hoped, though, that he didn’t hear the soft sigh you released as he nosed your hair. You imagined that he dropped a kiss to your scalp. Why, Coriolanus, your Coryo, was cradling you as you languidly danced like you were made of porcelain.

In fact, as the song’s lulled to an end, Coriolanus leaned away from you just barely. Just enough for you to lift your head, eyes raising to meet his sapphire ones. Sapphire eyes filled with a soft affection, a kind of tenderness that you were beginning to wonder if you could live without. For a moment you dreamed he might kiss you.

You watched as his icy gaze flickered over your face, before he murmured lowly, “I’ll go get you a drink.” Wordlessly you nodded, watching as a tantalizingly sincere smile curled Coryo’s lips. He slipped away from you carefully. Expertly stifling the white-hot anxiety burning a hole in his chest under that clean-cut suit.

With a soft sigh, and rubbing both of your palms over your burning cheeks, you sought out your new friends. The circle of ballerinas, done up in simple and classically beautiful dresses, welcomed you happily. Eager to listen about your flustered retelling of the whole interaction with Coriolanus. Gasping girlishly and relishing in that sisterly bond. Slowly that exciting knot in your stomach came loose.

Just as you had collected yourself, your ears perked to the dropping of your name. You looked over your shoulder, finding the source to be two older men, one pudgy and one gaunt. They both had cold eyes, sharp and knowing. That would’ve been enough to make you shiver, if it weren’t for the words slipping past their thin lips.

“I heard Yeux was paid off.” The thin man hummed. Your stomach sank. Surely they weren’t talking about you?

The fat man shook his head. “No, more of a favor, I heard. That boy Dr. Gaul funded? Crassus’s boy.” The other man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not clasping a champagne flute.

He sneered, “So, the company ‘star’ only has a contract because the Snow boy pulled strings? What a disgrace this theatre is coming to!”

Oh, the marble floor was spinning under your feet. A frustration, a fury was boiling in your heart, dull and painful as you clenched your jaw. How many times had you told Coriolanus that you didn’t want any nepotism? How many times had you mentioned your pride in how hard you worked for your career? All for him to pull the rug from under you!

How could he? How could he go behind your back and snatch your values away from your hands, make an absolute fool of you?

Feigning a smile you excused yourself from the ballerinas, walking aimlessly through the ballroom. Slipping through the crowd with a kind of bleariness in your eyes. Color had been brought back into your life, but at what cost? Your morals. You hadn’t even been given a choice of whether to keep them intact or trade them for glory. You wouldn’t have chosen this, certainly.

You moved on autopilot. You hadn’t even realized Coriolanus was trailing after you until he clasped a strong hand on your shoulder, gently turning you. You shrugged your shoulder away from his grip, your wild eyes meeting his. Oh, the betrayal swelling in your stomach threatened to swallow you whole.

Coriolanus breathed your name in an awkward chuckle. His brows drew together as he offered a fruity drink to you in an ornate glass. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t talk to me.” You hiss, turning from him and storming away with a purpose in your feet.

Coriolanus only follows after you like a lost puppy. “What? What happened?” He called your name, but bitter loathing was toiling in your mind too strong to so much as cast him a look.

Damn him for feigning innocence! Damn him for coming back into yourself, sweeping you off your feet and having the balls to think he could just fix all your problems with his connections! Damn him for taking all that you prided yourself on away, just to make himself feel better. Charity, that’s what you were.

“I’m not stupid!” You cried, calling over your shoulder and blinking away hot tears. Nevertheless they streaked down your cheeks. At last you found the walls of this cursed ballroom, turning down a grand hallway. Gratefully, only a few people hung by the pillars and potted plants, disgustingly old men and beautiful, young women, some of them ballerinas from your new company. Your company that Coriolanus got you into.

Speak of the devil, he was still on your heels. Perhaps he even broke into a run after you, because before you knew it he was grabbing you by the shoulders, cornering you between a marble pillar and the wall. You shook him off you, staring blazingly up into his buggy and nervous eyes.

“Darling.” Coriolanus breathed, exasperated and terribly confused. He stopped reaching for you, gratefully, but he was still looming over you. Trapping you in.

You wiped the tears from your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Coriolanus sighed. He murmured your proper name gently, his brows pressing together. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it for you, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You would, wouldn’t you!” You cried, throwing your hands down. “Try and fix everything, just swoop in like a knight in shining armor and fix my poor life!”

His face fell at that. His azure eyes darkened, lips parting and his chin tilting further down to you. He knew he was caught, you thought bitterly as you huffed. Coriolanus dragged his hand down his face, trying to rub the situation off his skin. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know that you disregarded my wishes! I didn’t want any nepotism, I didn’t want any shortcuts, and that is exactly what you did, Coryo!” Tears were flowing uncomfortably and warm down your cheeks, ruining your pretty makeup. You rubbed the skin around your eyes raw. If only you could see the distraught look on Coriolanus’ face.

He shook his head, murmuring breathlessly, “But… I did it for you. You needed some help, you needed someone to get your name out there.” You shook your head, but your silence gave him a chance to go on. “I knew you’d be upset, but your talent—“

“I am upset!” You bawled, “You knew I’d be upset and you still did it, Coriolanus! You did it for you, not for me, if—”

“You couldn’t even afford to eat!” Coriolanus snapped, barking at you with buggy eyes. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving with a deep breath. His eyes slip closed, he pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces in exasperation. He never wanted to yell at you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” Coriolanus murmurs, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he watches the way tears come to your eyes stronger than before. He watches the way you cross your arms, looking to the wall and chewing on your lip. “You were struggling. You… You’re a talented woman. The most talented. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you fizzle just because you don’t have someone to vouch for you.”

“But now all this isn’t because of myself. Where I am today isn’t because of my talent or my hard work.. It’s because of a man pulling some strings.” You murmured, rubbing your eyes again. Your voice is raw and low, you look down at your dress and smooth down the material. Such a quality, beautiful dress. You would’ve liked to say that you were wearing it because of your own work. Coriolanus took that away from you, you reminded yourself.

Coryo pushes a hand through his hair, sighing softly. His lips press, he looks away at the others in the hall. He’s scrambling for a way to resolve this. “I had to help you. Because…”

You eye him expectantly, turning your wet cheek. Coriolanus reaches forward to tenderly thumb away a loose tear, and you don’t pull away. Perhaps you’ve tired yourself out. “Because I love you. And I can’t let a woman so special fail for such a stupid reason. Special to the world, of course, but special to me.”

Oh, the world was spinning around you too fast for your mind to keep up. You felt the floor giving out from under you, you had to cover your eyes with a palm. He loved you? This is why he did all this? This is why he felt the need to lift you from the mud? Not for his own selfish gain, but for you? For love?

“Coryo, you can’t just...” You began, the words dying before they could pass your lips as you shook your head desperately. He seemed to understand, nodding a bit and watching you with wide and buggy eyes. You finally looked up to meet that penetrating gaze, feeling your chest heave with deep breaths.

Without a word you moved into Coryo’s arms, pressing your wet cheek to his chest. You felt his breath hitch, his arms immediately wrapping closely around you. He nosed your hair, smelling deeply your rose-scented shampoo. God, the things he would do for you. This barely scraped it. He knew you’d be hurt, but he also knew what would be best for you in the long run. He knew he’d rather let you hate him than regret a passion left dry in the sun.

A long while passed like this, Coriolanus murmuring sweet words of consolation and diligently drying the tears on your rosy cheeks.

“My love, this world is cruel.” Coriolanus cooed, his eyebrows drawing together and forehead creasing as he smoothed down your hair. “Talent without a name is nothing. If talent was all that mattered, you wouldn’t need my help.”

Coryo dropped a kiss to your forehead. “I wish you didn’t need my help.”

Coryo brought you home that night. Neither of you breathed a word the whole ride there, Coriolanus casting you longing glances constantly and you fidgeting with your rose gold bracelet. A gift from him. Your most prized jewelry nowadays.

Feelings just toiled and swam in your heart, threatening to spill and taint your whole body. You were furious with him. But oh, how you loved that man.

The man who is not pressuring you any further, not shouting, not condemning your anger with him, just silently holding your hand over the center console, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles slowly. Tenderly. The man who loved you. The man who would kill for you, much less call in a favor for your sake.

When his car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment, you leaned away from him. You shifted in your seat to face him, but he never let go of your hand. In fact, he’d squeezed it a bit tighter.

Coryo was watching you with wide, you’d dare say puppy dog eyes as you opened your lips to speak in a whisper. “I don’t want you to do this again.”

He nodded seriously, dragging his thumb across the backs of your fingers. His sapphire eyes never dropped from yours. “I promise you.”

“And I don’t need your altruism.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not a child, I’m not a poor thing.”

“Not even a little bit. Kill me before I suggest it.”

You found yourself leaning over the center console, your nose brushing his. He found his hand slipping to gently cradle the back of your head. “I forgive you.” You murmur quietly, Coryo nods a bit, mind like a runny egg. He’s having a bit of trouble focusing on your words, as important to him as they are.

Coriolanus draws you closer, planting a tender kiss onto your lips. The cool metal of your bracelet pressing into his nape drew a sigh from his mouth, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. Kissing him felt like a comfort. Kissing Coryo felt right, your lips moving on his as if your soul knew before your mind had even considered it.

He didn’t interfere with your career again. He respected you with every bone in his body, with every string in his heart. He let your talent, your ineffable passion for your craft speak for itself. You were a prima ballerina of your own work, he’d often murmur to you late at night. In a bed he had somehow managed to coax you into, in a bed he couldn’t imagine sleeping in without your warm form beside him. You were a star.

No matter how independent you were, he would never stop protecting you. Caring for you. Providing you the best he could. Until the day you died, he would break his own bones to bend to your whims.

Coriolanus would kill for you. Without qualms, he would carve his own bone and flesh, if you asked him to. You didn’t even need to ask. If it made you happy in the slightest, Coryo would engrave your name into his heart.

It had always been written there, hadn’t it?

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little-diable · 2 months

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Unspoken nicknames and lost loves – Dean Winchester (smut)

I crave Dean Winchester as if he's a drug. How insane. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader walked out on Dean and his lifestyle years ago, and yet she has never managed to let go of her love for him. Perhaps a nest of vampires in her town is exactly what needed to happen to bring them back together. Honestly, just pwp.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, mentions some heartbreak and talks about leaving, fluff tho

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (3k words)

Darkness wrapped itself around (y/n), it crawled up her tired body like a snake slithering through Eden, knowing that chaos would unfold soon enough. The stone bench she was sitting on did little to shield her body from the cold night, leaving her trembling as she waited for his arrival. And yet she didn’t even know if he would show, if he had listened to the panicked voice message she had left hours ago.

Her eyes wandered over the rows of endless graves, trying to decipher the unfamiliar names to keep herself distracted. A part of her wondered why she was so sure that he’d show, after years of silence on her end – years of his calls she had ignored, of sober and drunk messages she had deleted. And yet a small part knew that he’d always come when she called, keeping the promise he had made years ago.

Dean Winchester had always been her enigma, the one she found herself clinging to for years, tied to him from her teenage years on, all until the day where she had packed her bag to leave the brothers and their lifestyle behind. A day that had flipped her life completely, luring her away from the places she had called her home for years on end, ripping it all out of her hands because her anxious overthinking mind had gotten the best of her.

And yet she didn’t regret running, at least not from the unstable lifestyle she had never managed to adjust to. But no matter how many years had passed since that day, she couldn’t shake her longing for the man she had once wanted to marry, the man she had hurt more than words could express, the man she expected to find her in moments of desperation.

“A cemetery, how fitting.” Dean Winchester’s raspy voice rang in her ears, forcing (y/n)’s glassy eyes towards his frame. He towered over her, letting his green eyes dance over her features while hers did the same, taking in every inch of the handsome face she’d never forget, no matter what may happen to her.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come, but I thought this spot was far away enough for you to at least consider meeting me.” Dean sat down next to her on the bench, letting one arm rest behind her back. It wasn’t the first time she was seeing him again after leaving him, they had run into one another every now and then, and yet it was the first time they were all alone, without Sam or any of her friends near.

“You know I’ll always come whenever you need me, (y/n).” The use of her name cut deeper than she thought it would, instantly missing the nickname he had once used, a familiar sound she craved like a starving woman in need of food. She had to avert her gaze for a moment, no longer able to get lost in the eyes she’d always find, no matter how big a crowd may be, lured towards Dean Winchester like two magnets made to fit.

“So, vampires, huh?” She was glad for the change of topic, all too aware of the doubts that began to grow louder, leaving her to wonder if this had been a mistake.

“You know I don’t want anything to do with this, but I knew I had to call you. I’m sure you picked up on the series of missing people around here, the second I saw them killing that woman, I knew you could help.” Her mouth felt dry, struggling to speak about the things she had sworn she‘d keep away from. But no matter where she was, no matter what she was doing, it seemed as if there was no way out of this mess she had once lived through.

“I will call Sam, we will take care of this.“ Dean‘s hand found her knee, softly squeezing it before he dropped it once again, instantly making her miss the soft touch. (Y/n) couldn’t stop herself from smiling at him, allowing her a handful of seconds to properly look at the man her heart was still aching for.

“You can stay at mine for the few days you two will be around, if you want.“ The offer had rolled off her tongue before (y/n) could even have tried to stop it. For a moment, Dean kept quiet, not speaking up while she silently cursed herself for making this even harder for her. But before (y/n) could try to pull the offer back, Dean let go of a soft hum.

“That would be nice, thank you.” A soft smile was shot her way before he rose to his feet, letting his hands disappear in the pockets of his trousers. Both allowed one another to have one last look, giving the moment an almost melancholic touch before Dean parted his lips once again. “Sam will call you once we’re on the way. Be careful, (y/n).”

And all she could do was watch Dean Winchester leave her side once again, taking another piece of her heart with him.

……

“Thank you for letting us stay, (y/n). I’m sure this isn’t easy for you.” Sam had his hand placed on her shoulder, holding her close while Dean was taking a quick shower. She had missed having Sam around, the one she had kept in touch with over the past years, desperate for updates on the man she still longed for.

“I’m happy to see you, both of you.” She didn’t manage to speak another word, didn’t want to dwell on the feeling of regret and anxiety simmering inside of her. All she could do was turn from Sam, focusing on the bottles of beer she had bought, very well knowing that some things won’t ever change when it comes to the Winchester brothers.

“Shower’s free.” Dean’s raspy voice lured Sam from her side, forcing (y/n)’s eyes to Dean who leaned against the door frame with wet hair and clothes that hugged his frame a tad bit too well. With heat clinging to her, (y/n) tried to busy herself with preparing some snack, anything she could do to keep her eyes from wandering back to Dean.

“It’s a nice place you’ve got here.” He plopped down in one of the chairs, shooting her a grateful smile as she reached a beer out for him to take. (Y/n) was grateful that he hadn’t commented on the pictures she had hung up around her place, old memories of her and the two brothers, of shared friends and long lost loved ones. She was grateful that he didn’t tease her about any of them, well aware of the way she had struggled without them close, even though she had been the one who had decided to run.

“It’s enough for now.” His hum rumbled through him, echoing through the kitchen like a cry she struggled to keep bottled in. “So, no boyfriend or roommate you share this place with?”

“Oh come on, Dean.” (Y/n) scoffed at his words while shaking her head. She knew that he couldn’t be this oblivious, unaware of the heartache she had caused them both and still hadn’t managed to overcome. Even back then, when she had left him, (y/n) had known that no other man would ever come after him, after the one she had loved more than life itself, the brightness to her darkest days, the air she needed to breathe. She was choking without him, dying a slow death she was to blame for.

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t been with anyone, it’s been years, (y/n).” Dean’s words cut deep, dripping with spite. She couldn’t stop her body from turning towards him, from staring at him with glassy eyes that were filled with unshed tears. She wasn’t stupid, was well aware that Dean had been with many women, spending nights or even weeks with them, at least until another hunt called him and Sam away. And yet she didn’t manage to swallow her jealousy, the biting sensation that left a bitter taste on her tongue.

“I haven’t, and I doubt I ever will.” With her back turned towards him, (y/n) kept her eyes focused on the kitchen island she was leaning against, palms pressed flat against the cold material. She had to blink away her tears, unable to stop a few from rolling down her warm cheeks. The sound of his chair screeching rang in her ears, followed by the sounds of his feet softly meeting the ground, telling her that Dean was moving closer.

“Look at me, (y/n).” His hands found her waist, turning her front back towards him. His green eyes were filled with pain, a sensation so strong, it forced a sob right out of (y/n). Wordlessly he wiped her falling tears away while a soft smile played on the lips she had last kissed years ago. “Talk to me, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“It’s so pathtic, god, fuck.” Her eyes fluttered close, she didn’t endure looking at him any longer, needing a few moments to deeply inhale some new air. Dean kept his hand placed on her cheek, holding onto her while silence wrapped itself around the two ex-lovers who clung to one another as if it was their final moment together.

“I know it’s my fault. I walked away, I couldn’t cope with this life. But I left my heart with you, I knew that I won’t ever get to love another person the same way I love you. And for a while I thought I could live with that, away from you and that unstable life. But now,” a shaky breath left her as her eyes flickered back to his. “Now I am no longer so sure about that.”

Dean pulled her into his chest, letting his chin rest on her head while another sob clawed through (y/n). With every passing moment, it felt as if Dean was tightening his grip on her, scared that she’d run before he found the strength to reply.

“You know, I was angry at you for leaving, probably for years. But the older I get, the more I understand it. It wasn’t fair of us to drag you into this, to force you to move around and live without any perspectives while we were both so young. You deserve better and I’ve accepted that. But I also always knew that you were it for me, no other person will ever manage to make me feel that love we shared.” His words felt like another punch to her gut, forcing her through these memories she had tried to drown with the love she had once felt – unsuccessfully.

“I don’t want to let go of you, Dean. I know I have to, but I don’t know how much longer I can live with this pain.” With his hand finding the back of her neck, he pulled her tear-stained face away from his broad chest. She was high on his scent, the comfortable scent she had craved to smell for years. His thumb rang along her lower lip, feeling the bite marks her teeth had left behind while trying to stop herself from speaking up.

He didn’t have to ask for permission as he dipped his head down to kiss her, to press his lips against hers like he had once done numerous times each day. Instantly, she felt hurled back in time, letting herself fall back into a familiar routine as her arms found their way around his neck and his tongue met hers.

Only as the sound of Sam nearing managed to reach them did they pull away from one another. Breathlessly, they looked at one another for a handful of seconds before she turned back towards the snacks and Dean moved towards the chair he had been sitting on.

“So, how’s life around here, (y/n)? Is it as quiet as you wanted it to be?”

……

“Dean?” She mumbled his name as she woke to the feeling of someone slinging their arms around her frame to pull her against a broad chest. (Y/n) could instantly tell that it was Dean, wrapping her in his comfortable embrace as she shuffled around, needing to look up at him.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you said to me earlier.” His confession filled her bedroom, weighing heavy on both their souls. Slowly, she moved her hand up his shirt, letting it rest on his chest while her fingers traced his exposed collar bones.

“I meant it, every part of it.” The heavy exhale that followed her words interrupted their silence, drawing their eyes back to one another. It felt like a deja-vu, happening just like hours ago where he had finally kissed her again after all these years. Their lips melted together, hearts and souls intertwined while he pulled (y/n) on top of him.

“Do you want this? I need you to be sure, sweetheart.” Her heart skipped a beat at the use of his old nickname for her, leaving her dazed while a soft “Yes” managed to leave her slightly swollen lips. Without letting go of her, Dean flipped them around, hovering over her while he got rid of his shirt. He took his time, teasing her for a few moments before he exposed his upper body to her wandering eyes.

Dean allowed her to trace his marks, to explore the skin she had once been all too familiar with, needing a few seconds to adjust once again. But he grew impatient all too quickly, letting his hands disappear beneath her shirt to pull it from her frame. Within seconds his mouth found her chest, kissing their way to her naked breasts.

(Y/n)’s quiet moans were like fuel to the fire, begging him to suck on her hardening nubs while she bucked her hips, feeling his hardening cock press against her covered heat. Nothing could happen now to pull them away from one another, to stop them from what was about to unfold, they were too far gone, set on moulding a perfect mess they never wanted to get rid of again.

“It’s been too long, I need you, need to feel you inside of me, Dean.” She was proud of herself for even finding her words while he kept rubbing himself against her, leaving her bundle of nerves pulsing. His eyes flickered up to hers, filled with a teasing anticipation that shook right through her like lightning striking her body. All while she laid still, with her hands resting next to her as if she was scared to touch him, to mess something up.

“You’re still such a needy girl for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” With her breath hitched in her chest it felt as if she was drowning, drowning in everything Dean Winchester emanated. He rose back to a sitting position, chasing the distance between them to pull her panties down her legs before he stepped out of his boxers. (Y/n)’s greedy eyes wandered up and down his naked body, thanking whoever was listening for giving her a second chance.

“I want you bare, let me feel you.” She trusted him, knew that Dean would never risk harming her in any way, and yet she didn’t dare look at him while speaking the words that drew a gritty moan from Dean. He found his way back to her, hovering over (y/n) while he dipped his head down to kiss her. The kiss seemed to wake her from her state, letting her hands find their way up his neck to his hair, tugging on the soft roots to wordlessly beg him for more.

Dean brushed the tip of his cock through her slit, spreading her arousal on her skin before he finally sank into her. A loud moan left the both of them in unison, a sound he tried to swallow with another kiss pressed to her parted lips. He gave them a few seconds before he started to fuck her with slow thrusts, enjoying every second of their all too intimate reunion.

It felt like a dream, a surreal experience she was only dreaming about but would never experience in real life. Having Dean oh so close, being buried beneath him while he fucked her with calculated thrusts that made black dots appear in her vision – a dreamy state she never wanted to escape from.

“Look at me, pretty girl. Let me see how good I’m making you feel.” Dean’s teasing words dripped with confidence, leaving her buzzing in heat as her eyes snapped towards his. They held eye contact while his thrusts grew faster, knowing that they couldn’t drag this out even if they wanted to. Too many years had passed, years they had been forced to spend without the other near, years they were now trying to make up for.

“I love you, Dean.” She wouldn’t have managed to stop the words from leaving her even if she had tried to. Words that left him chuckling in delight before he repeated them, making her heart flutter in her chest. A blissful state that only grew more prominent as she sneaked her hand between her bodies to rub her pulsing bundle.

“I want you to cum with me, don’t let go yet, sweetheart.” (Y/n) could only let go of a choked sound while she clawed her fingernails into his shoulders, trying to stop herself from letting go. They kept looking at one another until Dean finally nodded his head, allowing her to let go as his ferocious thrusts pushed them over the edge.

Both moaned in unison as they came together, breathless sounds they couldn’t care about. The blinding sensation felt as if they were burning alive, robbing them of their breath while they were certain that it had never felt this good before.

“I’m sorry for leaving, Dean.” (Y/n) mumbled the words into the darkness of her room. She clung to him as he slowly pulled out of her, only to plop down on the mattress right next to (y/n).

“I’m sorry for just letting you go. I will never be this blind again, sweetheart.”

#dean Winchester smut #dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester imagine #supernatural #supernatural smut

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velvettte · 3 months

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series masterlist

nanami kento never called himself a bored man.

sure, he’d admit, his normal routine had gotten quite monotonous. every morning he’d rise at six a.m and go for a morning jog to collect his thoughts. he’d get back by seven to shower and wear his attire for the day — always some suit that he’d preplanned for the week, matched with his signature tie.

he’d make the commute to the office by eight, where he’s accompanied by his assistants and secretaries all greeting him a good morning and giving him his agenda for the day. he’d get into his private office and seclude himself, working for the entire day before returning home again.

nanami thinks he’s had the most boring day yet so far, that is, until you stumble into his office just as he’s about to leave.

you’re shivering, soaked from the rain, and your clothes stick to your skin. he can see every part of your silhouette in this dim light, and for a moment, he’s speechless.

“hello,” you say almost shyly, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “i’m so sorry for the intrusion but it’s pouring outside. do you know anywhere i could find a ride? or wait this out.”

almost cinematically, a thunderbolt ripples through the air, rain splattering against the glass paned windows.

you shiver a bit, and nanami has a sudden urge to cover you somehow.

you’re the most angelic person he’s ever seen, he decides, when the light hits your face just right. he sees your features, defined and perfect, accompanied with lips so plush, he’s unsure how anyone could ever resist.

“i could offer you one,” he says, taking off his blazer and draping it over your shoulders. “my car is just outside. it would be an honor to accompany you home.”

“thank you,” you beam, and his heart palpitates at how your smile brightens the whole place.

the two of you walk together, with him opening the door of his car to allow you inside.

he takes the turn out of the office building and turns to face you, bathed in city lights and looking ethereal. he feels lucky— his day wasn’t boring anymore.

“just another two rights,” you say, soaking in the warm air from his car. “my apartment should be around here.”

he follows your instructions, only to be led to a luxurious establishment. outside the plants were beautifully manicured, holding up despite the harsh weather.

“eden apartments,” he says, slightly in awe when you grin at him. “isn’t this where atlantis solution’s ceo lives?”

you smile even more, and he catches the slightest flush on your cheeks. “ah…that would be me.”

his heart nearly stops.

“well. thank you for the ride mr. nanami,” you say, and he wonders if this ride was a strategy or genuine interest. “i’m indebted to you. i look forward to seeing you all dry tomorrow.”

with that you wink and grin, walking into your apartments and leaving him there, a surprised man.

read part two

feedback is so appreciated!! send an ask or comment to be a part of the taglist <3

#ari scribbles #clause and effect #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #nanami drabbles #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you

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softmangoes · 6 months

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how the LIs kiss

18+

pure!sydney's kisses are sweet, mouth soft and his tongue warm. he kisses you in the same way he savors the hard candies you'd slide over the library counter, slipping them into his hands just so your fingers could brush. when he pulls away, his glasses are foggy, a nervous smile on his face. "was that..." he says, blushing. "was that alright?"

corrupt!sydney's kisses are hungry. he's got his hands under your shirt and his tongue deep in your mouth. he's been waiting so patiently, after all, and now he finally has you to himself. "you taste divine, beloved." he says, fingers slipping under your waistband. when you sigh against his mouth, he smiles. "but i think it's time i have my dessert."

whitney's kisses hurt. they're full of teeth and bruises and blood and his nails digging crescents into your skin. whenever he crushes his lips to yours, he always makes sure to leave you aching. and like every fight you've had against him, you never come out unscathed. "there," he says, marveling at the fresh marks blooming along your neck. "now everyone will know whose slut you are."

kylar's kisses are desperate. his hands roam your skin as his mouth murmurs endless promises into the hollow of your neck. "we'll be together forever," he says, drunk on the scent of you. he presses his body to yours, eager to get closer, to envelope you in his embrace. to never, ever, let you go. "nothing will ever change that."

eden wastes no time when he kisses you. he has known the lean months of winter and the lonely days of fall. you cannot deny him the sweetness of spring. he bites into the curve of your neck like the first fruit of warmer days, licks at your lips to drink in your sweetness. but a hunter is always hungry, always wanting. "it's been a long day," he growls, deepening the kiss. when he takes your shirt in his hands, the fabric rips apart easily. "too long without you."

robin's kisses are warm. they're fingers running through your hair, a smile against your mouth. sunny days and lips that taste like fresh lemonade. he always laughs when he kisses you, like he can't believe he's doing this. like he can't believe he's yours. when he kisses you, the world is a little brighter. softer. "it's a beautiful day to be with you," he murmurs after he pulls away, pressing a peck to your cheek before taking your hand in his.

there is no way you can truly describe how the ivory wraith kisses you, but there is a note of familiarity to it. your mind conjures memories of kisses whispered in passing, of lips locked in darkened halls. "as sweet as ever," he hums, licking your lips with his cool tongue. "as sweet as always." the passing of centuries have done little else but make him yearn. the wraith, with his great and terrible beauty, kisses you like he's been waiting for you all this time.

#degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity fic #dol fic #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #whitney the bully #robin the orphan #kylar the loner #eden the hunter #ivory wraith #look i know ivory isn't a love interest but he is to me and we are married in cursed matrimony #anyway i am fascinated knowing that sydney has a sweet tooth and think he would just become so ravenous when corrupted #also eden tends to put pc's mending skills to WORK after he gets especially eager #my writing

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wannaeatramyeon · 4 months

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How Lookism men confess to YOU they've caught feelings

G/N. Soft. Fluffy. All that good stuff. (Gun, Jake, Goo, James Lee/DG, Johan, Vin, Samuel, Eli, Ryuhei)

Gun opts for somewhere private, just the two of you. Whether that's his home, yours, or somewhere only you both know.

He tells you with certainty his feelings for you. That there's no point divulging if he didn't think it would work out, if you weren't better together.

Intensity radiates from him. His words, eyes, aura. He keeps his confession simple and to the point, unexpectedly romantic with how matter of fact he is.

Jake thought he was being subtle, but there's a lot of prying eyes in the shadows.

He shoos the Big Deal members away in his best authoritative, no nonsense boss tone. The one he reserves to deal with serious matters. Which this is. Of utmost seriousness.

Behind his beaming toothy grin and confident stance are anxious eyes. His words are cheesy and well-rehearsed. Sincerity pulses through his every fibre, leaving you starry eyed and breath hitched.

Goo announces his feelings with a grin on his lips.

Corners you somewhere crowded, at a completely inappropriate moment. But of course. It's only inappropriate if Goo deems it to be so, and there's no time like the present.

The words are said lightly, like he could play it off as a joke any moment. His ego too fragile for rejection. But his carefree attitude is off kilter, body language tense. Gaze steady and more serious than you have ever seen.

James is flippant. The arrogant, cocky man claims you as his already. Confesses without any doubt in his mind that rejection could happen, or it could sting.

He's not a gambling man. Only plays when the odds are in his favour and the gains far outweighs the losses.

There's no ifs or buts. Talks about 'us' and 'we' and a future where you're by his side.

Johan pulls out the words reluctantly and when you least expect. Like they will choke him if he keeps it from you any longer.

He says it without looking at you. Eyes fixed on the ground, a point in the distance, Miro, Eden, anywhere but you.

Brows knitted together, hands white knuckled. A second away from running away. But he needs to tell you, he has to. The words are too big to swallow down anymore.

Vin peppers his confession with insults and half-jokes. A type of self defence to spare his heart.

Hands in pocket, like it's no big deal. Words spilling out, trying to inject indifference into them. Back against the wall, peering over at you.

Sunglasses firmly on, eyes shielded. Because he can't bear to be any more vulnerable than he has to right now. His words are barbed and prickly, but his feelings are completely bared.

Samuel offers his heart in between lofty promises and delusions of grandeur.

Words murmured against the back of your hand, breath ghosting over your skin. Eyes fixed on yours, fiery and almost challenging you to say no.

But a relentless phantom haunts him, one that he silences over and over again.

-That being by his side won't be enough, that offering you to be his queen is inadequate, lacking and there's so much more that you deserve.

Still, he promises you the world and is committed to giving you nothing less.

Trepidation lines Eli’s words. Like he can’t believe he’s here again. After everything that has happened, with everything on his plate.

He’s forced himself to make room for you, carved out a part of his life.

He confesses in a cramped dusty room in Hostel. Sat opposite one another on rickety uneven chairs, so close your knees are touching and there’s no personal space left.

Body leaning forward, craving your touch and proximity as he rids the last remnants of hesitancy and takes a leap of faith.

Ryuhei tells you over and over again.

Until it becomes a daily mantra of sorts for him, and part of your day for you. At first as a joke, or at least you thought so. And then his earnestness snowballed until you could no longer ignore it.

He confesses, with the same sort of childish joy he always feels when he's with you. Tonight, his blood is thrumming in his vein and his pulse is beating in his ears.

With a hushed voice and hope in his eyes: he tells you once more.

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sweeterthanficstion · 13 days

Text

— take me back to eden || l.s.k

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader --- fem pronouns are not used, but written with fem!reader in mind. reader is afab

tags: high school au, college au, re2r leon -> re4r leon pipeline, childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, smut, a fuck ton of yearning MDNI 18+, male masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly, guys), loss of virginity, hand job, cunnilingus sort of, creampie, praise kink, breeding kink if you squint (sorry...) porn with plot, porn with feelings (like. too many feelings it's sort of gross)

summary: You try to desperately reignite an old friendship with Leon before high school wraps up. What starts out as a simple effort to mend things blossoms into something you couldn't have anticipated. But as summer ends, Leon’s moving away for College, leaving you in Raccoon City. Or so you thought.

word count: 10k ish

a/n: gosh, hi, it's been a while!! i've been fighting writer's block for nearly a year, and it definitely was NOT part of my plan to post leon smut before the knight fic, but cough ovulation week cough and uh.. this happened? big thanks to cressie for feeding the brainworms, and vivi for cheering me on, and of course eva for encouraging me to write again <33

also for the sake of my own sanity we're gonna pretend kairo was released in the 1990s because i just REALLY wanted them to watch kairo. and if you can catch all the song/movie references i make throughout this you'll get a gold star, anyway, enjoy! <3

playlist ⭑ masterlist ⭑AO3

If someone offered Leon a thousand dollars to pinpoint exactly where in the timeline of your friendship you’d grown apart, he wouldn’t be able to. Maybe it was just fate taking her course, friends growing apart. He’s tried to make peace with it, chalking it up to the inevitability of growing apart, another lesson in the long list of things he’s had to learn to accept.

But it doesn’t stop him from missing you. More than he’s willing to admit, even to himself.

Between college applications and finals, Leon’s life is already at full capacity, he’s fast-tracking, tunnel vision set on finishing senior year and getting into Stanford so he can get the hell out of Raccoon City. And he’s got it, he’s got this.

But then there you are, barrelling back into his life with all the force of something impossible to ignore, as if you’d never really left his orbit, as if the universe decided it wasn’t quite done with the two of you yet. Your smile hasn’t changed, still sweet and sticky like molasses. It’s disarming when you ask if he can tutor you, voice light and breezy, as if no time has passed between you at all— just a few sessions here and there! You tell him, just to save you from failing another semester of chemistry.

He agrees nearly blindly, the words out of his mouth before he has time to think them through.

It has been so long since you’d even talked to him properly, anything other than a ‘hi’ or a ‘bye’ muttered in the school hallways before you’re whisked away by your friends. He’s honestly elated you’d approached him at all—he tried not to show it, though.

And he did great the first few sessions. Sure, it was more than awkward at first—but Leon was partly thankful for it. It left little room for him to entertain the idea of staying friends with you again for long. You’d create a simple routine together wherein you’d come over to his place, he’d teach you everything from organic to physical chemistry, then you’d bid him goodnight and leave. Simple. Predictable. Routine.

But then you started to break that routine, a variable that he hadn’t accounted for. You’d kick his foot under the dining table while you worked on homework together, laugh at his jokes even when they’re painfully bad because you think it’s cute. Then when you have to migrate upstairs after his parents come home from work, you’d settle onto his bed, glancing around his room and teasing him about how little he’d changed—still the same movie posters, still the same boy you once knew.

You tell him about your day, he tells you about his, then you’ll go as far as to stay a little longer some nights, both of you acutely aware of the time but not doing a thing about it.

He finds with time, he’s learnt to enjoy your company again. It isn’t so tense, no longer like walking on the glass shards of your previously shattered relationship. It’s easier now, as if none of the vast ocean separating you was ever there to begin with. He tries not to dwell on the fact that this newfound relationship is built entirely on the twenty dollar bill you hand him each night.

Then one night Leon’s mother invites you to stay for dinner, he expects you to politely decline, hand him the twenty dollar bill for the tuition, and leave.

But much to Leon’s surprise, you don’t.

It’s catalytic, like a domino effect that he’s helpless against stopping. It gets so much worse when you offer to stay behind to help clean up. All but glowing as you strike up casual conversation with his mother, as if you’d never stopped visiting over the past six years. You’re a sweet talker, always have been, you compliment his mother on her cooking, ask her for the recipe, she tells you you’ll just have to come over and help her make it one night. You laugh, meeting Leon’s gaze as you tell her you just might have to.

God, Leon’s so fucked.

Absolutely fucked when he catches himself thinking about you in the middle of class, eyes trained like a hawk on the door to the classroom, waiting to see if you’ll show or not. You don’t. He’s not really surprised. He finds he doesn’t exactly mind though. Frankly, it’s none of his business whether you show or not, and a part of him likes the extra attention he gets out of it when you ask him all the questions you’d know if you did show up to classes while he’s tutoring you.

You’ll have your pen between your teeth like you always do, run a hand through your hair as you watch him work, bat those stupidly pretty eyelashes at him when you don’t understand what he’s trying to say.

“None of this is making sense,” You huff, shoving your head into your hands, elbows braced on his dining room table.

You catch the glimpse of sympathy that flashes across Leon’s face when you peek at him through your fingers, and eternally cringe at how you must look.

“Just one more chapter, then we’ll be done.” He promises, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on your notebook.

He’s got that boyish smile on his lips when you meet his gaze, his thin-framed glasses perched atop his face make him look so much cuter than you remember him being when you were kids.

Your heart constricts in the familiar way it always does nowadays. A sickening reminder that you have a secret; closely guarded in your heart, tucked away by lock and key. You’re in love with your best friend.

Well, your once best friend. The term "best friends" feels outdated, like it belongs to a version of you that no longer exists. It’s partly your fault— well, mostly your fault. The rift between you didn’t just appear; you carved it out with every sorry excuse you’d made at fourteen when you’d chosen your flashy new friends over time spent with Leon.

But what were you to do? Middle school turned to High School and you’d gone from the sad lonely girl at the back of the class to someone worth looking at.

And Leon? Well, you convinced yourself he was only dragging you down, or that’s what you told yourself to help to ease the guilt every time you brushed him off.

Was it shitty of you to pay your way back into his life? Yeah, but you’re also sort of a coward when it comes to confrontation. There were a million better ways to try to fix what you broke, but here you are, handing Leon twenty bucks a week for a chance to be close to him again.

Either way life moves on, and you find yourself falling for him. Stupidly, helplessly, completely.

Leon finds he’s drowning just as you are.

He’s so far past the point of just fucked. He’s utterly infatuated at this point. You’re stunning, every bit as beautiful as the word allows, beautiful as he watches you across the gym at a morning assembly. You’re busy talking to one of those jocks on the football team, Calvin? Chris? He can’t remember, he doesn’t care. Or that's what he tells himself.

He cares. He cares entirely too much, especially when you curl a lock of your hair around your finger, smiling at whatever bullshit Chris must be spouting with that mouth of his. Leon sinks into his seat further, diverts his attention to the front of the auditorium, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. He’s desperate to ignore what definitely seems like you flirting with someone who definitely isn’t himself.

He’s not jealous though, Leon isn’t jealous. ‘Course not.

That’s what he repeats to himself later that night, alone in his bed when his hand curls around the length of his hard dick, tip weeping as he gives a pitiful tug, teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

He tries incredibly desperately to stifle the whine that bubbles up his throat, hand moving on its own accord as his eyes flutter shut. He doesn’t even realise he’s holding his breath until he starts getting light headed, too caught up chasing his own high. He comes embarrassingly fast, one, two, three, four more pumps and he’s done for, your name the last thing on his lips.

Leon swallows thickly before the crushing reality that he’d imagined you as he came fills him with a burst of shame. He tries to push the thought aside as quickly as it comes, groaning as he moves to sit on the edge of his bed.

Yeah. He’s fucked.

A few weeks later, Leon finds himself sitting on the bleachers after class. He wouldn’t be caught dead out here less than a few weeks ago, but you had given him such a sweet smile when you’d told him you had cheer practice, asked him if he’d be okay waiting just a little before going back to his place for tuition.

It’s not so bad, he thinks, as he flicks through the songs on his cheap mp3 player. But even with that distraction, you’re far more captivating. You're dazzling, to say the least—dress glimmering under the afternoon sun as you go through your routine. Leon watchs and tries not to stare.

It’s when you walk up to him though, all but shimmering, glowing under golden hour, that it hits him like a freight train all at once. He’s fallen horrifically far from his pedestal, what he feels for you now is so much more than what he did for you as kids. Not just as a friend, and yet much more than a schoolboy crush.

The next few events unfold very quickly—you sit down next to him on the bleachers, the skin of your thigh pressing to his where your dress rides up. He freezes, his own skin flushing a shade of pink that he hopes goes unnoticed. You press your ear against his headset, stick your tongue out between your lips as if you’re in dire concentration, trying to hear what’s playing.

“What’re you listening to?” You ask when you pull away, pushing the headset off his head before you slide them over your own ears.

You light up at what you hear, “The Smiths? Seriously, Leon, you have not changed.”

He rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair to fix it from where your hands had mused it. “They’re good,” His voice is soft despite the protest in his tone. It’s then, you realise, that he’s blushing.

Cute, cute, cute, you think. There is a particular warmth that blossoms in your chest seeing him like this, one that only Leon can really elicit.

You smile brighter, “Yeah, I know. I love The Smiths.”

Leon looks starstruck. Of course you do.

It doesn’t stop there, much to Leon’s own disappointment. He’d hoped after the school year was over you’d go back to not talking to him, and he could move past this and never think about it again (yeah, as if).

But you don’t. At this point he should just stop wishing for anything at all. Clearly the universe is working against him in the fickle way it always has.

You call him every few nights, ask how he is, what he’s doing, if he’s busy. Things friends would ask each other. Do you count as friends? Leon would like to think so. But then again, he probably shouldn’t be picturing a friend’s face when he’s tugging at his own dick.

You should come over sometime. You say over the phone one night, voice sweet even over the shitty receptor of his home landline. His back straightens a little at your words, the lilt in your voice, as he leans against the counter in his kitchen.

He imagines you lying on your bed, feet kicked up as you hold your flashy new flip-phone between your shoulder and your ear. He wonders what you’re wearing.

Hello? Your voice crackles, and he’s immediately pulled from his thoughts. C’mon, it’s not that bad of an idea. You laugh on the other end.

He hesitates. Yes, yes, yes, his mind screams at him. Well, I mean… what for?

Lame fucking answer.

Do I need a reason to invite my friend over?

He goes a little rigid at that, mulling over his next words as he feels heat climb up his neck. So we’re friends again now?

The line goes quiet for so long he’s sure you’ve abandoned your phone and left the line open. He nearly hangs up, letting out a sigh as he goes to rehook the landline back on the wall before your voice filters through at the last minute.

Of course we are, silly! Well, I mean— I know the secret Kennedy pasta recipe now.

He smiles then. That you do.

When Leon gets to your place, the cold Summer night air is sharp against his skin. He’s barely touched the doorbell when the front door swings open, the wide smile on your face is contagious—a spontaneous reaction sets off in his heart.

“Hi,” You grin.

“Hey,” He greets, albeit a little awkwardly.

You’re endeared, to say the least.

You lead him through the familiar hallways of your home, past family photos he’s seen countless times before, into the family media room, tucked away at the back of the house. It hasn’t changed much from the last time he was here—God, what was that? Six, eight years ago?—he recalls fond memories of escaping your parent’s annual Christmas parties to watch Christmas Mountain while snuggled up on the couch together instead.

“What about that one?” You hum, legs pulled up onto the large plush sofa in your media room, tucking your knees under your chin as you wave a hand at one of the titles in the box of your father’s old DVDs.

“You wanna watch Kairo?” Leon sounds amused, pulling the title out of the box before handing it to you.

You shrug, flipping the case over in your hand, honestly having no idea what the movie is about or what you’re getting yourself into. You just want him to pick a damn movie and get on with it. He’s always been like this, indecisive and hesitant about most things—you’ve always been the opposite, headstrong and impulsive. Yet, the two of you have always been tied together with a gold thread of string, your mother likes to say so, anyway.

You and Leon. Leon and You. An apple and an orange, not the same yet still belonging side by side.

It’s Leon’s voice that pulls you back to the present, taking the case from your hands before he cracks it open and insert the disc it into the silver DVD player. The screen flickers to life, and you quit chasing the DVD logo with your gaze as it bounces across the screen to fish for the TV remote as Leon joins you on the couch.

He sits at the opposite end, and you’re acutely aware of the distance he’s put between the both of you. You’re not surprised at how your heart sinks at the implications of his actions.

Leon finds the remote before you do, silence settling over the room like thick fog as he flicks through the DVD menu. You will yourself not to get too freaked out by the eerie music or the haunting silhouette of the girl pressed against the screen.

“I didn’t think you liked horror movies,” Leon muses, not really meeting your gaze as he flicks through to press play. “Most people I know say it’s not all that great but—” And he rambles. God, he rambles and you want to kiss his stupid mouth shut.

The first thirty minutes of the movie are slow but not short of horrifying. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or frustrated when all Leon does is talk about SFX or behind the scene cuts, or how they did this and how they did that —endearingly sweet in a way that makes your heart flutter. You’re semi-grateful for the distraction.

He’s a sweetheart in every sense of the word, asking if you’re okay after you startle from a jumpscare. Partially annoyed until you realise he’s not even teasing you. You find it twice as sweet, though, when you notice him all but staring at you in your periphery.

Charming blue eyes that set you a little more on edge.

“The movie’s on the screen, not my face,” You tease, finally meeting his gaze when you glance back at him, kicking him across the couch playfully.

He swallows, praying for the upteenth time that you don’t notice the burning of his skin he feels at getting caught, before he glances back at you.

“I mean, I think I’d much rather look at you than the movie,” He shoots back, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself.

The air leaves his lungs the moment you turn to look at him, nearly giving yourself whiplash. Leon’s sure he should find this moment awkward, scary, any number of things, but he’s too distracted. You’re so tempting, sweet doll eyes, lashes that kiss your cheeks as you smile at him, and again, he finds himself starstruck.

Your gaze holds his for a moment longer than it should, a gentle tilt of your head and he’s done for. The teasing smile lingering on your lips slips into something softer, the room feels smaller, the space between you even more so.

“You alright?” You hum, you’re not even sure what you’re saying, you can’t hear your own voice over the blood thrumming in your ears.

Leon doesn’t really hear you either, he tries to, he does, but then your gaze drops to his lips and— God, is this happening? He’d ask you to pinch him if his voice wasn’t stuck in his damn throat.

You search his face, trying to find any hint of jest, but all you see is the way his eyes linger on you, tracing the curves of your lips, the line of your jaw. For the first time in a long time you find yourself nervous to kiss a boy. There’s a current between you, energy fizzling in a way that pricks your skin—fireworks, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Before you can give yourself the chance to second guess it, you close the distance, your lips brushing against his. His breath hitches, and you smile against his lips, a gentle hand cupping his jaw, curling into his soft hair. The rest of the room drowns out, all he can hear is his heart beating in his ears and all he can feel is the flush of his own skin and you. Impossibly close in a way that’s already got him hook, line and sinker.

The kiss immediately and successfully turns Leon’s brain to mush, letting out a shaky breath as you incline your head, a soft groan falling past your lips and tumbling into his. Your shoulders drop, another arm looping around his neck. It’s a lot at once, your body against his, the thrumming of his heart, the way he tries desperately not to fuck up the kiss, or give away that he hasn’t exactly had much experience in this department at all.

Leon only realises he’s still rigid when you pull away, your breath a hot puff of air against his face. He thinks you must’ve laughed, cheeks heating up, but then his eyes flutter open and you’ve got a look on your face that he can’t place. Your hand smooths down the golden locks of his hair.

“Are you nervous?” Your voice is so impossibly soft.

Leon blushes deeper. “Is it obvious?”

“A little,” You smile.

“I don’t– I haven’t–” He stutters, the words coming out a jumbled mess that makes your heart ache a little.

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” You rush to reassure when you realise what must be going through his mind. “Just… follow my lead, yeah?”

He nods, tight lipped then.

Your laugh is sticky sweet, alluring in a way that makes him feel all too light-headed. You lean in again, “Relax.”

He lets out a breath, and you take the opportunity of his parted lips to deepen the kiss properly, the muscle of your tongue flattening out against his bottom lip. Leon lets out a strangled moan—fireworks burst across your skin for the second time.

“You can hold me,” You mumble against his mouth, hands tightening in his hair. “If it’ll make you less nervous.”

Leon swallows thickly, nodding as his nose brushes against yours, lips already red and aching. One of his hands tentatively moves back into your hair, he tilts his head, trying to deepen the kiss the same way you had. His movements are albeit clumsy, uncertain; betraying his inexperience, but there’s a raw sincerity in his attempt that leaves you charmed. Slowly, he slides down against the sofa, pulling you with him, his body sinks into the cushions until he’s lying down, your body resting atop his.

You want more, more, more . Want to press your tongue to the seam of his lips, part them, taste him properly—you almost do, growing just as eager as he is as you push yourself higher atop him, bracketing his waist with your thighs as you press your lips to his harder.

Your nose knocks his glasses askew when moving your head, and you feel him tense ever-so underneath you, as if realising it at the same time, and you can sense his confidence wavering.

You pull back just an inch then, he all but groans in protest. His nose bumps against yours, lips parted and eager for more. “Slow down,” You giggle. “M’not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” He mumbles, his voice laced with embarrassment. The warmth from his blush radiates under your palm.

Without missing another beat, you reach up to carefully slide his glasses off his face. Leon blinks up at you. He looks like he’s short-circuited, giving way to a vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“There,” you whisper, folding the frames before setting the glasses atop the coffee table. “How’s that?”

You’re cruel, though, don’t give him a moment to gather his thoughts, let alone respond. It’s a bit of cat and mouse to you; tease, tease, tease. Gve in just a little, pull away a little more.

You’re pressing your lips back to his again before another moment can pass. But Leon doesn’t protest; how could he when you’re so close, your bodies pressed together like this?

Leon’s confidence grows with each swipe of your tongue against his. His hands grow bolder, they move over your shoulder blades, down your spine, pressing against the curve of your back. A soft groan tumbles from your lips, your hips pushing down against his, he lets out a shaky moan in kind.

Cute, cute, cute. You’d drown in the soft sounds that tumble from his lips given the chance.

Your hands begin to wander, trailing down his chest, over his beating heart. You rub circles against his chest, as if to satiate the burning desire that’s stuck between his ribs.

Your lips, on the other hand, begin their descent.

You start with the corner of his mouth, then you follow the line of his jaw, down the column of his neck, the divot of his throat (that rewards you with a mewl). You decorate his collar in a blossoming painting of delicate bruises, tug down the collar of his shirt enough to reveal as much skin as possible for your lips to work over.

A soft smile curls on your lips even as you kiss him, and you realise with a flicker of amusement that he’s shaking beneath you—It’s an endearing quiver, like a newborn fawn finding its first footing. His hands tighten in the fabric of your shirt, holding on as if trying to anchor himself.

“You okay?” You hum as you pull away, Leon assumes you’re gracing him with a breather before he registers your hands working his shirt up his body.

It’d be rude to let you do all the work, so he shifts enough to tug it over his own head, discarding it on the floor of your theatre room bathed in blue—the movie long forgotten.

Leon’s large hands settle back against the swell of your hips, his thumb runs over the bone of your hip through the fabric of your shorts. He gives you a gentle nod. “M’alright,” He mumbles, but his voice has grown thick, stuck in the cavern of his throat.

“Do you… want to keep going?” You ask softly, your voice is tentative, as if dipping your toes into the deep end, testing the waters.

His mind screams yes, he settles for a “ Please ,” that comes out shakier than he’d like instead.

Your hands make quick work, moving down to undo the button of his jeans, fumbling clumsily in the wake of your excitement that you try incredibly hard to school. For the most part you do, refusing to cave too fast.

You’re acutely aware this is Leon’s first time—he doesn’t have to tell you, you can tell by his shaky voice, and shaky hands, by the way he looks at you as if you’ve just about hung the stars and the planets. To be fair, he’s always looked at you like that. Something akin to a sweet puppy.

Jesus Christ, you’re losing it.

When you finally pop the button, tug the zipper down achingly slow, Leon mewls, his hand on your hip curling into your flesh bruisingly. Fuck.

Your gaze meets his once again. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna go slow, okay? You’ve gotta tell me to stop if you don’t like anything, alright?” As desperate as you are to get your hands on him, you’d never forgive yourself if you ruined his first time.

Leon nods like he’s on autopilot, dutifully, as if the idea of you ruining anything for him is a stupid one. “Yeah, I will– Just, please, ” His voice grows impossibly quiet, “Don’t think I can wait–”

God. You go a little lightheaded.

Your hands make quick work of his jeans then, pushing them down along with his boxers. You’re blessed with a heavenly sight. His cock, pretty and flushed and all but drooling. It’s nearly erotic, has your head swimming.

“Jesus, Leon.” You huff, eyes wide as you look back up to meet his gaze.

Leon swallows thickly, throat bobbing as his eyes bore into yours, blown wide, rings of blue barely visible. God what a sight. He doesn’t respond, can’t. His throat is thick with something he cannot place. You’re a vision to him like this—hair spilling over your shoulders, framing your head like a halo, thick eyelashes that flutter sweetly down at him. His cheeks heat, neck growing impossibly hot.

Your hands dance over his stomach, his abdomen, tracing the contours of his skin as you watch his face to gauge each reaction, each shiver, every tremble of his lips.

You’re cruel, you’re so impossibly cruel and, oh— Nevermind. You’re an angel.

You giggle at his blissed out expression as your hand curls around the base of his dick. “That what you needed?”

Leon’s eyes flutter shut, head tips back as your hand inches up. He resists the urge to buck right into the tunnel of your palm. “Mmhmm…”

“Can’t speak now either?” You coo sweetly.

Something soft bubbles up past his throat, a mewl, a whine, you don’t know what to call it, but God does it make your cunt flutter in time with your heart. “C’mon, Leon, let me hear you.”

And God does he.

You pull whimper after whimper from his pretty lips, tumbling out like prayer each time. You are the chappel he worships at, the altar where he falls to his feet. He thinks if he died like this he could be happy, would go willingly, accept his fate—

“D’you want… more?” The words echo around in his skull.

He couldn’t have nodded faster.

You’re both giddy and giggling as you pull away, his hands eager as they pull your shorts and underwear off at once. If you could memorise the way he looked at you right now, you would. Leon’s eyes rove over your thighs, the space between them that glistens, in a way that makes you shy despite the hesitance in his own.

“You’re pretty,” He says thickly, and there’s not a tease behind his words, not a jest. He says them with such sincerity you stutter to a halt.

You blink, caught in his gaze. Leon watches you carefully, his own eyes wide, as if he’s not sure whether he’s overstepped some invisible boundary. The heat in your cheeks burns a little brighter, and you find yourself instinctively breaking eye contact, glancing away to gather yourself.

His words feel as if they’ve lodged themself in between the left and right ventricles of your heart. Suddenly, you feel the need to close the distance again, your hand slipping to cup his face, brushing a thumb over the flush of his cheek.

He hums against your lips, hands climbing up your back, under your shirt, slipping under the strap of your bra.

Your hips are gentle, moving over his instinctively, like something written into your DNA. The subtle brush over the underside of his length has him gasping—you preen internally at the reaction.

But you’re impatient, as impatient as he is, eager for more, eager to take, eager to please. You sink down over him slowly, revel in the silky stretch you’re graced with, moaning around his tongue as your heart feels like it’ll burst out of your chest.

The feeling is near incandescent to Leon, his mind already too far gone.

“Eyes open, baby,” Your voice comes, shattering the haze of his mind.

Baby, baby, baby.

He’s hardwired to comply.

You’re something holy above him, head crested by the glow of the moon spilling through the windows, wings of starlight, angel-song falling from your lips as your hips move over his. He wants to swallow each sound. You have the grace to let him.

Your body presses to his as you lean down, chasing his lips in a kiss that surely rewires his brain chemistry. Each moan you let out is like honey in his mouth, sweet and addicting, his tongue pushes past your lips, seeking out as much as you’ll give him.

You’re ecstasy. Entirely too addicting; Leon can’t get enough. Each time you sink down on him again, he’s sure it steals more breath from his lungs. And with earth-shattering realisation, he knows he’s not going to last. “M’close.”

He’s puppy-dog cute like this, pout on his lips, a cinch between his eyebrows that you smooth with your thumb. “I can tell.”

His hand moves to where yours are on his chest, taking one in his own, intertwining your fingers. It’s so fucking over for you.

“I can’t—” His hips buck up into yours, but his movements are reserved, you clock his desperation to hold out immediately.

“God, Leon, please do. I want you to.”

It doesn’t take much longer than that. He comes within three, four, five ruts of your hips against his, a warning on his lips before you pull off him and his release coats the muscles of his abdomen. You’re left aching, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind, not when you have him underneath you like this.

“Shit, God,” He groans. “That was… fast.”

You sense the apology on his tongue and shake your head before he can get there.

“No, don’t. It was… it was good.”

Leon can’t believe his ears. It was good? He did good?

“Yeah?” You hear the anticipation in his voice, higher at the end, a question.

Smiling, you nod. “Uhuh. Plus, we can… Work on it.”

The implication of doing this again sometime is enough to have him mirroring your smile.

But soon summer’s over and college is starting. You decide to take a year off, figure yourself out.

But Leon’s always had big dreams. Before you know it he’s packed his life into boxes, ready to move across the country to California. You can’t lie to yourself forever, pretend that what you feel for him is superficial, that you won’t miss him with a longing that will linger for months.

Your heart aches the night before he leaves. His head on your stomach, looking up at you with those puppy dog sweet eyes, half lidded and hair mused from where you’d grabbed and tugged while he’d lapped at your sweet cunt all night.

“I’m gonna miss you,” The words slip out softly, surprising even yourself. Lately, you’ve found vulnerability escaping you more often around him. A tenderness you’re learning to grow used to again.

Leon’s gaze lifts to yours, sweet baby blues that you try to memorise even in the low light of your bedroom. “I’ll visit.”

“I know.”

There’s a sickening silence that follows. You ache to tell him everything, pour your heart out for him to pick up, but you don’t.

Leon promises to call you as soon as he gets to his new dorm, and he does. For the first few months, everything goes smoothly. You and Leon fall back into that regular routine—you call him every now and then, he updates you on his day, you tell him about yours. But as fate has it, the chasm between the two of you begins to split once more, you feel him drift away, caught up in his flashy new life.

Turns out distance does make the heart grow fonder.

There are things Leon doesn’t tell you either. Like how he’s been binge-watching those awful horror movies you always mention nowadays (you’ve developed a weird fondness for the gore). Or that he’s started tutoring again. Or that he wishes you were here. God, he really wants to tell you that last one.

He thinks of you all the time, even when he probably shouldn’t—between classes, during his morning coffee before the 8 a.m. lab, while driving from his part-time job to campus. He thinks of you in the inbetweens, when his mind seems to wander. The thoughts come unbidden, when there’s a million other things he should have at the forefront of his mind, you’re there.

And then there’s the way he pictures you every time.

Leon’s not exactly proud of the number of hook-ups he’s had since college. One party turned into two, then three, then four. Simple drinking games blurred into long nights with countless girls underneath him who he now doesn't even remember the faces of.

Convinced if he shut his eyes, if he really focused, he could imagine it was you whimpering under him instead, your hands on his body, your lips melding around his name oh so perfectly.

It was never the same though. Never would be.

None of these girls sounded like you, none of them fucked like you, none of them felt like you did. Like they were made for him, like he could get lost in their cunts forever. It was pathetic, really, the way he’d so willingly chase that unmatchable high forever. Nothing would compare. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

So by the time semester break rolls around, he’s already packed his bags, and the four hour route from California back to Raccoon City has been set before he’s even finished his finals.

Raccoon hasn’t changed, still the same sleepy city tucked away between twin mountain ranges, the smell of pine heavy in the air. His house is how he left it, so is his neighbourhood. He drives by the familiar faded sign of Emmy’s Diner, the Police Department with its big white hollywood-style letters and rusting iron gates.

He heard that you work at the new video store down the road from his house now. Flashy, neon signs and all. Leon wonders what it’s been like for you, staying behind when he left for college, how the city has cradled you in its unchanged arms. If you’ve missed him like he’s missed you.

He pushes the glass panelled door to the video store open, the store bell tinkling in wake of his arrival. He’s fidgety. Leon hasn’t been fidgety in a very long time. He does not remember the last time he hesitated around a girl. Well, he does, it was you when he was awkward and nineteen, but since then? It has been a long road. Too long.

But then he spots you, and it’s as if the world narrows down to this one moment.

You’re leaning against the counter, eyes downcast, lazily flipping through a magazine. The overhead lights catch the strands of your hair—it’s shorter now. He wonders when you had it cut, why you chose the new style. A part of him aches, realising just how much time has passed, how long a year can be when he’s not in your orbit.

Without thinking, he beelines for the horror section, eyes scanning the rows of movie titles as his fingers brush over each DVD spine. He glances at you out of his periphery, half-watching the way you absentmindedly flip through your magazine.

Come on, come on, come on.

H, I, J, K…

Bingo.

He slides Kairo across the counter, heart stumbling in his chest. You don’t even glance up as you take it into your hands, half-focused on whatever glossy pages have your interest, but you do smile when you register the title in your hands.

“Good choice,” you hum, your fingers already moving to punch the movie code into the register.

“Yeah? You think so?” His voice is a little rougher than he intended, but he presses on, tries to act casual as he leans up against the counter. In honesty, he feels like a dork. “Most people I know say it’s not all that great…”

Your fingers freeze over the buttons. That voice, those words. Your eyes shoot up to meet his.

“Leon?”

“Hey.” He smiles, catching the way your expression shifts, disbelief melting into something warmer. “What’s wrong? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You laugh suddenly, that bright, familiar sound, filling the empty space between you. For a moment the months apart don’t seem so long. “God, you did not just quote Scream at me.”

Leon’s dusty blonde hair falls into his eyes as he drops his head to hide his grin. “Yeah that was… Not my best.”

Shaking your head, you slide the DVD back across the counter, still smiling beautifully at him. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be back in town!” You sound breathless as the words escape you.

“Just for the semester break,” He says, his voice steady but soft. “Figured I’d come back before you forgot what I look like.”

You blink. Something in his expression must’ve given him away, because then you smile—small, almost shy. “I missed you too,” you hum, and the words hang in the air like they’ve been waiting to be said.

But just like that you bounce back, as if the vulnerability in your tone was never even there at all, drumming your fingers across the countertop. “You shoulda told me, we could’ve planned something nice.”

“Oh, like a date?”

You blush. Blush. Fuck. You don’t remember him being this forward.

“Are you suggesting something, Kennedy?” You tilt your head, honeyed gaze and all.

Damn you and those fucking eyes, he thinks.

“Well, I was thinking… maybe we could go to Emmy’s after your shift? You know, catch up, and I can tell you all the terrible jokes I’ve collected since I’ve been away.”

Your smile widens, and there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel like he might’ve just found his way back home. “I’d like that, Leon. A lot.”

Emmy’s diner hums with a life that he’s missed. The sound of casual conversation, plates clattering, the soft croon of Bob Dylan from the old jukebox. It’s how he left it. Same peeling leather booths, linoleum tables, vinyl floorings, bottomless pots of coffee and the smell of sizzling burgers over the griddle in the back.

You share a booth at the back, your boots propped up on the round metal base of the table while you watch Leon with a small pout as he stands by the counter, waiting for a takeout box. The old fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over him, highlighting the little changes—slightly broader shoulders, a more defined jawline, longer hair, no glasses. But he’s still your Leon.

When he turns back, takeaway box in hand, he catches you in the act—a fry pinched between your fingers, dragging it through his ketchup in lazy swirls. You beam up at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and Leon feels his chest do a violent lurch, feels his heart rattle in the cage of his ribs, clawing to jump out and into your waiting hands.

It’s the kind of smile that would have driven him crazy when he was younger—when he was all nerves and stuttered words around you. And God, if it doesn’t still have the same effect.

“You know,” Leon starts as he settles into his seat, “there’s a fine line between sharing and stealing. You’re definitely crossing it.”

You roll your eyes, pushing the fry basket back towards him in a silent peace offering. “You weren’t going to finish them anyway.”

Leon chuckles softly, he doesn’t know what to say then, no witty quip on his tongue or eager reply. “It's about the principle," His voice finally comes, something soft. "But I guess I’ll let it slide this once."

You laugh, and the sound is like a balm, soothing the ache in his chest. “How generous of you,” you reply, playing footsies with him under the table. It’s in this moment Leon realises, everything he’s ever wanted is right in front of him. He’s spent so much of his life chasing. Chasing, chasing, chasing, he’s always been chasing.

Now he thinks he’d like to slow down.

And that’s what he does, when he takes you home that night, you twirl through the door of his old home, giddy as you track the familiar path to his bedroom. It’s how you remember it, same posters on the wall, same black Paul Reed Smith tucked into the corner.

Leon, however, is so much gentler than you remember him being, careful hands sliding up your waist as he walks you back towards his bed. Your calves hit the edge, breath caught in your throat as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. His lips find yours, slot perfectly, he groans against your lips and you melt into his embrace.

Leon’s palm slides down to the underside of your thigh, lifts it up enough to help you back onto the bed.

Your words get caught in your throat, but they’re not needed—not now, not with Leon. He’s always known you like the back of his hand. His lips move over your face, your cheek, your jaw. Your arms settle around his neck.

It’s like muscle memory to Leon now, the way he slots his knee between your thighs, how his hands move over your torso, up your body.

Your mind wanders—a dangerous thing in times like these—and you find yourself growing a little jealous. You're not dense; you know he’s probably had other girls in his bed between his time away in California. You wonder if they were any good.

Leon doesn’t let you dwell on those thoughts, has your voice catching in your throat as his fingers tease the underside of your breasts. He looks up at you, those same deep blue eyes studying you, yet unreadable all the same. Your skin burns beneath his gentle touch. Hot, hot, hot everywhere he touches.

One of his hands come up to cup the same cheek he had kissed earlier, his touch featherlight. He looks at you—part adoring, part like he’s planning your ruination.

“Leon… Please. ” You beg desperately then, and in response he groans. As if he’s waited too long to hear you say his name like that again, all needy and breathless.

“Makes me wanna wreck you,” He murmurs against your mouth, his breath hot and heady, “when you talk like that. So fuckin’ sweet.”

And God if that doesn’t do it for you. A whine falls past your lips, eager, tender, desperate, and Leon’s sure he’s never heard anything as beautiful in his life.

Your skirt is off in a flash, so is his shirt, then yours, then his jeans, so on and so forth until your bare cunt is pressing against his thigh he’s conveniently slotted back between the apex of your legs. He presses his knee up against your wet cunt, mutual groans filling his bedroom. All it takes is a tremble of your lips, and Leon’s kissing you twice as hard.

“Tell me what you need,” He’s eager to please.

“You.” You, you, you, always you.

There’s a reverence in your words he cannot shake, a promise laced into the moan that tumbles from your lips. His hands smooth over your abdomen again, spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him in the space between.

“Yeah?” He hums, one of his hands runs from the corner of your jaw to your chin, the other gives a purposeful squeeze to your waist. “I need you too. Want you.”

The sincerity in his voice floors you, hits you harder than any kiss, any touch. This isn’t just lust, this is Leon, raw and open, offering you something more than you’d expected. Something you’ve always wanted but were too scared to admit. You feel the sudden sting of tears kiss the corners of your eyes, startling yourself.

“Leon…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. He cuts you off with a gentle kiss, one that’s soft and sweet, filled with a promise that leaves you breathless.

"You’re it for me. I’m yours," he whispers into your mouth. "If you’ll have me."

Your heart stumbles over itself, caught somewhere between disbelief and a feeling you’re not sure how to put into words. “I’ve always had you.”

He laughs softly then, “Yeah. Guess you have, huh?”

It’s now, he realises, you’d never left his orbit in the first place. You’d always been there, one way or another, a constant in his life he’d never be able to shake despite how hard he’d try. You really are it for him.

“I want you too,” You blurt, the words tumbling out too fast. “I want this, want you. I always have.”

The rest is unsaid. He kisses you again with a smile, your hands drift over his back, trace the contours of every plane of muscle, press against the space between his shoulders. His hands run over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waists, caress the skin of your thighs and leave gooseflesh in their wake. You can’t stand it—how utterly gentle he is. It makes you want to cry.

You take Leon’s hand, leading it down to where you need him most. With precision you drag his fingers up through your folds, tantalisingly slow before pressing the pad of his index to your clit. You let out the softest of whimpers at the sight, his hand on your cunt. Fuck. You don’t take your eyes off the sight before you, even as you push his fingers back down, until you slip just the tip of his finger past your walls.

Your gaze flicks up to gauge his reaction, and you're more than pleased at the sight before you. Leon Kennedy, his eyes wide, mouth hung open in a small ‘o’, like he’s never seen pussy before.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You hum, amusement dripping from your lips—but your voice comes out in between panted breathes, unable to still your thump, thump, thumping heart.

He looks back up to meet your gaze, shaking his head as a grin stretches across his lips. “No, sweetheart, don’t play your games with me.” He huffs, withdrawing his hand, leaving you whining, before he pushes your thigh up to your chest.

You’re disappointed by just how fast he manages to school himself, no longer desperate for more, now invested in the waiting game.

“You want it that bad?” He croons, voice a teasing lilt against the shell of your ear, kissing the skin behind it as his body comes back down over yours. Your leg hooks around his back, hands on his shoulders, in his hair.

“Are you gonna make me beg?” Your laugh is soft, breathlessly incredulous.

He grins against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

His lips trail a path from neck to collar, tender kisses that intensify into bruising hickeys so fast your head swims. He litters your chest in lovebites, his hand moving on its own accord as he presses two fingers against your sopping cunt. He teases you, drawing circles around your entrance, grinning against the valley of your breast as he kisses down your sternum when your cunt flutters against his hand.

He drags his fingers up, up, up, presses them to the bead of your clit in a way that makes you squirm, another round of featherlight circles that makes you keen.

“Leon, holy shit—” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, watching as he sinks his fingers into your cunt, right down to the knuckle.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the shit eating grin in his words.

The pads of his fingers press against ribbed flesh, scissoring you open. When he pulls them back out, palm against your clit, a moan bubbles up past your lips. He shushes you, sweet nothings whispered against the cavern of your throat.

His hand, glimmering with your arousal, finds its way to your lips. “Open,” He murmurs, and so you do, lips parted for his fingers to press curiously against your tongue. Your heart hammers in your chest, thighs pressing into his sides as you blink up at him. You’re beautiful like this, a picture of pleasure that he wants to sear into his mind, brand across his heart so he won’t forget.

You moan around his fingers and his heart stutters pitifully in his chest, he needs to hear you like that again. “Want more, sweetheart?” His voice is rough as he pushes his hips against yours teasingly, has your eyes fluttering shut and rolling back. “Need words, baby.”

Leon chuckles as you struggle to speak around his fingers pressing to your tongue, a muffled yeah caught in your throat. He placates your whine that follows with a kiss to the underside of your jaw, lining his hips up with yours as he goes.

He sinks in as deep as he can get, searing hot, like he’s desperate to melt through, skin to skin, atom to atom. You push back, chasing that same euphoric feeling, a groan falling from your lips as you choke around his thick fingers in your mouth. You twist your neck, your nose pushing into his cheek as you seek his warmth.

“Got you,” He mumbles into your skin, voice ragged. A forearm is braced by your head before he pulls his hand from your mouth, moving to hold your body. His hand presses into the gentle curve of your waist like it was made for the palm of his hands. Smearing your spit across your skin as he goes.

When Leon’s with you like this, your body beneath his, he’s so sure this is how it’s meant to be. God, you’re perfect in every sense of the word—surely this is fate’s crashing course, isn’t it? Driven together by some higher power, an invisible thread of gold looped around both your fingers.

Has to be, surely. Feels too good when his hips push into yours, shared moans tumbling from both your lips, when his lips find yours once more and he’s swallowing each one like a man starved. You’ve missed the way he feels, how he stretches you out so deliciously, fills you up and seats deep inside you like he’s made for it.

Your hands on his shoulders blades dig burning half-moon crests into his skin, dragging your nails down his back, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest.

“Shit, pussy’s fuckin’ made for me,” He all but groans into your ear, dick pushing in at a steady pace, sickeningly slow in a way that makes you ache.

Please, please, please, your mind screams, begging for him to hurry up, give you more. You’ve waited so long to have him like this again, why should you wait any longer?

Leon’s laugh vibrates against the shell of your ear, “Beggin’ already, sweetheart?”

Oh. You’ve said it out loud.

“Don’t tease,” You plead with him.

“Tease? No m’not teasing, that’d be cruel,” He croons, “M’just taking my time with my baby.”

You want to sob. God, he is cruel. You think this must be karma for all those times you’d teased him when you were younger, worked him so close to the edge then pulled him away—

But then his hips slam against yours and a sob lurches from your throat. “Leon!” You cry, nails digging deeper into his back you worry you might draw blood.

“God, just look at you, sweetheart,” He pulls back enough to meet your gaze, hand on your hip moving to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “Crying on my dick. Fuck. ”

His hips are bruising, not an ounce of mercy in the way he ruts into your cunt.

“Can’t,” You whine, tears in your eyes.

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face, obstructing your pretty view, as his hand cups your jaw. “Yeah you can, baby.”

“No, it’s– too much—” You try to get him to understand, you won’t last like this.

He knows before the words even leave your lips. “Aw, pretty baby, gonna come f’me already?”

More tears spill from your eyes, he kisses them away with gentle lips, almost humorously different from the pace of his hips. “That’s okay,” He decides, “You wanna come now, that’s fine. Jus’ means you gotta keep taking it till I'm done.”

You’re so fucked.

“Can you do that, sweetheart?”

In the haze of your mind you comply.

“Good girl,” You arch your back at the praise, he slips in deeper if that’s even possible. “Good girl, come for me. Let me see you.”

Who are you to deny him?

You come with a soft cry of his name, words sticky with the tightness of your throat, a babbling mess underneath him as he works you through it. He’s not a complete dickhead though, he slows down to accommodate the ache between your legs, gives you a moment to collect yourself as his hand moves to interlock with yours, holding it by your head.

“How was that?” He asks you on the comedown.

You’re burning bright, you feel like the sun, your heart ablaze in your chest. Your mind is left in a haze, and when it ebbs away, it’s as though sunspots linger in your vision. You look at him, really look at him now, rings of blue in his blown out eyes, hair tousled, lips red and raw.

You kiss him in lieu of a proper response, tongue and teeth, messy and desperate as your hands hold his face. He groans against your mouth, you feel his dick pulse between your tight walls and you preen internally. Even after all this time you still have him wrapped around your finger.

You giggle at the thought, drowning in the gilding golden haze of the pleasure he’s given you.

“What’s so funny?” He hums, smile sweet on his lips.

“Nothin’,” You hum, eyes half-lidded.

He grins a little wider, something cunning. “Come again, sweetheart, didn’t quite catch that.” His hips roll into yours, a moan falls past your lips.

“I said– Oh. ” Nevermind.

Another roll of his hips.

“Speak up, baby,” Another, another, another.

You give up trying to get any words out, fruitless attempts reduced to whimpers as you melt into the mattress below him. Your hands wander back over his back, shoulder blades and muscles shifting under your palms as you sooth the ridges that have emerged from where you’d left your stinging mark.

You're tight as sin, sucking him back in salaciously. Leon’s not going to last much longer at all.

He makes as much known. He whines and you swallow each sound like it’s a sweet prize. His hips snap into yours at a brutal pace, whimpers falling from your lips at each time he drives it home. He has half the mind to pull out, but then your legs are wrapping around his waist, trapping him, keeping him firm in place.

“Sweetheart– fuck , baby–” His words carry the weight of protest but you’re stubborn, always have been.

“ Please Leon?” You’re so sweet, aren’t you? “Want it inside, want you to come in me pretty please–?”

He couldn’t say no to you if he tried. “Shit, that’s what you want, baby? Huh? Need me to fill you up real good?” His voice is low in your ear, a bark that matches his bite.

“ Yes. ”

“Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, I’ll give you what you need, alright?” He placates, and you’re sweet as you mewl in response. “Yeah, anything you want.”

“M’so close,” He’s brought you to tears again, and this time he lets himself relish in the sight of them dribbling down your cheeks. “So close–”

Leon’s thrusts grow shallow with time, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy once more. “Let me feel you, baby,” He mumbles into the skin of your shoulder, his hand gripping yours in a knuckle white grip, the other so tight around your hip it’s sure to leave behind bruises in the morning.

Not a thing you’re saying is comprehensible anymore, slurred words sobbed into the crook of his neck as your cunt does the talking for you. You flutter around his aching length, clamping down around him as the pressure building at the base of your spine snaps in half, a broken cry of his name tumbling from your lips.

Leon reaches his breaking point in quick pursuit, tumbling over that edge just as you do, fucking his release deeper into your cunt. “So sweet, so sweet, so sweet,” He chants, a babbling mess of emotions as you milk him dry. “So good, s’good, baby, fuck. ”

For a few moments, you are nothing but two bodies, twined together, panting and huffing as you catch your breaths. Leon’s hand, still in yours, squeezes reflexively. His face falls into the crook of your neck as his fingers dig further into the flesh of your waist. You hear his breathing grow ragged, his body trembling above you. You think you hear a whine slip past his lips, only solidified when he pulls back and you catch the glassy look in his eyes.

“We should do this again sometime.” You grin playfully.

“Jesus, Sweetheart.” Leon shakes his head, wet chuckle caught in his throat. “I plan on doing this a lot more often than sometimes. ”

You hum, your knuckles tracing the curve of his cheek before you sweep his hair out of his eyes. “I’d like that.”

There’s a pause then, words hanging in the air. “But at least let me get it right this time. I’ll take you out to dinner, how’s that?”

“Perfect.”

"I meant it, you know." His voice is quieter now, more vulnerable. "About wanting to get it right." He looks at you like he's seeing everything he's been chasing, right in front of him.

You tilt your head, a soft smile playing at your lips. "I know."

Fate is curious, you think—tugging at the golden threads that make up the spider's web of your universe as she pleases, weaving people together and pulling them apart with equal ease. You realise, as you lie with your head on Leon’s chest later that night, that fate has been kind to you. Leon's strong arm envelops you, grounding you in a way only he ever has. Home is inbetween his arms. You listen to the gentle beat of his heart, steady in his chest, pounding beneath your ear.

Without much thought, you find yourself holding your breath, syncing the thump of your heart with the beat of his, a satisfied smile curving your lips when your breathing finally falls perfectly in time.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

#spilled ink ₊˚⊹♡#i was tryna queue this and wait for like prime posting time or wtvr #but i am not gods strongest soldier i needed to hit post right NEOW #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #sweeterthanficstion

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writing-fanics · 7 months

Text

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

[Before Lucifer got cast out of Heaven]

[prompt by: @saturncodedstarlette

[warning: self-harm: major angst: blood: mentions of panic attack]

You were angry and heartbroken, and felt betrayed by someone you thought to be yoursoulmate. Feeling used by them, having just found out that Lucifer and Lilith are together.

You stormed over to Lucifer outside the gates of the garden, hands balled up into a fist. “You lied to me!” You shouted angrily, and he turned to look at you.

Lucifer who you thought to be your soulmate, a red string tying the two of you together. Your face red and tears rubbing down your cheeks, “You told me that I am your soulmate!” You screamed, and he just stated at you almost annoyed that you were, taking his time away from being with Lilith

You guarded the gates of Eden, and Lucifer flirted with you and toyed with you just so he could see Lilith. “Just get back to that other woman!” You were angry fuming and felt used.

He just stared at you arms folded across his chest, as he raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Don’t you understand? You’re the other woman.” said Lucifer, looking at you.

You shook your head vigorously, your frustration apparent. "No no!" you exclaimed, your voice rising in anger. "You're supposed to be with me!" You pointed in the direction of the garden, your true form as a seraphim revealing itself with multiple eyes on your head and wings.

Your figure seemed to grow in size and stature, towering over him and filling the space around you with an awe-inspiring presence.“She’s the other woman!” you shouted, glaring at him.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and saw Lilith in the distance. She had heard the commotion and was walking closer to the gate. "Why can't you understand?" he said, looking down at the ground and clenching his fists. He glanced over at her for a moment.

“It was a mistake, I would never be with you—” He said, Your entire body froze in shock, and you stood there motionless with your arms falling limply to your side. Your lips slightly parted, forming an 'O' shape as you struggled to comprehend what he had just said.

As soon as the words left his mouth, you could see the regret in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to reach out towards you, but then suddenly pulled his hand back and turned away. He entered the garden and walked away with Lilith, leaving you alone.

You couldn't help but fall to your knees, gripping your chest where your heart is. It hurt so much - not just the physical pain, but the emotional pain of being betrayed. You had broken the rules to let him into the garden, thinking that he cared for you. But this is how he repays you - by ripping out your heart and leaving you to suffer.

The words seemed to rip your heart out of your chest, leaving you feeling completely devastated. As tears began to trickle down your cheeks, you couldn't help but sniffle and sob softly. Your lower lip quivered as you looked at him, trying to make sense of the situation and find a way to process the overwhelming emotions coursing through you.

He used you. He fucking used you just so he could be with Lilith, he toyed with your emotions your feelings and your desires. To get what he wanted in the end. You saw a future and hoped he'd be there to fill that empty spot, in your immortal life. Be he saw as nothing but a obstacle, for his true goal. Lilith.

Your angelic weapon dug into your flesh drawing yellow blood. As you tried to carve the L off of your hand, the inital of your soulmate. That was on your hand when you were first made by angels. Your very own soulmate wanted nothing g to do with you, he never wanted to be with you. Only wanted to use you for his own selfish needs.

Your wound would just heal and the initial stayed, as much as you tried to dig it out. Nothing, it would appear again and again. You screams and cries of frustration being heard by Lucifer and Lilith, but he did nothing just sat there with his lover underneath the tree.

You wailed, staring yo at the sky and sobbing. Yellow blood seeping from the gash in your hand, you couldn't breathe unable to take a full breath. All you wanted was for Lucifer to comfort you, but he didn't. Your vision started to blur as you breathed heavily, gripping the fabric of your clothes.

“I would never be with you”

You whimpered, curled up on yourself, and cried. You didn't know how long you were there for and eventually passed out. When you opened your eyes, you saw a bracelet that you had given to Lucifer a while ago. You stared at it blankly for a moment, not noticing someone approaching you from behind. Suddenly, you felt cold and shivered.

As you turned around, you heard a giggle coming from behind you. Suddenly, the grass around you withered and died, and an ominous presence leaned over you. "Has that little dreamer shattered your heart?" the voice asked as you looked up to see the personification of evil itself - your sister, Roo. She had a Glasgow smile on her face as she stared down at you.

#lucifer morningstar x reader #Lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #x reader #fanfic #angst #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar

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eldritch-spouse · 3 months

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I slam the door with frustration, spooking the angel patiently waiting by the door. I haphazardly throw my coat on the floor before grabbing the celestial’s hand and stomping into the living room. Forcing him to sit on the couch, I turn on the tv for noise and hastily unbutton his suit. “I need you now. Had a bad day and you will help me relieve stress.”

In different years, Belo would find this way of life to be slightly insulting.

He's a warrior after all, a power. His kind belongs outside, patrolling, securing the well-being of lessers, fighting for the honor of their Highers and holding the safety of Eden on their shoulders.

Ah, but those days are gone. Long gone. His vision glazes sometimes, wet and torpid eyes lamenting the fate of many of his brethren. They, unlike him, didn't have the fortitude to handle their own abandonment, the newfound fruitlessness of their very existence.

It's one thing to never know what the meaning of your existence is. It's another thing to have that meaning embedded in your very core and never be able to fulfill it again. Sometimes Belo envies that freedom, that ambivalence of simply existing because you can, because you were made.

Also unlike him, his kin did not have the miraculous luck to find someone like his Lady. His Lady-Worship, his beam of light in a universe ready to swallow him in its poisonous darkness. The guiding hand in a world so new and so different, so degenerate. So horrid! As amazing and radiant as you are, Belo shudders when he thinks about how you made it this far intact without a celestial by your side.

With new meaning come new duties, understandably.

As Belo still needs to learn quite a lot to understand the symbolism of this new age, he worries himself with protecting your sanctum, making it the best version of itself, and keeping it painfully, effectively warded against all threats- Especially that fiendish "neighbor" you have, what disgusting absolutely abhorrent lifeform it is! Noxious creature!

But alas, your benevolence knows no bounds. Not only have you welcomed him into your life, you refuse to let that wretched pest meet its end. Truly, you are too good for this lost planet.

Now.

Back to his current task.

The sanctum is spotless, but alas, Belo was never taught how to prepare meals for lessers. It was not the type of discipline delivered to his cast. A guardian would know this, even a principality! But not him, not a power. Unfortunate and unacceptable- He must show adaptation and flexibility unlike ever before!

Which is why that uhm... Digital movie playing contraption you have comes in so very handy.

He never thought he'd be learning to cook from lessers, but here Belo is, hoping against all odds that he doesn't ruin the eggs this time. It's not that he can't handle objects in a gentle manner, it's that he's never had to taste things. Therefore, he doesn't know how to create the correct flavor.

And Lords forbid he ever present his Lady with something foul-tasting!

The power is sure he's got it down correctly this time however. Belo has just finished putting the eggs on the plate he intends to present you with, when he stills.

An acute sense of alertness and hearing means a lifeform like him is always aware of the movement around your apartment complex. He knows when your neighbors leave and arrive, which parts of their homes they're in... This also means that he knows when you're nearby, having memorized the noise of your vehicle -Such a shame that he can't accompany you to some locations- And the jingle of your mildly irritating keychain.

The angel scrambles to put everything together, wanting to be at the door with his offering in full display, so eager to see you-

The door rips open.

Only a nick of time allows Belo to secure his painfully crafted work of mediocre culinary, lest it be swatted to the ground. Sharpened eyes spare you great concern.

His Lady exudes frustration. Although his rank is not the most emotionally attuned, Belo senses a cloud of negativity choking you, your glorious features drained and tense. He's overcome with emotion.

" My- My Lady! Whatever happened today? Did you get hurt? Who d- "

The force with which you grip his hand is surprising for a human, dragging the angel only because he always allows you to. The food lies forgotten on the nearest surface. It's by his ever subservient attitude that you can toss Belo to the couch too, his silent confusion following when you activate the bigger display box.

" I need you now. " You begin, patience depleted. " Had a long day and you will help me relieve stress. "

He squawks the same way he does whenever his Worship starts these encounters without proper warning, wings fluttering and fur fluffing in a mixture of shock and anticipation. He fears that a part of him may enjoy getting pleasurably surprised more than any self-respecting angel should.

" But... " He knows it's not a good idea to challenge you, trembling as the last of his covering is undone. " You should eat b-before I service you, my Lady, many hours have passed- "

" I'll eat when I can't feel my legs. " The snarl you give Belo sends shudders down his spine, and he bashfully, albeit inwardly happily, readjusts to spread his legs for you.

" Excuse me but that hardly sounds healthy... "

His cock pokes out a furred slit, beading and twitching to interest. Although Belo becomes uncomfortably erect the moment you recklessly undress before him. It was not, as a filthy demon would put it, a slutty display. It was raw need, irritation and pure dominance. It was a side of his Worship he had yet to witness.

Belo refuses to ever admit it aloud, he cannot, he will not! But... But oh, the sins of the flesh. No, when provided by the superiors, they are not sins, they are gifts. They cannot be wrong. It's not wrong for Belo to enjoy your physical rewards for his work, but it is perhaps sinful of him to lust for more, to so eagerly hope that you'll allow him such pleasures when he performs certain tasks.

He does not touch his aching length because he's not allowed to. His pleasure is for you to decide upon, of course.

The angel prepares to slide down on his knees when you shove him back on the cushions by the shoulder.

Three eyes blink at you. " Am... Am I not to service you, my Goddess? "

You usually enjoy the touch of his fingers upon your most intimate zones, for training him is easy, and Belo adored the sounds of your approval. You did also curiously enjoy grinding over his face, a sensation that often left him pointlessly thrusting against nothing.

None of that today, it seems.

" Shut up. "

He was about to reply with a reflexive 'Yes, my Lady' before catching himself.

When you straddle him, the celestial only tilts his head, figure heated, but never expecting you to simply line him up with your entrance and slam yourself down.

Had he not been in the midst of breathlessly throwing his head back, Belo would have died from worry. As holy as you are, you share the stature of humanity, and Belo knows -F-From common sense, of course!- That his organ is not the same size of a human's at all.

He tries to articulate his concern, but the squeeze of your core around him is hypnotic and sickeningly euphoric. Belo can only hold onto full hips and cry his delight while you mercilessly hammer down on his cock, milking all the pleasure you can from him.

His melodious whines and resounding moans -Something he ought to control- rise in intensity as Belo loses himself and begins rutting senselessly, the tip of his dick nuzzling spots that make the two of you go stupid.

" Don't you dare cum yet! "

He wails, physically wails, body trembling so hard it almost spasms in his effort to reign his movements. " N- Never, never my Lady! I'm good, I'll relieve you- I'm good! "

And as if to confirm it, your serious complexion finally morphs into a self-satisfied grin, all lidded eyes and gentle, mocking affection.

He's the one that's not getting any relief soon.

#Belo oc #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend #terato tag #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #terat0philliac #not sfw #monster x human #monster x reader #minors dni

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actual-changeling · 1 year

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no but after seeing crowley and aziraphale so utterly relaxed and comfortable around each other, walking, sitting, talking closely together, touching, aziraphale no longer having his hands behind his back, just imagine how fucking painful it will be to get an entirely new kind of distance between them in season 3.

they never stayed far apart, not even in eden, not after their fights, never.

aziraphale returns to earth and for every step he takes towards crowley, both emotionally and physically, crowley takes one back.

don't touch me, is never said out loud, yet it's there all the same, written in the air between them.

don't touch me, because it hurts, because it reminds me of what we lost, because it's never going to be enough.

don't touch me, because i will cave, i will fall back into your arms, and cling and cling and cling, until you leave me again.

don't touch me, because if you do, i will take your hand, fall to my knees, and beg you to run away with me again again again. i will ask and you will decline, and we will both hate me for voicing the question in the first place; that is how we began and that is how we ended, how we will always end.

now it is crowley who keeps his hands in his pockets, behind his back, leaning away form aziraphale whenever they get too close, turning his head and fleeing into the cracks in his mind no one except himself can get into.

for centuries, crowley came back to him. every. single. time. it was him who returned, who grovelled, who apologized, who bottled up his anger and hurt and disappointment so he could throw himself between aziraphale and whatever danger they were facing.

he can't do it again, don't touch me, because this time he would sacrifice himself completely and give his entire existence for him, or whatever is left of it, anyway.

don't touch me, he prays, the same three words over and over. please, stay away, don't come closer, don't love me, not now, not after everything.

don't touch me, when all he wants is to open his arms and disappear into the embrace of the only real home he has ever known.

i love you don't touch me

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #idk if you can call this writing #falls on the line i think #anyway #im having an emotional time and im procrastinating my pirate pain

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world-of-aus · 7 months

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Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky x Pornstar!Reader

Warnings: MINOR DNI 18+ (Oral, Fingering, P in V, Praise all around,) Its Porn With a substantial amount of plot?

Author's Note: Third Installment for the Soldier and Eden Ivy is here! There will be a first ever behind the scenes coming out after this installment that will cover what happens between Installment 2 & 3 so keep your eyes peeled! Enjoy baby buns.

You’re laid out on the sheets, the lace chosen by wardrobe barely concealing any part of you. It’s taken every part of him to not strut across set and claim you, take all of you all while having you beg for more.

He was going to show you how he should have taken care of you that day, how he should have claimed your lips first, tasted every part of you after, before tearing you apart, making sure she came undone for him his name on her lips.

“You’re looking awfully lonely standing over their soldier, why don’t you come keep me some company, we can warm each other up.” You purr patting the silk sheets next to you.

His jaw ticks, fingers curling at his side, he shakes his head ‘no’, he wanted you begging for his touch.

You pout, “please – sir?” He’s shaking his head again.

Your pout only deepens as you move around on the bed till you're resting on your knees. You put out all the stops to get him to cross that line, your breasts pushing together when you lean forward on the bed your hands pressing into the sheets.

He stays where he is fighting his own inner battle to remain there, he thinks he might lose it when you huff, pout turning into a scowl. “Fine if you won’t come and warm me up, I’ll do it myself.”

You sit back, untucking your legs from beneath you, “Eden,” he grits, “baby you better think about your next move, I don’t want you doing something you’re going to regret.” Your gaze stays trained on his as you plant your feet, legs spreading tantalizingly slow, a growl builds in his chest as you bring a hand down between your legs, “Eden.”

His warning doesn’t stop you from pulling your panties to the side, fingers curled around the lace fabric. He’s across the room before you can even think of dipping your fingers into your wet heat, his body covering yours, fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist, his lips ghosting over yours. “Eden, Eden, Eden, baby, don’t you know who this pussy belongs too? His tongue darts out to lick over your lips, “this is mine baby, and only I get to touch what’s mine.”

You chase his lips, teeth capturing his lower lip before releasing it with a ‘pop’ “so then touch it, she’s lonely – empty.”

He groans low in his chest head dipping down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. He drinks down your sweet moans pressing his own groans into your lips when your fingers curl just right in his chocolate locks. He’s kissing his way down to your neck lips stopping by your ear, “remember your safe words, don’t be afraid to tell me to fuck off.”

He’s continuing down the sweet expanse of your skin, but you're nudging him, pulling his face to you. His lips are on yours again a quiet ‘I trust you’ on your lips pressed into his. This kiss isn’t scripted, so he has to play it off, “Such a needy girl aren’t you Eden, you just want to take, take, take, well don’t worry I’ll give you just what you need.”

Your chest is heaving, whines leaving your lips as you hips gyrate into the air, his warm hand presses your hips back down, fingers teasing your opening with the slick that’s pooled there. “Soldat please,” you cry pushing against the hand holding you down. He takes a nip at you inner thigh making you cry out, “you’ll take what i give you, should be thanking me for even giving you anything with how greedy you were earlier- touching what’s mine.” he murmurs.

You moan is obscene when he dips his fingers in, “Fuck yes, god – thank you!”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He questions pressing in tills he is knuckles deep, fingers curling. Your body, the part he isn’t anchoring down is lifting off the sheets, a broken moan caught on your lips. His mouth latches onto the all too sensitive skin of inner thigh, nipping, sucking at the soft skin. Your hand fists in his hair tugging, whining as you plead with God.

“Gods not here Eden” he husks licking a long strip of your skin, “s’just me.”

“Please,” you breath on a moan, “need – ah fuck!”

He grins, “what? What do you need Eden, tell me?” He knew what you needed but he wanted to hear you say it, he wanted you to beg for it.

“Your mouth – put your mouth on my pussy please.”

He hums, fucking his fingers into you with vigor now, “Is that the nicest way you can ask me Eden, thought you were well mannered baby, need me to teach ya a lesson?”

You’re rushing out a ‘no’ when his fingers still inside of you dark cerulean eyes looking up at you from where he rests between your spread legs. “Well go on now, ask me nicely.” You whine, his fingers digging into your skin when he feels you push down, “Eden, baby come on now, be a good girl for me. You huff, “please sir,” you whine all doe-eyed – fuck you must know what that does to him, “Please put your mouth on my pussy, don’t you want to taste her? See if I’m really as sweet as they all say?”

He growls pulling his fingers from you as he slaps your wet pussy, a breathy laugh leaving your lips, “this pussy is mine Eden, it belongs to me, and I’m going to make sure you never forget who it belongs to.”

“You're sure it’s - Ah – mmmm yes!”

His mouth covers your mound, tongue dipping past your slick folds seeking out that bundle that will have you screaming his name “Soldat!” He circles your clit with his tongue drawing your back off the sheets once more, your chest heaving thighs clenching around his head. His fingers curl around your thighs pulling them open spreading you out further for him, he was going to feast, and you were going to let him. Your back is almost completely off the sheets, breast pushed high into the cooled air of the set. His tongue flicks teasingly in and out of your soaked folds, “Now tell me Eden,” he murmurs breath fanning across your pussy, “who's pussy does this belong too?”

“It belongs to you sir, please, please put your mouth back on my pussy she’s yours! Please, please wanna cum on your tongue!”

His mouth is back on your awaiting heat, taking you higher as his tongue flicks between your bead and slick pooled entrance. Your fingers grasp the sheets beneath you, twisting them in your hold, “your fingers, need your fingers.” you whine.

He hums against your heat, shaking his head as he continues lavish you with his tongue, “no fingers Eden, when you come, you’re going to come from my tongue alone.” he breathes. He leaves no room for argument as he delves back in tongue working you over, moans of pleasure falling from his lips as he licks up your honey sweet nectar, the vibrations leaving you quaking in his hold.

He glances up his ocean grey eyes connecting with yours, you weren’t sure it was possible, but they seemingly darkened more as he pushed you closer to release. A moan catches in your throat as he suckles on your clit, his tongue working over it with quick strokes. Your pussy clenches around nothing, body heaving as the intense pleasure of your first orgasm washes over you. He doesn’t stop as he works you through your first orgasm his tongue continuously flicking over you, dipping into you to suck up your juices. Your vision goes white, fingers pulling at his hair taut.

“Ohh Fuck - Jesus” you choke out thighs trembling as you come down. He chuckles adjusting himself onto his knees, lips kissing up your sweat slicked skin till he’s looming over you his own eyes hooded over with lust, a lazy grin on his glistening lips. You lean up tongue running over his lips to taste yourself, “mmm guess I really am as sweet as they all say,” you grin coercing him. His cock throbs in his pants at your brattiness, hand coming up to wrap around your neck as he brings you closer, “It seems I haven’t drilled it into you, that you are mine, that this,” his other hand grips your pussy “that this belongs to me.” You lean further up despite the loose hold he has on your neck, your lips capturing his a groan falling from your lips as you taste yourself on his sinful tongue. He doesn’t know how you manage with your mouth still locked on his but you manage to get him on his back legs straddling him.

Another moment unscripted and he’s only ever done this one other time and that was with Carter. He doesn’t try to fix it, he wants to see what you do, so his hands find purchase on your waist squeezing. “Are you planning on taking again Eden?” You’re grinding onto his still cloth covered cock, “mmm something like that.” He guides your movements, lips parting at the pleasure you’re already building and he hasn’t even sunken into you. You fall over him, one of your hands sliding between your bodies to work his pants open, pulling him from his confines. “I’m going to take what’s mine, and this,” you squeeze his cock, “is mine.”

You never really stood a chance the second those words left your lips, it made him feral and he had never felt this way before. He has you on your back in less than a second, your legs accommodating his hips that are flush with yours, his cock buried to the hilt, his mouth drinking down the scream he’s managed to pull from you. “Guess we’re both taking tonight Eden.”

None of what the two of you are doing now is scripted, he shouldn’t be drinking down your moans of pleasure. No. He should have you face down in the sheets, he should be fucking you senseless, telling you what you’re going to take and that you’ll thank him for it. He can’t bring himself to though, its been over a week since he had the pleasure of working with you after Walkers stunt, and finally having you under him your velvet walls gripping him tightly has every rational thought flying out the window. He wants to make this memorable for you, wants to erase Walkers touch and leave you reeling with the thought of him.

The pace he sets is relentless, shifting the two of you up the sheets with the force of his thrusts, and you take it all so well, his stage name leaving your lips in a prayer as you beg him for more.

And he gives you everything, “that’s it Eden taking it so well, always such a good girl for me even with that bratty mouth of yours.”

You’re so fucked out you can only whine, “yes sir – m’you’re good girl, please cum inside of me, want it all.”

He groans the fucking mouth on you, doesn’t know what walker was thinking not taking his time with you, really losing himself in you.

“Cum for me, please cum for me.”

He loses himself the second you say it, spilling his warmth into you, your mouths molded as he gives you everything. He doesn’t want to but he moves enough to give Clint the money shot his body rolling off to the side of you when the buzzer sounds on set.

The move rooms around the two of you, the crew wrapping the set up while the two of you catch your breath. He runs his fingers over your arm drawing your eyes to his, you smile softly at him, “you okay?” he questions.

“Perfect,” you murmur softly, “thank you for agreeing to film with me as my comeback.”

He grins at the nickname you picked up from Steve, “anytime sweetheart, it’s how it should be all the time.”

“Mmmm you’ve set the bar pretty high Barnes, think the others have met their match.”

He laughs, “it’s a little late but I’m finally glad you learned your lesson.”

Your brows furrow, but then you're laughing the meaning behind his words finally breaking through that pleasure induced fog.

#pornstar!au #pornstar!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes smut

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