#cici!

[hyukalyptus]

i have a running thought and you are the perfect person to send it too because. balls. ANYWAY

I keep thinking about kai’s first time with his girlfriend and they’re both virgins so they watch porn together and try different things in it to see if they like it and when reader squeezes his balls for the first time he almost cums immediately cause he wasn’t expecting to like it so much. okay bye pookie

thank you for thinking of me when thinking about balls :3

but tmi about me i love watching porn w partners lmao so i love this thought. but yeah omg thinking about two fumbly virgins and reader just goes for it, squeezing his balls all unconfident and awkward but he squirms and shivers and absolutely loves it ehehe.

begs them to do it more..does it to himself a few days later in the shower :(

[eoieopda]

Dropping by to say hiiii💖 can’t believe d day is dropping in MINUTES ,?? Kind of???? I feel like I’m going to be delirious and will need to re listen immediately upon opening my eyes at 7am

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

hiiiiieeeee!!!!!

i’m gonna lose my shit and then be too amped to sleep. which feels like sabotage and min yoongi will be hearing from my attorney.

[hyukalyptus]

brooooooooooooooo

don’t be shy put some more

puppy anon returns with evil vampire telepathy!!!! sorry for the long ask 💔 your ideas are just too delicious horf snorf

you're gasping, you're panting, fingers wrapped tight in the fabric of your dress as you race through the garden. heels gone, makeup smudged, you're sure you look like a mess. distantly, you register the sound of your dress ripping on stray branches, thorns and luxe vines tearing at your stockings, but none of that matters in the face of whats chasing you.

you hadn't meant to break that oak casket, your curiosity be damned - hell, you didn't even know it was a casket until it tipped over and, and something came out. you heard the legends about this castle, and you still decided to snoop, of course you did, and yet - and yet -

the sound of footsteps behind you makes your hackles raise. no time - that something is on you, now, and you have to escape. turning abruptly, you zip up the nearby watch tower.

but as soon as your foot touches the cool stone, suddenly, your brain is underwater and you stumble against the cold steps. "im going to come find you." its a man voice, cool and even and flooding your brain like ice, the timbre of it rattling through your skull. you whip your head around in the dim light but you cant see anything but the brick in front of you. "don't you know to let sleeping dogs lie?"

"left?" his tone is musing, mocking, and you can only gather yourself enough to press against the wall of the stairwell, hand clutched to your chest. you dont dare peak out the window.

theres a couple of moments of silence before he speaks again. "no, right, then?" and your throat constricts and suddenly he's laughing, a little tsk on his tongue. you realize too late that he's listening for your heartbeat; the pick up and skip that betrays you.

you scramble to stand, to get up to leave, but then theres a rush of wind and hands clamp down on your sides. a high giggle bubbles out of the man(?) pressed behind you, and - suddenly its all too much, all to real, and that voice in your head is suddenly outside your body, blowing delicately over the shell of your ear with a single, low, "i found you."

i let this marinate way too long in my brain kiejwjejjr its nart as sexy as i would have liked to present to you, but it was a fun writing exercise 💔 thank yew lia 💔💔

- 🐶

@hyukalyptus @wolfytae-exe @agustdiv1ne GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GYTS ---

[woodsboromassacre]

ghostface always doing something

[donutboxers]

📺Server Room📺

[ciciyup]

Yandere! Apollo X fem! Human reader headcanons.

cw: Little nsfw, obsession, possessiveness, dark themes, cheating? (I don't know how I should categorize it, but it's not a direct hoax), angst, kidnapping, forced marriage.

🏹 a/n: This is the first yandere! What do I do, I hope I did well. I was feeling quite inspired so I think a little story formed as well.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

Apollo has never been one to worry, he is the epitome of beauty, no other God in the pantheon was as beautiful as he was. Being surrounded by women and men who are not only there beside him, but also queue for his attention, is something Apollo enjoys, attention and all eyes on him was something he loved.

He doesn't need to lower himself and have less, he must have all the best, that includes the most beautiful people, which was not a problem. Nymphs, goddesses and even mortals, rained down on him in droves, although the latter could not matter less to him.

Sometimes, among the millions of mortals that inhabited the earth, Apollo chose those who could stand out the most and had a unique beauty to take them with him. Sure they had always been adventures, he had fun with them, but that was all.

On one of his many trips around the earth he found you. He saw you picking oranges from a large tree, carefully storing them in your basket that was almost full. You were... Perfect. Your hair moved in time with the pleasant breeze of the day, your eyes were brighter than the stars, your smile could heal sore eyes, your voice was like hearing the singing of angels. You were so beautiful.

He didn't care much about you at first if he had to admit it. You seemed very common, very normal, just another mortal woman, however, something made him go to you. He didn't need to do much, just introduce himself and talk nonsense. You were nothing but nice and kind, you offered to help him find his way if he was lost, you asked him if he was hungry and offered him an orange.

He just looked for silly excuses to make more time and get to know you better, he lamented when you told him that your family was waiting for you and you couldn't stay. He watched your form as you left his vision until you were lost, your beautiful floral dress disappearing into the crowd and being replaced by sad shades of colors from people walking on their own path.

What made you so special? Was it the way you were so kind and modest with everyone else? Was it the way you saw things? Apollo, not having enough, kept seeing you regularly on different occasions, strangely always appearing out of nowhere when you were alone in some places or doing your own tasks. At first, it didn't seem strange to you, you thought it was just a coincidence, which made Apollo take advantage of your naivety even more.

Apollo thought you would fall at his feet as soon as he saw you, he wouldn't even need three days to leave you enchanted, but then it happens and he hits reality. He discovers that you are not interested in him in the slightest, at least not in the way he wants. You don't even worship the gods, you're not interested in them, you don't bring offerings or pray to them like other mortals. You don't lose yourself in him, you don't beg for attention, you don't adore him, you just see him as if he were just another man and that made Apollo's blood boil.

So when Apollo proposes to you and to go with him, you politely decline, feeling flattered, but refusing because you don't love him and you don't feel the same way. Apollo's face contorts, his brow furrows quickly and he tries to hide his inner side as best he can. His ego felt hurt, was he rejected by a mere mortal?

You move on with your life, Apollo seemed to have taken it well and wasn't upset, that's what you believed after he left. When you think everything is fine, he arrives silently to take what is his, what belonged to him from the beginning. No more games, there would be no more facades of the just and understanding God, he lets the true face of the coin come to light, then you don't have time to react.

He takes you, sees you walking towards your house and surprises you there. Your basket falls with a thud and the fruit falls scattered all over the floor, but no one else was there anymore.

Upon arriving at his kingdom, Apollo introduces you to it as your new home, showing you all the places keeping you close, holding your wrist so you wouldn't run away, even though there was nowhere to run, you were too far from earth and you wouldn't be coming back, he would make sure of that.

You resist for a long time, you don't want to talk to him or look at him or kiss him or touch him, you don't want his presence. Apollo doesn't want to be mean to you, he really doesn't, but your impertinence pissed him off, and when you didn't learn things there were consequences.

He pushes you into a room after you refused to sleep with him in what would be your shared room, the room was cold and almost empty, it had a mirror and a small couch, it didn't seem to be very frequented by anyone, since you could even see cracks in the walls. He dared to leave you there for almost four days, without seeing you even once, without leaving you food or water or any other basic resources, and when he decided to see you, believing that you had learned your lesson, he found you on the floor of the room almost dying.

You were pale, your lips dry, you could barely move, your stomach hurt from the lack of food and your throat was crying out for some water.

As he carried you to his shared room and laid you there, as he watched you eat the food voraciously and drink more than six glasses of water, as he watched you rest covered by the finest and warmest blankets on his bed, yes, now you would learn that things would be his way, you had no say in any decision, you would only focus on him.

And even after you became his beloved, faithful and devoted wife with the finest jewelry and the most beautiful dresses, he would remain the same, not even for you would he change. As you sat on a rock in front of the beautiful landscape of the place thinking about everything he had taken from you, Apollo was no less than a meter away from you in the hot springs with the nymphs at his side, each one laughing and talking to him, hugging and tracing his chest with their thumbs at the slightest opportunity. He relaxed with each one, every now and then, ignoring your presence, ignoring your pain.

Still, he refused to let you go. He didn’t care about silly nymphs, they were just for hanging out and feeling adored, if he didn’t have you he had nothing. He wanted you by his side, in the hot springs, on another throne next to him, in meetings with other gods, he wanted you.

It was only a matter of time, he would fuck you so hard you would carry his child and then he would finally have you with no chance of escape. He would take you every night in his marital bed and fill your belly until it was full and swollen, he would bury himself deep inside you to fill you again and again with his seed and he would claim you. You were his. You were from the first moment he saw you.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

🏹 a/n: I didn't think I would like it so much but in the end I really liked the result. I wrote it in less than two hours, although it is revised I am sorry if there are any errors. I was thinking of doing more yandere! For other characters, I like the theme. I have ideas for the next one so wait for it (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

—cici🏹

[kaleidoru]

biker mice from mars biker lions from saturn

[charmedslayer]

You could say what happened in that theater is a direct result of the movie itself.

[ghostampire]

fuck summer, I want october I want Halloween

[hyukalyptus]

Hp we can’t send pics on anon LOL

yeah i already acknowledged the whole anon n pic thing last night TT

but anyway- this is such a good one. he look SO good oml he’s so cool n hot ehehe

[eoieopda]

@sal-jimin-limon ALL HOURS ARE LOVING VERNON HOURS 😭 tysm for this, you sweet baby angel!!! 💘

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intensely up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[mevil]

[kpop-locks]

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ gidle ; two ”♡ᵎ ꒱

part.²

like/reblog | @yoonstxle

don’t repost our work or claim it as yours

[thedevilrisen]

begging for quinn hughes and “How did you end up like this?” 😵‍💫

Quinn considered himself a tool-body. He was smart and good enough with his hands to fix little problems around both yours and his own respective apartments. A flat battery in a smoke detector, sorted. A leaky window sill, plugged up with silicone before anything could sneak in.

However, on a quaint, sunny Saturday afternoon Quinn went in a little too far over his head when it was decided he would tackle a small plumbing issue. A leaky faucet, which had been dripping in his kitchen.

Quinn very quickly recognised that he was in far over his head, or in this case his ankles as water flowed, ankle-deep around him. The faucet now turned waterfall was doing little but gushing into the overflowing sink and flooding Quinn’s kitchen. Sodden towels, buckets and makeshift damns were easily over run.

His situation was just plain comedy, a broken wrench in his hand, pipes floating around the kitchen in the miniature swimming pool and water leaking from places it definitely wasn’t meant to be leaking from.

The kitchen, now turned watery battle zone had pots and pans strewn around to stop the flooding, the YouTube video Quinn had been watching in which a few steps were absolutely missed.

When you swung open the door, seeing Quinn standing there like a dear in headlights you couldn’t help but let out a light scoff and smirk.

“Quinn, how did you end up like this?” You asked with mock seriousness, this situation was secretly highly amusing you.

Trying to play it cool Quinn looked back at you, absentmindedly flicking his wrist with the spanner in it, "Okay, so, I watched this video—twice, mind you—and I thought I had it under control. But apparently, there's, like, a valve... or maybe a nut? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I turned the wrong one, and—well—everything sort of... exploded?"

You stood there and couldn’t help burst into a fit of giggles as you very clearly remember Quinn stating, “No! Don’t call a plumber, I can handle this!” Reaching for your phone you capture some pictures for future blackmail you asked, “Need me to call that plumber now?”

Thank you for requesting my lovely Ivy! It made my day and I hope this lives up to your standards!

[sftandwet]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀PRETTY WHEN U CRY

content alert :pwp, dacryphilia (?), needy leon smut, consensual relationship, fem reader! +I8 # MDNI

+I8 # MDNI ! SMUT CONTENT

author's notes : There are probably mistakes, but I don't think there are many hahaha I hope you like it! XOXO

links ★ masterlist revil ! ☁️ ۰ movie star event

<3 @fictionalslvr

Hands scratching his firm chest, digging his nails into the delicate white skin, feeling the flesh sink under his fingers. Lips open and blue eyes tearful, gaze silently begging you to continue, breathing quick and hands squeezing your waist, hips frantic, trying to fuck your wet pussy even harder. Delighting in her needy pussy swallowing his dick, trying hard not to cum at the sight of her beautiful breasts bouncing in his face. Whimpers and grunts expressing the pleasure that invaded his body.

Leon looked into your eyes with wet lashes, which as they went on wetting your rosy cheeks, he looked at you like a goddess, adoring you with his eyes, silently crying out your name, biting his lips and tilting his head back, closing his eyes tightly. . And you delighted in the view he gave you, feeling his hands sink into your waist, sometimes sliding up and squeezing the peaks of your breasts. I was grateful for every sensation you feel; the trembling lips begging your name, the lack of fucking your pussy, the dependence he had on your body, and the harder he fucked you, the more tears fell from your eyes.

“L-Leon, I..” your body shakes, and Kennedy's wet face digs into your neck, biting your skin, marking you as he slams his dick into your cunt harder, holding your ass tightly, fucking you as deep as he could, the wet noises that escape from the friction of their bodies, the sounds that her beautiful mouth makes, your heat and the scratches only made him go harder. Making you roll your eyes, feeling your pussy being eaten so well that your body trembles and your muscles contract, you feel the knot in your stomach, you feel the pleasure making you stupid, you feel your nails digging in and dragging across his skin, you feel the Leon's tears spill down your neck.

“So sensitive” you think, unable to express your thoughts. Leon was shaking and crying beneath you, feeding your ego. Doing everything for your cunt.

He removes his face from your neck and looks into your eyes, it was like a trigger and you cum, feeling your body being violated by uncontrollable spasms and tremors, he continues fucking you, always with that pair of tearful eyes watching you cum, holding your body hard, fucking you. The excruciating sensitivity invading Leon's body, tremors and tears, you look at him and see how beautiful Leon is when he cries; that being his only moment of vulnerability, sensitivity and exposure of himself, continuing to be the same man he was years ago.