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just-some-trans-nobody · 10 months ago

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December Christmas Monster stories

17.) Dragon x Knight

Nammot the male dragon falls for a brave male Knight and one thing leads to another. Hope ya'll enjoy, this was my first time writing dragon smut.

Warning: NSFW, grinding, cum, person covered in cum, dry cumming, cock humping, thigh fucking, no penetration sex, gay sex, sex with a dragon, large tounge licking human body, threats of death, meantions of eating humans, possessive dragon, let me know if I forgot any warnings.

Minors Don't Interact!!! You will be blocked immediately.

Word count 2751

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Snow fell around the caves entrance slowly blocking the way if not for Nammot’s fiery hot breath melting it all away each time he let out a heavy sigh. Not many knights would make the treacherous path up the steep hill let alone do it in the snow leaving Nammot rather bored waiting for anything of interest to happen. He wanted a knight to fight, to eat up in one bite and play with his shiny armor adding it to his collection. That is what he told himself, he was waiting for a knight yes but not just any knight. He was waiting for a knight who had called himself Percevale.

Nammot was planning on eating him the first time they had met but instead of drawing his sword when he first laid eyes on the dragon he had greeted him and had even asked for his name. No knight had ever done that to him during his many years of terrorizing the villages and kingdom. It made Nommot pause his fire breath and think for a moment about it, he hadn’t said his own name in so long he had almost forgotten it completely. “Nammot you may call me but not for long little shiny one for you sure will be dead soon.” He had growled out, smoke pouring from his nostrils as he readied himself to hurl his fiery breath at him. “Nammot? A nice name. Does it mean anything?” The knight had asked, confusing him and once more causing him to stop the fire building up in his throat. “Pardon?” Nammot asked confused by the question. “Well my name means to pierce the veil, whatever that means. Names have meaning to it, what our parents hope us to do someday. Or for those who choose their own name it means the path they intend to take.” Percivale explained looking up at the dragon. “Seems your parents wanted you to see the dead.” He snorted sitting down on his hind legs, an action reminding Percivale of how a dog sits. “Heh my parents must have wanted me to be a grave keeper rather than a knight then.” Nammot was absolutely baffled hearing a knight actually laugh and make what seemed to be a joke to him. It was always screams or threats of death upon the king's orders. What kind of knight was he to not attack him but to be kind to him? It surely must have been a trap one he will not fall for. Standing back up he snarled as he for a third time readied his fire breath wanting to kill the knight for daring to make a fool of him thinking he could tick him. Seeing Pericivale reach for something he acquired his shoulder ready for the knight to draw his sword all the more ready to burn him to a crisp but all movements froze when the knight pulled out a small dragon carved from wood. “I made this for you. You always take things so I guessed maybe no one has given you anything before.” He explained holding the wooden dragon up for Nammot to see better and for a third time he cooled the fire in his throat and leaned in close to look at the small dragon held in Percival's gauntlet. His pupils dilated for a movement as he stared at his gift before turning back into slits as he leaned back. “Ahem your offering will suffice, I shall not kill you this time but if you come again I shall not be as kind.” Nammot sneered as he held out his large scaled paw for Pericivale to drop the wooden item into.

The wooden dragon now sits on top of his hoard, his prized possession though he never admits it. Percivale came back again and again, each time with a gift for Nammot, each time Nammot said he would surely kill him the next time they met but never followed up with his threat. Between their meetings the longer Nammot waited the grumpier he got, he didn’t like waiting for his devoted follower as he liked to call him. Percivale liked to call him his friend, though Nammot would scoff at the words but never correct him about it.

As the seasons changed to winter Nammot now waited for Percivale to visit him, growing more and more impatient. “This time I really will kill him if the cold doesn't do it before he gets here.” The moment Nammot had muttered those words he had regretted it. What if Percivale had really died and he just didn’t know him. The thought of losing his only friend struck his heart like a piercing arrow. This feeling only grew worse as the hours turned to days, still Percivale didn’t show. Nammot wallowed in his grief thinking his little knight was dead. That is until one day as Nammot was sprawled out letting out soft whimpers the sound of clanking footsteps froze him in his tracks. “Percivale?” He called sitting up staring at the entrance of the cave with baited breath but as the figure drew closer and made no sound Nammot grew worried it wasn’t him and some other knight had braved the mountain in the winter in hopes to catch the dragon off guard. Standing up Nammot readied his fire breath growling as his eyes narrowed.“Ah did the day finally come when you surely would kill me?” a voice called up, almost bringing Nammot to his knees. “Oh my knight!” He wailed out before clearing his throat trying to compose himself. “I mean oh it’s you… thought you were some other foolish knight here for me to feed upon.” Nammot said, puffing his chest out as he looked away. Percivale knew Nammot was embarrassed, he could read that dragon better than Nammot would have liked him to be able. “Ah yes of course, you must be starving with so few knights to eat. They’re all trying to avoid being out in the cold.” Percivale said with a shiver of his own. Smiling under his helmet he walked over to Nammot, not afraid of the dragon in the slightest and plopped down next to him. “What did you bring me this time, my devoted follower?” Nammot asked leaning his head in closer, he knew nothing of personal space and was almost pressing his large head against Percivales armored body. “Food.” He stated looking through the bag he had brought. “Dried meat, it lasts longer. Though with your size I would say this is more of a snack than a few days' meals as it would be for me.” Percivale laughed, taking out the large pouch of meats. Nammot opened his mouth in a silent demand for the knight to feed him. A demand Percivale followed with no second thought to it, just opening the bag and dumping the contents into the dragon's mouth. “Mind if I take my armor off? I worked up a sweat in the cold and now all my clothes are wet from it. It’s very unpleasant.” He started the long process of taking off all his armor, one Nammot nodded his head not caring at all. Dragons were always naked. Why would he care if a human was too?

He found himself watching Pericivale undressing in the corner of his eye, he was trying to act like he didn’t care in the slightest but this had been the first time he had seen the knight take anything off past his helmet and Nammot was a curious dragon. Humans had such an interesting body. They were no dragon of course, such puny things but Nammot found himself admiring Percivales body. Turning his head to look at him better Nammot watched Percivale spread out his cold wet clothes onto the stones in the cave in hopes the dragons heat would dry them. He was unaware of the glowing eyes scanning each scar and blemish on his body as he moved around naked in the cave.

A gush of cold winter air blew in from the cave's entrance causing Percivale to shiver as it bit at his exposed skin. That wouldn’t do, Nammot couldn’t have his devoted follower suffering from the cold. Letting out a displeased snort, Nammot swept his tail around Percivale pulling him in closer to his much larger body. He pretended he didn’t see the wide grin on Percivales face as he sat down leaning against Nammots stomach. It felt strange to him to have someone touching his weaker under belly. It was a great sign of trust for a dragon to show their underbellies let alone let someone be pressed against it but he had that trust for his little human. The two stayed like that for a few hours until Percivale drifted off to sleep curled up against Nammot. He watched the sleeping knight admiring eyes, how does a human like him feel so comfortable sleeping so close to a dragon? “Silly little human.” Nammot whispered, gently nuzzling his face against Perivicales, laying his head down, closing his eyes drifting off into a slumber of his own.

It was a peaceful rest until the sounds of quiet wimpers woke Nammot up. Lifting his head up he looked to Percivale with worry thinking he had hurt him by mistake in his sleep, gotten to careless and shifted his weight onto him crushing him, or maybe nicked him with one of his talons. Seeing Percivale was still in one piece with no crushed bones Nammot tilted his head and leaned him pressing his nose against his trembling form. Maybe he was cold, was that it? Nammot blew a small amount of his breath onto him hoping to warm his little devoted human. It didn’t stop the shivering or the whimpering much to his dismay. Frowning he gently nuzzled his nose against him. Sure enough that stopped the sounds that were causing Nammot distress. Sighing he relaxed and nuzzled him again as he slowly closed his eyes drifting back to sleep. His hot breath caressing Percivales body with exhale. After a while the hot careesses drew too much for Percivale, soft moans left his lips as his dreams turned from the earlier nightmares to sinful thoughts of desire. Nammot slipped into a lighter sleep state hearing the moans, he mistook them for the whimpers from earlier so to comfort his little human he nuzzled him again adding fuel to Percivales burning loins. He moaned much louder at that, waking the both of them almost immediately. Pulling back with wide eyes Percivale looked away, his face turning a bright shade of red as he did his best to hide his lower half. Nammot looked at him blinking a few times as the gears in his head started to turn, still a little slow about it until he finally took in the scent of his arousal. “Oh.” He said with a dry throat only able to let out the one word. “How indecent of you.” Nammot thought his teasing was clear but he froze when he noticed Percivales eyes had started to water at his words. His heart sank at the sight. Letting out a soft rumble Nammot pressed his nose to him nuzzling him once more. “I didn’t mean it like that silly little thing.” He hummed, sending vibrations throughout Percivales body. His tongue slithered out giving Percivale what was meant to be a comforting lick across his body, Percivale didn’t take it that way and moaned feeling the hot muscle drag up his body from stomach up to his chest coating him in drool. It wasn’t originally what Nammot was going for but it was an outcome he didn’t mind. His pretty little human made such lovely sounds. Wanting to draw out more he licked him again causing Percivale to gasp and writhe against the feeling. “What are you doing? Nammot stop it.” Percivale whined as his back arched. “If you wish it.” Nammot whispered, pulling back, he watched him with greedy eyes wanting to taste more of his flesh. Looking up at Nammot Percivale let out a soft whimper as he held eye contact with the dragon.“Do it again?” He whispered embarrassed by his words by controlled by his lust. Nammot smirked as he leaned back in pushing the knight's legs wide open with his nose as he stuck his tongue back up licking his crotch up to his neck causing Percivale to let out several gasps and whiny moans. The dragon let out a moan of his own, tasting the sweat on Percivales body. His skin tastes like sweet nectar and Nammot was almost tempted to take a bite but reframed himself from doing so. Letting out a moan Percivale pushed his hips up against Nammots tongue begging for more from the dragon. Leaning back Percivale noticed a shape to his side that wasn’t there before. Turning his head to get a better look his eyes widened seeing the dragons unsheathed cock. “By the gods I think that might be bigger than I am.” Percivale said in both shock and awe.

“Do you like it?” The dragon asked with a cocky tone, the smell coming from Percivale already gave him his answer. Rolling onto his back Nammot stretched out showing off his cock. “I assume you know what to do.” He said as if it was obvious and Percivale should be able to read his mind. “What? No, no I don’t know what to do. I’ve never fucked a dragon before!” Percivale exclaimed geturing to Nammot and his cock causing the dragon to frown. He was hoping Percivale knew what to do, he hadn’t fucked a human before, he hadn’t the fantiest idea on how this could work. “Climb on top of me and grind against me, it’s why I was licking you duh.” Nammot stated as if it was a fact and not him pulling something out of thin air. Percivale let out a soft oh as he stared at the dragon's cock. Gulping he climbed up his hip and straddled Nammots monstrous cock the best he could. It was burning hot, almost too hot for Percivale but the moment his cock touched Nammots he let out a long moan. Holding onto the ridges of Nammots cock for support he started to move back and forth rubbing his thighs and cock against him to simulate them both at the same time. Percivale was worried at first he wasn’t doing a good enough job as he stared at the unmoving dragon. Nammot wasn’t making a single sound, not even blinking. Just breathing heavily as he watched him with unsatiated hunger. Moving faster Percivale let out a louder moan as his back arched. Still Nammot made not a single sound, he dared not to as he didn’t want to miss a single lewd sound Percivale made pleasuring himself on his burning cock. The sounds and sight of Percivale would be his most cherished treasure for all times, he knew that already. Feeling Percivale grow slower Nammot growled and grasped his waist in his clawed hand holding him as he rutted his hips against him taking control of the situation. “Keep those pretty legs wrapped around me.” He ordered letting out a moan. Percivale gladly followed orders and squeezed his legs against the dragon's cock. Nammot wasn’t sure how long this went on. By the time he had his fill of orgasms both his stomach and Percivale was covered in his sticky cum. Percivale was dazed and panting, his last three orgasms he had been cumming dry, completely spent and having lost track of them long ago. Letting out an over-stimulated whine Percivale looked to Nammot with tear soaked eyes, neither had realized he had been crying from the amount of pleasure he had been feeling. “I don’t have anything left in me.” He said almost pleading to Nammot who nodded his head in agreement. “Nor I.” The dragon said, lifting the knight up, setting him onto his chest. Percivale let out a soft whine but snuggled into him almost immediately. “Wouldn’t mind if this became a regular thing when I visit you.” He said letting out a winded laugh drawing a rumbling laugh from Nammot. “If this becomes a regular thing I don’t think I would let you out of my cave.” Having Percivale live there sounded rather good in that moment, Percivale silently agreed with it too, he could get used to living like this.

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corralinesage · 23 days ago

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Portrait of a wounded heart (1/8)

Summary:

You attend a live figure drawing class with the intention of falling in love with your favorite hobby again, instead you set your sights on something entirely different.

Lesbian fall romance for those in need ;)

‼️This work has been posted to ao3 as well and you can find the complete book there if you don’t wanna wait for the updates here!

18+ toward the end, read at your own risk⚠️

CHAPTER 1 Obsession, digression

You had been putting off signing up for a live figure drawing course for the entirety of your summer break when you had had all the time in the world to really get into studying anatomy with various different mediums, but inspiration and motivation had been very sparse for longer than just a few weeks or months. You didn’t really care anymore. You had lost what was perhaps the most important part of creating, you’d lost your passion toward art, the very same passion that you had kept alive since childhood. You knew you should’ve kept practicing, should’ve put more effort, more love, into the part of your life that kept you mentally nourished, but you just couldn’t seem to get over the artistic block that held you back. So, as a result you had made the decision to take part in a quick art course at your university to really push yourself out of your comfort zone. It might have either been the best or the worst idea you had had in a while, but there was no telling until you would enter the classroom and get to work.

You heard a loud honk through your earbuds, something that seemed to be more than frequent during rush hour, the sound blending in with the music that you were blasting into your mind to keep it quiet as you hurried across the street in case the honk was directed at you specifically. You tossed your empty takeout cup of coffee into the nearest bin you could find, tugging your coat tighter around you to shield yourself from the aggressive wind that made you shiver violently as you walked down the dark and busy street to find the university building that offered night classes to anyone who paid an excessive amount of money. You couldn’t really tell why you had decided to spend so much on a month-long course, but you could no longer withdraw your payment which left you no other choice but to go.

The door to the building you were heading for opened, a tall woman stepping outside, scrunching her nose at the humidity in the air, her hair dancing in the wind as she walked down the steps and disappeared out of your sight. You pulled on the handle of that same door, finding yourself inside an ancient building that had a rather striking, old-fashioned interior, the academic decor of bookshelves and plaster statues gaining your attention immediately. You had never been inside it before because your studies were mostly located on the opposite side of campus, but you managed to locate your classroom with only mild difficulty, feeling nervous butterflies in your abdomen, the odd sensation fluttering through you in waves of discomfort. You kind of wanted to leave, backtracking in your plans of reawakening the creative part of your mind. You could bring it back to life in the comfort of your own bedroom, the easels and assortments of charcoal pieces suddenly feeling more than intimidating by the minute as other artists slowly filled the room with their presence. None of them had even touched a single pencil or a piece of paper, yet you felt intimidated, like you had already failed before even getting the chance to prove your skills. You bit the inside of your lip, fiddling with a raw piece of coal, unintentionally staining your fingers black with the unrefined drawing tool. You felt like you couldn’t draw at all, like you had been shoved into a room filled with Michelangelos and Van Gohs who would all notice your incompetence before you had even been assigned a task.

Your anxiety flattened your mood rather effectively, the teacher’s words going right past you as she introduced herself, telling the class about her history with the university. You briefly wondered if you should have paid more attention to her because you were paying to be there after all, but you failed to keep your ears open and eyes on her, so you began to shade in the corner of the paper with no further purpose than to kill time, patiently waiting for the teacher to give you something to do. She rambled on for quite a while before asking the class to draw a quick five-minute sketch from memory of a person golfing, reminding everyone to focus on the line of action that often defined movement in drawings. You hated the prompt. You had never drawn a person golfing because nobody wanted to see that. Golf? Golf was for old people, but you began to draw random strokes on the paper anyway without even knowing what pose you were going for. You tried to see a golfing person through your mind’s eye, but apparently that part of your brain was out of use. You just couldn’t figure it out, the time limit only adding on to the pressure you felt.

You came into the conclusion that the exercise sucked. You stared at your sketch of a lanky golfer holding up a golf club, deciding that the figure was unintelligible and looked stiff in its unnatural position. You wanted to rip the paper into shreds but allowed the teacher to give you a second prompt without you making a scene in the corner of the large classroom. You hated that you had no way of finding references for what you were drawing, but you guessed it to be some sort of teaching method that would allow you to see your faulty way of thinking, as well as encourage you to actually learn anatomy that would eventually grant you the skill of drawing from memory. The subsequent prompt the teacher gave you went in from one ear and came right out the other, leaving you to ponder what it had been for the next five minutes while others sketched said figure. You pretended to do something with your easel and piece of lead to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the enthusiastic students as they worked on their sketches. With no prompt to follow, you zoned out completely, your eyes falling out of focus, freezing you into place as you sat still on your small stool. You barely even registered the teacher’s timer going off somewhere in the background, your body remaining in the same position for the next fifteen minutes as the teacher explained the meaning behind the first exercise and moved on to introducing a second one. Your mind was empty and full at the same time. You were stuck, stuck both physically and mentally, a sense of despair clawing at your chest for the wasted opportunity. You should have been happy, excited, eager to learn more, eager to give yourself what you needed, but you just couldn’t. You were too overwhelmed, too nervous to even give your creative side a chance, so you just sat, staring ahead. What finally drew you out of your troubled mind was the plain door to your left that opened suddenly, the gentle sound alerting you of an entering presence that caught you completely off guard in the state of comfort that you had found in the lonely corner of the classroom. You watched as a red-headed woman wearing a white robe slipped through the door. She gave you a polite smile as she shut the door behind her, walking over to the teacher who had a bright smile on her face.

“Here’s your model”, she announced in that overly sweet tone of hers, clearly ecstatic about the exercise. There was something about the way she spoke that made you not want to listen to a single word she said, but the remarkably beautiful woman who she was introducing to everyone seemed to be enough to hold your attention. “I want to go over the appropriate etiquette one more time so that there is no confusion”, the teacher said a bit more sternly. “There will be no photographing the model. There’ll be no touching, no talking, no commenting on appearances. Her safety and comfort come first which means you’re not allowed to make any kind of contact with her unless she initiates it”, the teacher reiterated, your eyes lingering on the model’s soft features, her striking red hair styled into loose curls that reached past her shoulders. “If I see so much as a glimpse of a phone or some other photographing device you’ll be thrown out of class and charged a fine. And finally –you would think this goes without saying, but apparently not– you’re not allowed to ask her out on a date or ask for her phone number. She is here to model and that is it”, the teacher asserted, brushing her hand down the model’s back, discreetly guiding her toward the center of the room where a tall stool stood. “Now… shall we get started?”

The model exuded confidence, she knew what she was doing, how to act, her captivating exterior letting you know that she had posed more than a couple of times before. She dropped her gown to the floor, your eyes suddenly nailed to your fresh sheet of paper. You couldn’t look at her, it felt too disrespectful. You couldn’t understand why because you’d seen naked women before, you had seen multiple naked people in your lifetime, yet suddenly it made your cheeks heat from embarrassment, your stomach swarming with butterflies. She was too pretty to be looked at, too enchanting, but deep down you knew you were beyond curious. You wanted to see more of her beauty, suddenly reminded of why you always gravitated toward figure studies specifically, and why you had chosen the course in the first place. You loved anatomy, and more explicitly female anatomy. You treated the female physique with a certain reverence, appreciative of both its capabilities as well as aesthetics. You felt a spark of excitement within you, allowing yourself to be intrigued by what was to come, but you also knew that it wasn’t just the artist in you that wanted to see her, wanted to witness the extent of her charming looks. You felt like everyone was looking at you, judging you for exhibiting homosexual tendencies. You shut your eyes, wincing at your reeling mind before gathering yourself, preparing to take a look at your subject as the teacher gave some more insight on the exercise.

“I want you to draw her in ten seconds, and ten seconds exactly, no more, no less. You’re going to produce me a loose sketch. Make it as loose and wild as possible, but make sure it still lets the viewer know that the subject is human. Utilize light strokes, curves and circles. Remember, the human body has no straight lines. There’s always a slight curve”, the teacher instructed, walking back and forth in the classroom, observing everyone to make sure no one was falling behind. You picked up an HB-lead pencil, whittling the tip with a utility knife to get your desired lead sharpness for drawing. “Ready?” You heard the teacher’s voice, preparing yourself to take a look at your model. So what, she was pretty? You drew pretty people all the time. “Three, two, one, go!” The teacher cheered with so much enthusiasm it sounded like she was commentating a sports event.

You peeked your head from behind the board propped up on the easel, your eyes landing on your model only to find her staring right back at you. Holy fuck. Your face flushed. Out of all the directions she could have been looking at she had chosen yours. She sat on the stool, her right foot supported by the beam that connected the legs of the chair at the bottom, left foot up on the edge of the seat. Her arms hugged her bent leg loosely, the position hiding her bare breasts from most angles. Her head was slightly tilted to the side to give her pose a sense of casualness, her natural color-palette and dominating presence begging for you to find any kind of assortment of pigments that you could utilize to replicate the soft hues of her complexion. There was no other way to capture her beauty, her poise, her hair, her skin, her eyes, her lips. You just stared at her, unable to move as the sound of charcoal on paper filled the room, the rest of the students putting admirable effort into their sketches, whereas you just stared. You could not pull your eyes away, you simply could not, the woman holding your gaze with impressive consistency. Her eyes were so intense, so green and warm even though the shade of green was on the cooler side. She had a mole on her cheek and a slight pout to her lips, the very last seconds of your time spent on observing the gorgeous shape of her round nose.

“Time!”

The corner of the woman’s mouth quirked up in a small smirk as your eyes widened. There was not a single line on your paper, not one, not even an accidental smudge of lead, and she knew it. She had seen you stare at her for every single second of the assigned time. You pulled back, forcing yourself to take a glance at the teacher who was looking over everyone’s work. Shit. You gripped your pencil, quickly drawing an oval shape to represent the model’s bent up leg, drawing a messy circle for her head, and a couple loose lines for the rest of her limbs. It was poor, but it wasn’t supposed to be good anyway, your hand leaving the paper when your teacher walked to your side, eyeing your plain sketch.

“Good job everyone!” She congratulated rather vaguely, moving back to the middle of the class where the students could see her. “I want you to draw the same pose again, but this time I’m giving you thirty seconds. Make it more detailed, take it a step further. You’ll be surprised by how much the extra twenty seconds will affect your work”, she said encouragingly, glancing down at the timer in her hand. “Is everyone ready?” After receiving affirmative nods and a couple verbal responses she pressed the button to start the timer again. “Go!”

Your gaze returned to the model, her eyes still on you. It was ridiculous. Why did she have to look at you? You were going to get nothing done in a class you paid a fortune to be in. You sighed in defeat, allowing your eyes to drop down to her body, trying your best to keep your cool as you studied her toned legs for a moment before going back to your sheet of paper. You reproduced the ten-second sketch, defining the shapes a little more, pulling back a bit to place your pencil in front of you, measuring the length of her limbs by looking at her through your dominant eye only to get accurate proportions. Once you got the sketch going and found a way to direct your attention to the sheet of paper, drawing became significantly easier, allowing you to get over your initial feeling of being flustered, but when the chair and limbs were done and you moved on to her torso and head, you felt your mind blank again. There she was, looking at you, staring at you with those steadfast eyes, unmoving like a carefully chiseled marble statue. Something made her unique, made her different from the other people you had drawn in your lifetime. She was so incredibly captivating that you felt like it couldn’t possibly be replicated through any art medium. You were positive that not even the highest quality camera could capture her energy, her entity, quite right.

You spent more time looking than drawing, but you didn’t mind it in the slightest, and neither did your teacher as long as you were drawing something and putting at least a bit of effort into it. You continued the exercise, the teacher increasing the time limit with each round, the model’s pose remaining the same for the rest of the two-hour class. You were sure you could have drawn her in your dreams from how many sketches you had made of her, but you didn’t feel satisfied. You wanted to be able to capture her perfectly, you wanted a fresh sheet of paper and thirty hours to create a piece of art that would match her regal composure. She deserved more than messy lines and quick sketches. She deserved better materials. She deserved a canvas, the richest paints you could find, an atelier with the most perfect natural lighting. She deserved a real artist, someone who could do justice to her beauty.

You felt like you couldn’t get a single sketch right. Objectively they were good, and there was nothing wrong with them, but to you they didn’t feel right. Time and time again you failed to bring out that same sense of awe and admiration that she awoke in you when you looked at her. Your sketches were flat, void of the thrill you felt whenever your eyes locked with hers. You weren’t sure if you were even skilled enough to capture such a feeling, but you were willing to try, vehemently sketching away every single time your teacher set a new timer for the next round. It bothered you that you felt rushed by the time limit. You wanted to draw in peace, constantly getting fixated on different details on her body or face. You couldn’t focus on her as a whole because every small curve and arch of her body demanded your undivided attention. You couldn’t just look over the small freckle on her calf, or the ivory of her thighs, or her auburn curls, or the purple shade of her nail beds as she slowly grew colder over time, her lack of clothing making her hairs stand on end. You felt the urge to walk over to her and drape the robe back over her body, despite how unbothered she seemed by the low temperature.

“Time! What have you guys noticed so far?” The teacher inquired in genuine curiosity as she started walking again, eager to observe everyone’s work. You couldn’t think of an answer, no, your eyes straying back to the model, once more allowed to watch her without having to draw. You had moved your small stool to the side a bit, the model noting that she could see you fully in your new set up. Her gaze flicked down your body for just a split second to see all of you before her eyes were back on yours, the model maintaining her pose meticulously. You felt your body burn up when her lips pursed the slightest bit, threatening to curve into a smile, her eyes turning almost playful.

“You… um, Y/L/N, right? What have you learned?” The teacher asked suddenly, walking beside you to see your sketches. She clearly had impeccable name memory. Your eyes widened, the model scrunching her nose discreetly as if apologetic for the situation you had found yourself in.

“Yeah, uhh…” You simply could not think, struggling to form a single word in your brain that had been caught off guard by your teacher’s inquiry, anxiety creeping up your neck to squeeze your throat. “Lots”, you mumbled, glancing at the model, which turned out to be a mistake because she was biting down on her lower lip to keep herself from laughing at your poor answer. “You can go a long way with just… shapes”, you elaborated, the teacher seeming to accept your answer, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, precisely! I want you to look at your subject and draw shapes”, she began, her words clearly aimed at the entire class, her attention no longer on you or your work. “We often overcomplicate things by focusing on what they are instead of the shapes that build up the whole picture”, she explained, your attention going back to the model, your teacher’s voice fading into oblivion.

You weren’t sure whether it was all in your head or not, but you felt like there was tension between you and the woman in front of you, a connection. It almost made you feel like it was just the two of you in the classroom. Maybe it was because she was looking at you and you only, or because you were being delusional and a hopeless romantic who caved at the very thought of being the object of someone’s observation. You wished you could have spoken to her, could have somehow confirmed whether you were crazy or not, but it wasn’t allowed. You weren’t allowed to contact her in any way which caused a sudden wave of sorrow to go through you. Something about her made you want to get to know her, your predicament striking you as rather unfortunate because you didn’t feel that way about a lot of people. You couldn’t remember the last time you had even cared to waste a single thought on someone who you didn’t know. You glanced at the model again, trying to give her a small smile, wanting to give her some kind of signal of communication, but your smile was shy, so shy in fact that it probably didn’t look like a smile at all. You almost didn’t dare to look if she reacted to it, but to your utter surprise she returned your smile, the look in her eyes shifting the slightest bit. It was like she could smile through her eyes.

“Thank you for today. I’m looking forward to seeing you all next week!” The teacher’s voice drew you back into reality. You blinked your eyes, nearly flinching when the model moved suddenly, the effect very similar to that of a moving statue, the woman getting off the stool to pick up her robe, sliding it on to fight the cold of the classroom as the other students cleaned up after themselves, loud rustling of paper sounding in the air. You couldn’t move, still far too occupied by her energy, your eyes lingering on her, and then all of a sudden, she was closer. She was walking closer to you. She came to a stop in front of you, taking a good look at your sheet of paper filled with sketches of various levels of effort. She glanced down at you on your seat, pursing her lips to hide her smile.

“You’re very talented”, she said quietly, her voice low and smooth, not something you had expected, but it suited her perfectly. You didn’t know what to say or do, looking up at her with your lips parted, searching for words, but you didn’t have to figure out anything to say because she turned around and walked away, disappearing through the door that was on your left.

You exited the class in a haze, so deep inside your mind that you didn’t even realize it was dark and raining outside. The wind blew in your face, wetting your hair and skin as thoroughly as possible, your fingers doing their best to untangle your earbuds as you walked down the street, dodging a couple pedestrians who you nearly ran into on the narrow sidewalk. A man hit you with his shoulder, not far from pushing you into a pole in his hurry to avoid the rain. You would’ve thought that New Yorkers would have been used to the rain, but apparently you were wrong. Yet the normally irritating encounter didn’t manage to ruin your mood, not when you had someone who tended to steal your attention time and time again with her red hair, and sweet voice. You kept replaying her words in your mind, trying to remember the tone of her voice as accurately as possible, but you could already feel it slipping away from you despite your efforts. It frustrated you. You needed to know more about her, hear more of her voice, anything at all really. You wanted more, unable to shake her from your mind as you hurried down a staircase to catch the subway that had just come to a stop and was opening its doors to new passengers. You picked up your pace, running along the platform and slipping inside the train.

The memory of the model would not leave you alone, your mind returning to the way she had smiled at you, the way those impossibly green eyes had looked at you for minutes on end. She was there when you went to bed, when you woke up the next morning, when you rode the subway to the university, when you sat in class. You wished to draw her again, noticing your notebooks slowly fill up with quick sketches of that same pose that was forever going to be ingrained into your muscle memory. However, you struggled to remember the smaller details, none of your sketches resembling her enough, a growing frustration alerting you of its presence. You had to get it right, you had to see her again.

You were sitting in a lecture hall, shading in the muscles of her thighs absentmindedly as your professor spoke about the significance of Victorian literature. You liked your professor, finding her voice soothing, which often ended up being deceitful because it made you zone out without you even trying, her calm way of speaking allowing you to focus all your attention on the sketch in front of you. The model was beautiful, she was so beautiful even in your inaccurate sketch. You sighed quietly, tilting your head as you tapped your pencil against the sketchbook. You wondered what her name was, how old she was, what she did for a living. She looked like someone with an elegant name like Eleanor, or Francesca, or Antoinette, well, maybe not that fancy, but something along those lines. Maybe Anastasia or Madeleine. She looked older than you for sure, but certainly not too old for you. You liked older. Maybe she was somewhere between thirty and thirty-five, and possibly a full-time model. Although it didn’t seem to quite fit her. In your head she was not exactly a model by occupation which made you ponder how she had ended up in your classroom. She was athletic and worked out, that was for sure, her defined forearms and calves flashing through your mind. There was so much you didn’t know, so much room for possibility, room for you to make assumptions, the ambiguity allowing you to see whatever you desired. She was a blank canvas, a mystery for you to uncover.

An entire week’s worth of lectures went to waste as you daydreamed about your next art class in the hopes of seeing her again. You had far too much time on your hands to let your imagination run wild during lectures, every minute spent sketching as you thought about her. You thought about drawing her, painting her, holding her hand, your fantasies advancing to scenarios outside of art class to silly things like her waiting for you at campus, the autumn wind fluffing up her curls, a cup of coffee in her hand. You imagined the way she would smile at you, those pillowy lips sipping on her drink as she watched you do your homework at the library. You had decided that she liked pumpkin spice lattes with extra syrup and whipped cream on top. You thought that she looked like someone with an office of some sorts and maybe a nice flat in Brooklyn. You imagined that she wore classy clothes with an occasional odd piece that didn’t always fit her style. Of course you didn’t know because you had only ever seen her naked. The thought made you blush, an urge to hide away taking over you as your gaze met your professor’s. Hopefully she couldn’t read your mind. Her eyes flitted down to the sketchbook on your table, but she didn’t say a word despite seeing you do anything but focus on what she was talking about. You felt mortified, but only for a split second because then you were already dreaming of the way she would cup your face and pull you in by your waist to plant her lips on yours, and then before you could control your mind her fingers were buried deep inside you, her tongue licking into your mouth. Your entire body was lit on fire in mere seconds, your tight jeans only amplifying the arousal you felt pool between your legs. Oh, crap. You had a crush.

You weren’t one to flirt with women, you weren’t one to spend time around people, but for her you could’ve made an exception. You didn’t have crushes, you didn’t daydream, you weren’t a lover girl, yet slowly, you were becoming one, your mind consumed by a woman you knew nothing about. You couldn’t understand it. It was so unlike you to have silly crushes like that, but you couldn’t deny it. She was on your mind day and night, visiting you in your dreams. You loved and hated the feeling, finding joy in the thrill of liking someone, yet at the same time it was agonizing to know that it would never actualize into anything real. You were struck by an intense wave of affection, the subject of your admiration having no clue about any of it, which was both a relief and a disappointment to you.

A week rolled by on its own, bringing a sense of anticipation with it. You had patiently waited for your second art class in the hopes of seeing your newfound muse again, beyond thrilled that the agonizing wait was over. You said goodbye to one of your only friends at the university, heading to the beautiful, old building you had entered for the first time a week ago. You located your classroom with ease that time around, pumped full of excitement as you set everything up according to your teacher’s instructions, trying to remain patient as you waited for the class to begin. You were thrilled to create, to draw, to lose yourself in your work –in her– much like what you had been doing the previous week of school. You just needed to see her again, you needed to refresh your memory, even if you wouldn’t be allowed to talk to her. It didn’t even matter because you had gained your spark back, found passion, found something artistic to direct your energy toward. You had finally found a reason to create again, your heart longing for that consistent flow of inspiration, that high of creation, success, that state of mediation. You waited with the utmost patience for your teacher to bring out your model, but to your utter disappointment, she never showed up. She wasn’t there. Instead, you got a male model and an exercise for practicing color theory, which normally would have been greatly appreciated, but you just couldn’t get past the heaviness in your chest. Every time the teacher came to check on your work and tell you that your colors were looking sad you felt like crying. You wanted to ask her if she could bring your model back, but you knew you couldn’t even mention the woman without coming off as weird and unprofessional, so you bit back your sorrow, your wounded heart bleeding onto the canvas in dull, muddy colors that made the lively, young man sad and hollow.

When you finally escaped the classroom at the end of the night you burst into tears. You felt so desolate, like you had been abandoned, left alone, which was of course more than ridiculous because she didn’t even know your name. She wasn’t in your life, she was merely a person who you had crossed paths with, yet for some reason it hurt so much. It hurt unbelievably much considering you had never been anything at all, not even acquaintances, but the lost possibility of something more seemed to linger in your mind as you rounded the corner and entered a coffee shop to escape the frigid wind of September, in search of something that could provide comfort to your depressed mind. You got yourself a warm drink and a fat muffin, finding a seat in the corner of the cafe where you could cry in peace, looking out the window at the wet streets that glistened under the streetlamps as the rough wind whipped the leaves off the defenseless trees.

More chapters to come!

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manwrre · 1 year ago

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It’s bordering on two weeks since Hargrove’s arrival at Hawkins High, when Steve realizes he’s crushing on the guy. Like—‘doodling hearts in the margins of his books and racking up a list of things he likes about him’ type crushing.

They’ve barely interacted after that night at the party. Outside of social gatherings, they just run in different circles; Steve, filling his time with Robin and occasionally third-wheeling Nancy and Jonathan, while Billy hangs out with the more popular crowd.

Their schedules also don’t overlap despite the blonde taking a number of senior-level classes, with the exception of gym and lunch.

The list though, is still so painstakingly long. Ego-stroking-ly lengthy. Embarrassingly indulgent, all on his behalf.

Steve would much rather nosedive into the quarry, than divulge too deeply into it with anyone.

Especially around or to the guy’s actual face, at the risk of Billy’s head becoming too big for his body (even though Steve thinks he’d make an adorable bobble head). Or you know, worse— like him, getting absolutely brained in front of everyone.

Which must say a lot about him as a person because apparently, this is his type. Beautiful, angry, conceited boys.

Regardless, there are some objective mentions on his list though.

Things that the general public would agree on, like Billy’s Michelle-Pfeiffer curls; loose and wavy but so, so golden.

His eyes are a close second, of course because Steve’s seen a lot of bright blues but Billy’s remind him of the vacation he’d spent in Aruba, as a kid. Remind him of a horizon-kissed vastness and warm water lapping at his ankles on a private beach.

The public also agrees that Billy’s got a banging body. He’s thicker than most because he actually gives a shit and ‘works out religiously’ but it’s not all muscle. His abdomen and thighs are firm but his pecs and ass have the right amount of give. A perfect amount of softness.

Steve would know because he’s had to will away many boners at the sight of them.

And Billy’s funny in a witty, sarcastic way. He grins toosharptooprettytoobright and dangerous. He’s smart too, like taking mostly AP classes smart and he’s smug about it all because he knows he’s hot shit. Of course, the bastard is self aware. Cocky. Steve likes him so much. Wants him so bad that it’s dizzying, sickening.

So yeah, there’s stuff that everyone can agree on but then….then, there’s whatever this is.

This being the two penny-sized indents at the base of Billy’s spine. Symmetrical and just defined enough for average eye to discern.

When Steve sees them for the first time though, he promptly drops the basketball in his hands. In front of everyone. During fucking gym class. Purely out of shock.

He catches himself within the same breath and quickly looks away.

Swallows.

Ignores the pointed look that Patrick sends him for flaking out, mid-pass, like some kind of freak and looks around cooly.

Because Billy Hargrove has dimples of venus.

Affectionately dubbed a sign of beauty by Michelangelo. Famed after the Greek goddess’ simulacrum. Called dimples of Apollo on men, which suits Billy all the more, in Steve’s opinion.

The sun child.

Flushed with life. Deserving of avid worshippers. A being deserving of wax poetic. Glittering, dazzling, vibrant and the Camaro, his chariot.

And he knows this because dimples are like, his freckles. His glasses. His braces. They’re a niche, little thing that he finds just devastating. Achingly cute. Nancy has a pair of them near her laugh lines that he would kiss everyday and prod at, endeared.

So he ambles on through practise a little out of breath and red in the face with his newfound knowledge.

Watches Billy jog over to the locker room with everyone else at the end; skin slick and sweat pooling at the divots of his waistband. Tempting.

He stands back and feigns trying to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. Eyes the younger boy’s retreating form from up through his hair. Imagines hooking his thumbs into the depressions of his flesh.

Relishes in the thought of splaying his hands across the width of his waist.

Feels his mouth go dry and a rush of white heat surging south.

Licks his lips absentmindedly as his cock aches to life and makes the decision to skip the locker room schtick, save anyone realizing he’s sporting a half chub.

Instead, he grabs his backpack and heads out to his car. The parking lot is mostly empty by the time he gets there and devoid of anyone interested in him enough to wave him over. He tosses his stuff into the backseat of the Beemer and speeds off before anyone can catch up to him.

It’s a short drive to his house but he spends it envisioning Billy in all sorts of compromising positions. Thinks about the flush on his skin when he plays and the heat in his eyes— wonders how easily he gives in; loud-mouth turned soft and pliant at the faintest hint of pleasure.

He barely makes it inside before shucking his bag off and stripping himself bare of sweat-sticky clothes. In the same breath, he’s fisting a too damp hand around his cock and hissing at the near painful throb. His only relief comes from the coldness of the door against his back as he slumps against it.

Precum beads at the flushed head and he gathers it all on the upstroke to ease the glide. Squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that honeyed galaxies explode behind the lids and he can’t think.

Can’t think about the consequences of jerking off to someone he sees damn near everyday. Doesn’t care enough to avoid the impending embarrassment.

Why would he? Instead, he thinks of Billy laid out beneath him, all pretty and flushed and glittering; his eyes wet with unshed tears and ruddy lower lip between his teeth as he looks over his shoulder at him. Imagines the roughness of his voice and his muscles all pulled taut as Steve knocks the air out of his lungs with each slam of his cock.

He fucks into the tight ‘o’ of his hand, already so goddamn close and conjures up the image of twin dips. Wants to paint pearlescent white across the bronze expanse of Billy’s back; let it pool where he is favored by the Gods.

The thought has him biting back a moan as he grinds into the slickness of his hold. The heat in his gut expands so greatly, so suddenly, that his hips flex with the intensity of it. Until finally,

it snaps.

Like a star beneath the pressures of gravity; with all the strength and ferocity of a supernova. And he’s spilling all over his hand in a few stiff, jerky thrusts and breathing out a low, garbled “Fuck, Billy— shitshitshit.”

And God, he’s so screwed.

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aether-writes-things · 2 months ago

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Deadpool (Movieverse) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Logan | Worst Wolverine (Deadpool Movies)/Wade Wilson Characters: Logan | Worst Wolverine (Deadpool Movies), Wade Wilson, Blind Al (Deadpool) Additional Tags: Logan | Worst Wolverine and Wade Wilson Have Sex in Nicepool's Honda Odyssey (Deadpool Movies), Honda Odyssey Fight Scene in Movie: Deadpool 3: Deadpool & Wolverine (2024), Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Porn with Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pain Kink, Blood Kink, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, the honda scene changed my little gay brain for the worst Summary:

It started as a hatefuck in Nicepool's van...and then it ended up awkward after saving the world.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadpool #poolverine #poolverine fic #ao3 #jeepers that's smut #did I post smut before anything else on my cursed as fuck ao3? yes.#is it also not my main fandom? also yes #shoutout to the husband for being gay #aether's stories #aether writes things

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geraskierfanficprompts · 7 months ago

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Prompt 4

Geralt is the captain of a pirate ship, named "Kaer Morhen." Perhaps he's still a witcher, perhaps he's just a regular old human (with white hair and golden eyes? Lol) His brothers (and "cousins" from other witcher schools) are his crew Now I can see this going two different ways, so choose a favorite (or make up your own, I am only the beginning, I hold no affront of being anything more) Jaskier is a nobleman's son, aboard his family's ship, possibly on his way to be forced into a marriage to a woman he doesn't love. And either he falls overboard or he's shoved off as a murder attempt, but he's lost in the ocean. Lambert (or someone else, but I love to imagine how Lambert would attempt to call this out to his captain who he doesn't take seriously 90% of the time, #brothers) calls that he spots a man bobbing in the sea, and they haul him up. The majority of the crew sees sight of his jewels and finery and insists on holding him ransom. But when the prisoner wakes up and isn't afraid of death, Geralt looks into this a little more. Apparently their prisoner won't get a ransom because his entire family despise him and his want to run away and become a bard. Funny. Most pirate ships have entertainers aboard to help the pirates deal with months of nothing but ocean. Perhaps they'll have use of this dumb twink after all. OR, option number two Jaskier is a nobleman's son, chained and starved for the crime of wanting to become a bard and not wanting to marry some prissy noblewoman. He hears a lot of loud noises and screams and then a bunch of burly men in fur cloaks stomp down and start rifling through their supplies. One catches eye of him and immediately yells to the captain. The captain is a very handsome man with silver locks and bright eyes, and the dreaded pirate captain is treating Jaskier with more kindness and gentleness than his family or their workers ever have. The pirate hauls Jaskier up into his arms and carries him to their own ship, laying him down in his own bed, and looking over his injuries and sending one of his crewmembers to make hm a fine meal. Jaskier begins telling the captain of his abusive life beforehand and mentions that all he's ever wanted is to spread music and love, and shockingly enough, this big scary (gorgeous) man doesn't even laugh at him for it.. Oh fuck he's falling in love-

♡!Optional addons!♡ • Geralt gayly teaching his bard how to swordfight!!!

• Perhaps Jaskier's family is crueler and has done more than beat him, perhaps they've stabbed him or something, and the very last thing he sees before he passes out from bloodloss is Geralt (Maybe he even thinks he's an angel! Lmfao)

• Geralt getting lovingly bullied by his brothers for taking care of his songbird so well

• Geralt's crew revenge-robbing or revenge-killing Jaskier's family if we do Option one for the story (attempted-murder route), since it's implied it happens in Option Two while they ransack the ship-

• Perhaps I'll do a sequel for this prompt one day for Mermaid Jaskier, I do LOVE mermaids, take this as a much smaller and much less detailed prompt for if you want that idea, too! Perhaps the Pankratz ship has a captured mer aboard, parched and dehydrated (I just mostly think it'd be funny if Geralt was checking his pulse and if he has any injuries while random other witches dump buckets of sea water on him-)

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gayaristocrat · 2 years ago

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——Masterlist——

Key: Smut = {s} Fluff = {f} Angst = {a}

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x Male Reader {s}

Request: This is just me being a slut, like my name, but wearing a skirt for Eddie for the first time. Like he’s just rambling and rambling then he notices that you’ve changed from pants to the skirt and then he starts being absolutely feral. Then he spreads your leg and starts kissing his way up your thighs and you’re just leaking like crazy underneath, leaving a wet spot on the front And he makes you keep it on as he rails the fuck out of you

Eddie Munson x FtM! Reader {s}

Request: Omg omg I'm going feral over this but imagine an FTM reader and Eddie Munson but like. Eddie putting a pillow under Reader's back and pressing on their stomach while absolutely RAILING him---

Billy Hargrove

Billy Hargrove x Male Reader {f}

Summary: How would Billy Hargrove be in an a-z fluff?

Billy Hargrove x Male Reader {s}

Request: Hi I LOVED your billy a-z fluff if you are doing requests can you do another billy a-z but smut? Or headcanon

Billy Hargrove x Male Reader {s}

Request: What do you think Billy Hargrove will do to help his boyfriend who is scared of sex?

Billy Hargrove x Male reader {f}, {s}

Request: Hi! Going off of Billy helping his bf with his fear of sex, how about Billy planning a beautiful night for his bf who told him they feel confident to have sex and Billy make love to them gently and praised them

Billy Hargrove x Male Reader {s}

Summary: While Billy was punishing you, you discover a secret about yourself you never know about.

Wednesday

Tyler Galpin

Tyler Galpin x Male Reader {s}

Summary: Tyler's boyfriend gives him head as he falls apart at the sight

Harry Potter

Harry Potter x Male Reader {s}

Summary: Harry’s boyfriend gives him head while at a very important zoom meeting for work

Riverdale

Archie Andrews

Yandere! Archie Andrews x Femboy! Male Reader*

Request: So do you still take request? and how is your day? I was thinking yandere Archie Andrew x femboy male reader. I like yandere books btw. The plot is that the reader is new to Riverdale high

Archie Andrews x Mute! Male Reader***

Request: Reading your fics always makes me happy. Would you do a headcanon of archie taking his boyfriend who is mute out on a picnic for their birthday and just being soft to him and affectionate with some soft nsfw

Archie Andrews x Male Reader**

Summary: How would a date night with your heroic boyfriend, Archie Andrews, play out?

Reggie Mantle

Reggie Mantle x Male Reader***

Summary: Since Reggie had been denying you attention, you decided to find it somewhere else, knowing full well how easily jealous he gets.

American Horror Story

Michael Langdon

Michael Langdon x Male Reader

Summary: Michael takes a liking to the reader and falls for him. Michael wants to ‘question’ the reader, but things get more heated than they should.

|| 1 | | 2 | | 3*** ||

Michael Langdon x FtM! Reader***

Summary: Michael has a hard day at work, but thankfully he can come home and relieve his stress every day.

Michael Langdon x Male Reader***

Summary: Being tied up as Michael plays with you like his little rag doll was not how you planned your night to go, especially being denied and teased by him.

Michael Langdon x Male Reader***

Summary: Sometimes its good to just be an obedient little puppy

Chilling Adventures Of Sabrina

Ambrose Spellman

Ambrose Spellman x Male Reader**

Summary: Could Ambrose Spellman really have found the love of his life or is he just another summer fling?

Ambrose Spellman x Male Reader***

Summary: What could possibly make Ambrose Spellman punish his sweet little boyfriend?

Father Blackwood

Father Blackwood x Male Reader***

Summary: Reader and Sabrina try to come up with a plan to get back at Weird Sisters, but he wants to do something bigger. But what happened when things take a turn?

Harvey Kinkle

Harvey Kinkle x Male Reader ** (angst to fluff)

Summary: It's time for Harvey's boyfriend to confess a secret, but will things go as planned?

Nicholas Scratch

Nicholas Scratch x FtM! Reader

Summary: Nicholas spends a special holiday with his boyfriend

|| 1 | | 2 | | 3 | | 4*** ||

Supernatural

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester x Male Reader***

Summary: Sam and reader both hate each other and they work out their frustrations together

Misc. Characters

Mike Schmidt

Mike Schmidt x Male Reader***

Summary: Mike wants nothing more than to fuck his boyfriend’s ass into oblivion. But in order to do that, his boyfriend must teach him patience and obedience first

#gayaristocrat -- masterlist #x male reader #male x male reader #gay fanfiction #mlm smut #male reader #american horror story #stranger things #wednesday #riverdale #harry potter #chilling adventures of sabrina #american horror story x male reader #stranger things x male reader #wednesday x male reader #riverdale x male reader #harry potter x male reader #chilling adventures of sabrina x male reader #the 100 x male reader

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writerofthewinds · 2 years ago

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Masterlist :

My global tumblr master list :

-Rules and fandoms I write for

-Upcoming projects

Masterlist updates as I go.

PJO master list :

Jason grace :

NSFW alphabet An NSFW alphabet full of sexual headcanons

Fluff Alphabet A fluff alphabet full of nonsexual headcanons about being his romantic partner

Forgotten Legacy A fanfic post-ToA where you're working together on an anthropology project

Your mouth is mine to do as I please A smut fic where a jealous jase decides to teach you to who your mouth belongs.

Jason grace with Arabic boyfriend Headcanons about him having an Arabic boyfriend!

Jason grace with a boyfriend with anger issues hc's

Somebody call the blonde! A fic I had the idea while writing the HCs about anger issues.

I thought I lost you A fic where the reader is a child of aurora with angst to fluff at the end

Percy Jackson :

NSFW alphabet An NSFW alphabet full of sexual headcanons

Fluff alphabet A fluff alphabet full of nonsexual headcanons about being his romantic partner

Will Solace :

NSFW alphabet

Descendants :

Ben Florian :

Random headcanons

Random headcanons part 2

The title with no hyperlinks means they still need to be published.

Grishaverse:

Nikolai Lantsov :

Fluff alphabet

NSFW alphabet

Last update: 15.04.2023

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hornyaquarius · 1 year ago

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Masterlist for my smut stories/ fanfics

Michael Cimino & Reader

Celebrity Sex Paradise (10 Chapters with Joshua Bassett, Matt Cornett, Jace Norman, Tom Holland, Nico Greetham, Lucien Laviscount) FINAL CHAPTER OUT NOW!!

Sebastian Stan & Reader

Harrison Osterfield & Harry Holland

Shawn Mendes & Joshua Bassett

Nico Greetham & Reader

Joshua Bassett & Matt Cornett

Harry Holland & Tom Holland

Jordan Fisher & Matt Cornett

Gavin Leatherwood & Reader

Anthony Keyvan & Reader

Tom Holland & Harrison Osterfield

Tom Holland & Kit Connor

Kit Connor & Mason Gooding

Leo Howard & Charles Melton

Lucien Laviscount & Black Michael

Froy Gutierrez & Zane Phillips

Peter Parker & Johnny Storm

Gavin Casalegno & Gregg Sulkin

Ross Lynch & Joshua Bassett

Rudy Pankow & Anthony Keyvan

Jacob Rott & Asher Angel & Nico Greetham & Taron Egerton

KJ Apa & Noah Beck

Nico Greetham & Milo Manheim - HALLOWEEN SPECIAL PART 1

Leo Howard & Anthony Keyvan - HALLOWEEN SPECIAL PART 2

Taylor Lautner & Brian Altemus

Tom Holland & Ben Hardy

Joshua Bassett & Matt Cornett AGAIN!

Gavin Casalegno & Gregg Sulkin CHAPTER 2

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midnighttease118 · 1 month ago

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A MARRIED MAN (18+ GAY SMUT)

This had to be one of the luckiest nights of your entire life. Or your ticket to Hell. Either way, you don't regret it, because this man's ass feels too good around your cock.

It perfectly adjusts itself around your length without a single complaint. It's true what he said; his body was built for this. This sort of talent isn't nurtured from birth, but a niche skill that only a desperate man would train for. Somewhere in your subconscious, you already knew this would happen. Those longing gazes weren't lacking in substance, nor were the firm handshakes he offered every time he stopped by your place with more housewarming gifts. His wife said you'd love them.

It was tradition for him to take his new male neighbors out to the bar and share a pint, spilling their guts about the lives they left behind to settle in this simple, suburban town. The rest of the fellas cared more for getting wasted than sharing their stories. You were the only one who took the bait.

"Ahh, a city man through & through," he raised his glass in your direction, "Cheers to a fresh start!" You clinked your glasses together with genuine smiles. Your new neighbor may have dressed like a stereotypical 80s father with gelled back hair, a clean-shaven face, and conservative business clothing, but damn, could he down a drink! His adam's apple bobbed vigorously as he chugged rounds of beer. The server who tended to your table collected your glasses when he finished his streak; her eyes peering at your neighbor's disheveled state.

You have a knack for catching when there is tension in the air, and your radar was going off as you sat across from your new friend. He didn't order any more rounds, but his demeanor suggested that he wanted to. His eyes shifted around for the server, and even when she was clearly in his line of vision, he would just chuckle and return facing front- gazing into your eyes.

"You ever been with a man?" was his question, but he might as well have said, "I know you killed someone," because your reaction made some of the bar patrons turn their heads.

"What the Hell you getting at?!" It wasn't like you were angry at the accusation- per say. You've been a proud bisexual since you knew being straight wasn't mandatory. But asking that question in a community you're not close to is way too risky.

"Don't sweat it," your neighbor lazily waved a hand, "I only asked because I have."

You suddenly felt like a man with a pickaxe, tempted to turn away after nearly being outed in public, but now you just heard that there's a big pile of treasure behind the final wall you need to break down. You knew something was up with this guy; it was only right to learn more! So, you calmly sank back in your chair, as your neighbor who was so obviously drunk continued his confession.

It started when he was 38. In a hotel room in Vegas. Told his wife it was for some work conference when actually he scheduled a nightly visit with some guy tagging along at a friend's bachelor party. He looked hot enough; so tall he had to bend down to assure he wouldn't hit the door frame. Muscles built from years of dedication, with a fashion sense that clashed with your neighbor's professional appearance.

The stranger locked the door and glared down at the man. "Would you like a drink?" is what your neighbor would've asked if he had not been grabbed by the throat. He was dragged to the bed, forced to sit, and in seconds he had come face-to-face with a real life, 10-inch cock. Veins pulsing down the shaft, precum already leaking from the slit. His mouth was pried open by the stranger's sausage fingers, and God willed him not to cum when the visitor's thick cock pressed past his pink lips. It slid in quickly but cautiously too, ensuring it wouldn't press too hard on your friend's uvula. The stranger closed his eyes and began to thrust, slowly at first, with a record in his throat repeating the words, "Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah...". Clearly, he did not come for foreplay.

The man you once deemed strait-laced had rubbed his thighs together as he sucked. So this is who I am, he told himself as he accepted the throbbing cock deeper into his throat. He willingly laid on his back so the stranger can crawl on top, and face fuck him into the mattress. His hips gyrated fiercely against your neighbor's skull, while the rest of his clothed body was constricting from the tension and sweat. The man moaned like a little bitch as the visitor halted to expel his cum down that greedy throat. Load after load dumping out from his heavy balls towards the man's stomach.

You imagined yourself in that Vegas hotel. Sitting in a chair located in the corner of the room, stroking your length to the man being gleefully assaulted.

"Do you hate me yet?" the man broke you from your fantasy. It was good though; sporting a boner in a crowded bar would've made you the town pariah. Plus talking like this, in a place littered with open ears, was not smart on the other man's end. So you leaned forward and told him, "Let's get outta here."

The fun didn't stop once that stranger came down his throat. He left for a few hours only to return with the friends he tagged along with on this trip. It was already so late at night when he came alone, that when he returned with his crew it must've been around three in the morning. They were all so huge! Each man took a turn with him. Claiming his ass, drowning that mouth with more semen. His hands couldn't be at rest when he saw all the dicks he had to service. This wasn't part of the deal at all, but he didn't mind.

"Why not?" you asked, begging your painful boner to rest just for a minute. You kept your eyes on the road, driving your neighbor's vehicle since he was far more wasted.

"Women don't know how good they have it," he replied, slouching in his seat, "They grow up being adored by so many guys just for existing. Meanwhile, us men must fight for attention. I'm glad he invited them over. I knew I was still holding back, and that was just enough to break me out of my box."

Unlike Vegas' infamous slogan, what happened that night didn't stay there. Your new friend flew home the following day to reunite to his wife, hugging her dearly before saying hi to the kids. They pestered him about school, and toys they wanted to add onto their Christmas lists. The entire day was testing him mentally, provoking him to snap as his loosened asshole pleaded for another cock to ravage it. He intended on deleting the hookup app by midnight, but he logged on just one more time and swiped right on ten people before bed.

One fucked him in a car in an empty parking lot. Another paid for a motel so they can 69 all afternoon. Your neighbor's least favorite fella was this 21-year-old named Chase. He tried not to remember names, but Chase wouldn't let him forget with his hourly text messages. His tight, virgin ass was perfect for the older man to deflower, as before then he had only bottomed. Chase assumed it was love at first fuck, and so he insisted they meet again and again until they were official. The man rambling beside you said that he let the kid down easy, texting him, "I can't. I'm married" before blocking his account.

Being an undercover whore wasn't for the faint of heart. There were times the father of two looked at his growing children and wondered if they'd be proud of the parent they had. "I'll be just like you, Daddy!" his then 8-year-old son said one day. The word "Daddy" was ruined forever as he could only smile at his boy before rushing to the bathroom and letting out a load in the shower, remembering how deliciously Chase moaned that word.

"How 'bout now? Hate me yet?" your neighbor grinned while resting his heavy head against the car window. His detailed excursions were fascinating to listen to, but you were just one man. A man that had no business knowing any of this.

His wife didn't suspect a thing; as long as he occasionally slept with her and gave great head, then that would put an end to any suspicions. But 11 years of sneaking around wore on his spirit.

His children were both in college, which left him and the missus together more often, uninterrupted- without an escape. She needed him now more than ever with her grief over the empty nest. It was then when he finally deleted all the apps and tried to be faithful to his wife. But then the political convention came.

This neighborhood, perfect as it may seem, did not carry the type of people this guy would consider friends. Like he told you on the way to the bar, you were the only one wanted to talk to him. An eligible bachelor would want to listen to his escapades. That was his belief; he wanted someone to hear his story. Somebody to be wowed at his adventures- and to justify his actions.

"There's nothing wrong with what we're doing," said a man in his hotel room, day 1 of the convention. They laid together, his head on the stranger's hairy chest. He enjoyed how the dark hairs brushed against his shaven cheek. "We're still following the word of the Lord by being upstanding men. What we do in private is nobody's business."

"Even if we're cheating on our wives?"

The stranger rolled his eyes, sitting up straight so that your neighbor would have to sit up too, and stray away from that broad chest. "Cheating implies we WANT a relationship with other men, but that's not true. We can fuck and leave without pretty words in between, and that's not sinful as long as it doesn't infiltrate our primary lives; the ones we've built with the mothers of our children. I look at her every day and never think I'm betraying her, because I know I'm clean. I don't bring nothing home but the bacon!"

Confident words he said, considering they had just fucked without a condom.

Your neighbor felt like a real sissy as he sat there, blanket over his lap, unsure of what to say to such things. It seemed correct, but he still felt his eyes beginning to water. "So...if your son wanted to fuck other boys, that'd be okay?"

"He don't need nothing from no man that he can't get from his woman," his lover replied, "But I will say this: if that woman happens to rag on him too much, and no other female wants to ease his stress, then I would accept the consequences. Humans crave connection! It's a crime to hold that back. We're the ones working all day, providing for the kids, and they can't bother to give a handjob?"

Your neighbor was 48 at this time; just a year before meeting you. He looked back on this moment fondly, as it was this time as he sat in a hotel bed with stained sheets of semen that he was convinced that he never felt more accepted by anyone. His heart swelled with a light that was diminished long ago as he listened intently to his partner.

All this time he had been staying alive for his family, carrying this weight of guilt, but now he felt like he could be free from that. He had craved freedom so badly; from the time he was 14.

"Heh, you look like a real fag right now," the stranger smirked, "With all them tears." he reached over and touched your friend's face, wiping off a tear with his thumb. Your friend grabbed that hand and pulled it down so that thumb was pressing against his lips. Slowly, he inserted the thumb into his mouth to be licked and sucked by his experienced tongue. His wife would never allow him to be vulnerable like this.

"Ahh, what I said got ya hard?" the stranger bled into a grin. His cock bounced with vigor, "I got something better for you to suck, bitch boy."

This story concluded right as you parked outside of your neighbor's garage, knowing his wife's car was already parked indoors. You helped your friend step out of the vehicle and wondered if he'd ever stop rambling. "Golly," you said, "Sounds like one crazy night!"

"Do you think I should've stopped there?" he said, "Stopped sucking his cock?"

"You should've stopped a long time ago."

"Even if I'm lonely?"

"Huh?"

He repeated his question with greater strain in his voice, lightly gripping at your polo shirt, "I did everything right..."

You glanced up at his beautiful white home, checking the windows. They were all dark. "Okay buddy, do you wanna crash at my place tonight? I don't think it's best if your wife sees you this way."

Your place didn't look like it'd appeal to a man of his tastes. Everything in his house was immaculate, from the clean carpets to the organized food pantry, even the wooden desks that had no stained rings from soda cans like yours had- you always forgot to put down coasters. A bachelor's home was a little more dirty, casual, or as your neighbor liked to say, "lived in."

You turned on the TV and left him sitting on the couch while you got him a glass of water. Two minutes shouldn't have been enough to have him weeping when you returned- yet there he was. His limbs slack, head thrown back, moaning like a pitiful human. This was the right time to ask if he was okay, but he was clearly not okay, so that question felt redundant. So, you quietly left the glasses of water on the table and held the remote to switch channels.

"...Do you hate me?"

Your jaw clenched. Again with that fucking question.

"No, I don't. Why do you care?"

The man sat up properly, looking down at his lap, amazed at how he allowed himself to cry actual tears in front of another man. His eyes were burning, like crying caused an allergic reaction. It hurt to see.

"I hate myself."

You refused to look him in the eye after he said this. Your skin was crawling with goosebumps from how awkward this night had become. "I love my wife & kids. I swear that I do. But I was cursed to want dick." he claimed, "Times are changing though. People are more inclusive! I thought maybe, after I did what I had to do, I could finally explore that side of me. Keep it under control," he paused to take a sip of water, his voice gaining more clarity and sounding saner than it has all night.

He half-expected you to interject here, but you wouldn't. You wanted to listen.

"I think I'm done with that life now. I got it all outta my system, but being with all those guys just proved to me even more how much I need my family. They keep me grounded and safe. Hooking up is a recipe for all kinds of disasters. Why do it when I have the perfect woman in my bed?" he chugged more water as his eyes started to clear, "I'm gonna make it up to her. For the rest of my life, I will."

"Please, you are so full of crap."

"What?" the man's heart that had been bearing itself to you all night had locked itself in a tight cage, "I just told you my whole life story, and that's all you have to say?"

"What a horrible existence if your 'entire life' consisted of cheating on your wife."

"I know it seems that way, but it's not cheating if you never want to pursue a relationship."

"You still believe in that bull crap?" You couldn't believe this guy! Your tongue was nearly bitten off by how long you were holding it all night. Every story he told should've ended with you leaving him in that bar or calling a cab to take you home- you didn't have to listen to this nonsense. "You really are a coward," you put it lightly.

"Call it what you will," he argued, "But what I did was NOT cowardly. It was a sacrifice! I gave up my body to get rid of these feelings just so I can be a good husband. What do you think would've happened if I kept it all in?"

"I don't know- leave her?" you glared, "But that's just not Christian, is it? No, God would rather you keep secrets behind your wife's back, so you can get your nut off in assholes that could give you a disease. Name one time you used a condom."

"You're a brick wall," he shook his head and then stood up with a slight wobble in his step, "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you."

"Good thinking, my guy! What the fuck else were your expecting outta this?!" you stood up too. There was no point in arguing with a delusional man; there was no reason you two should've referred to each other as friends in the first place. You just moved in three months ago! Before then, you never knew of such insane people like your neighbor, who'd reject their true selves just to keep up a facade. He was quite a devil to want to storm out on you after telling those erotic stories.

"You want me to say what a good man you are? How righteous it is to deny your feelings? Mark my words, those kids know what you've done, and they hate you. They hate every part of you. How is it summer vacation, they study one hour away, and they've NEVER visited the house?!"

"Fuck off!" your neighbor thrusted his hand forward, inches away from smacking you in the face, but you didn't budge, "You don't know what I've done to keep my family together!"

"Unless you had a gun to your head, I find it hard to believe you had to fuck those guys. Even so, I'd rather take a bullet than betray my marriage."

"Fuck you!"

You got in the other man's face, his innocent appearance dying as he was sweating bullets down his neat hairline. His eyes were manic & pink from crying, and those pearly white teeth grinded against themselves, surely holding back diabolical insults.

"You are a whore. That's all you'll ever be," those words spat too much venom for someone who you thought didn't fully deserve it. Despite your outrage, you knew that he showed remorse, unlike some people who take their secrets to the grave. He was on step one of the recovery process for closeted homosexuals. There was an underlying reason for confessing all of this to you tonight, not just for validation, but for acceptance.

"Look at yourself. Your pants weren't that tight before. That cock is screaming for attention."

The father of two melted to the floor, his back pressed up against the front door that he was about to walk out of. The rage that clouded his vision faded as he let out a soft moan while using his hands to unbutton his shirt.

"No," you ordered, "Pants first."

He went on to strip himself waist down, enough to reveal his slutty erection that has been consumed by countless guys. It had been too long since you last had some, that was the only way you could look down at this pathetic man and feel an ounce of attraction. You kneeled, inching closer, and taking a hold of his cock.

"Be honest with yourself," you said, "You're a slut."

"No," he winced, feeling a tinge of pleasure shoot through his dick. He was a sucker for when guys delicately rubbed the slit of his penis.

"How much sluttier can you get? Letting a man you barely know touch you like this? After screaming in his face, and you still don't knock his lights out?"

The father pleaded for this to end, but his stiffening nipples said otherwise. You paused your stroking to unbutton his shirt for him, just so you can return to jerking him off. "Ahh...please," he shivered as your tongue pressed on his nipple, sucking at it gently with occasional bites. Your hand was talented in keeping in rhythm while you tended to his chest.

"I'll start you off easy," you whispered against his wet nipple, "Repeat these words: I am gay."

"Fuck you," he shut his eyes, turning his head to the side, like that was enough to erase from this reality.

"How about: I am bisexual? Is that better?"

"I'm straight!" he yelped, feeling his balls clenching against his body, "I don't wanna do this anymore..."

"Then leave," to stress how much you weren't holding him against his will, you removed your hand just before he could cum, along with your mouth, and stood up. You even moved a few inches back with your hands clasped behind you, "Go on."

He sat there, collecting his breath, "How do you expect me to get off?"

"I hear masturbating is a popular activity," you raised your eyebrows with a smile.

He sneered up at you, but he didn't move his body from the ground. Like a petulant child, he just threatened you with that distressed stare. That was more than enough to bring him to your bedroom. It wasn't a king-sized suite like his, but the XL twin made for a great excuse to keep you two in proximity.

The closeted man didn't deserve to feel your cock in its full greatness; with all this talk of meaningless sex, you wrapped yourself in a condom before entering that greedy asshole. "How long has it been since your last?" you pressed your hands against his thick thighs, reveling at the sight of your neighbor gasping for air.

"Ahh...a year! The convention was last- Ohh fuck!" your cock slid so easily past his walls, that getting to his prostate was effortless. "I'm clean, I swear!"

"Now why do you say that?"

"I wanna feel your cock, " a tear squeezed from his shut eyelid, "Just for tonight."

"Poor baby..." you gave a deep thrust, dragging a wonton cry from the 49-year-old man, "That would be great, but you gotta do me a favor." you paused, "Two actually."

The first was to bring a recent document of his STD results to confirm he was clean, and the second was much more obvious. "You had all this talk about giving your ass to these people; you WANTED me to come onto you," that thought of your neighbor devising this plan to visit the bar just to fuck you sent chills up your spine, "So consider this a freebee. No more until you confess. Say that you're gay. Or bi. Fuck it, pansexual. Just admit you love a guy's dick in your ass, and it's not some condition- but a part of who you are. Then I'll consider having you as my fuck buddy."

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the other man, thrusting harder. Your lover was already groaning so loudly, it's possible his wife could hear if she had her window up.

"You wanna be a good man- a good boy?!" you hissed.

"Please!" he repeated into your ear.

"Confess to me" an unnatural growl tore from your throat, and your nails dipped into his skin. You crammed the tip of your penis right up against his sensitive prostate, "To God, and you'll be set free!"

This task was completed a lot quicker than you anticipated. Part of you predicted he'd find a way to convince his wife to move out of the area and go somewhere closer to the kids. Or to Hawaii, which is where he always dreamed he'd retire. But just a week and a half later, you heard the doorbell ring. You saw a gift basket in his hand, and it took the strength of a thousand suns to not cackle in his face.

"I remember you said you liked pears, and this was on sale," he explained casually.

"Sure it was. Come on in."

Inside the basket was pears, pear-jam, pear flavored sweets, & a pear-flavored wine along with a couple washcloths & a mug. You knew all of this before opening the darn thing because he described it in detail. "Wife still not doing it for ya?" you said kindly, as it was translated from what you really wanted to say, "Are you so fucking bored you had to list off the gifts you bought me as a reward for making you cum twice?"

"She's on a girl's trip right now," he replied, sitting on the couch, "Will be for five days."

"Damn," you sat beside him. "Hope she has fun."

"Me too."

You rested your feet on the counter, "Let's not get off track though. What's the deal with you coming here?"

"I got the results; they're in that envelope I gave you with the basket. I also wanted to say..." he faced you and took a deep breath, "I think I'm bi-curious?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"A statement," he clarified, "See, I've been doing a lot of research on sexuality. There's a lot of people that are in my situation. Some insist that they're straight and others know they're gay, but try to fit in. With hours of talking to them, and learning, I decided that I don't know what I am." You begged to differ, but looking at his solemn eyes, you decided to be Mr. Nice Guy and not call him out on his denial, "I love my wife, but I also love..."

"Yeah?"

"I love having sex with other men," he finished, "From what I can tell, my body was made for this. I don't know if that's a good thing- if that's what is right...but, I can't lie anymore. I have a problem."

"Fucking hell," you groaned, "You still don't get it. It's not a problem to be gay! It becomes a problem when you hurt people because of it." This made your neighbor sigh, rubbing his hair back to avoid the budding sweat from spilling down, "So, that's it? You're just curious?"

"More curious than a monkey," he quipped, "I can't tell you that I'm gay. That was unheard of in my time. It's almost like calling yourself an alien! But for the sake of my family, I'm going to learn to be better."

What a fucking idiot, you thought as you pulled him towards you for a kiss. Even you didn't expect it to be as deep as you made it, with your tongue entering his mouth and savoring his coffee-flavored saliva. He naturally leaned in, despite never having been kissed by a man before. It was delightful, to be taken in such a dominant yet caring way. His head being pulled towards yours and starting a dance that could only be witnessed between your mouths. Not even his kisses with his spouse were so heated.

"Woah..." he gasped as you two parted, "You have an odd way of showing that you like me."

"I don't like you," you stated, "But it's not safe to be messing around with strangers. You're better off sticking to someone you know."

"Is this how you flirt with people?"

You dodged the question, "Why couldn't you be normal like other neighbors?"

"I think you'd be very surprised by how many married men act the way I do."

"Despicable." You took him again. Right there, on the couch. You didn't want to limit yourself to just one place; besides, your cocks were already fully erect and straining for release.

Your aching cock was devoured by your neighbor, who claimed to have wanted a taste of it since last time. He slurped your precum like it was his favorite drink; moaning and shuddering as your first load shot down his throat. He wanted to give further thanks by leaving you on your back, so he can climb on top and eat your dick again with his anus. No condom this time, not after you confirmed his results. The lack of barrier between skin was sending you both to nirvana.

"That's it, ride my cock..." you slapped his juicy ass that was in your view. It grew pink so rapidly; it was entertaining to watch. Slap after slap he took like a champ, bouncing harder on your lap and squealing for you to thrust upwards to match his movements- like the dirty pig he is.

A kind neighbor would tell his wife about the misdeeds he confessed, which would likely lead them to a divorce. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it was the right thing to do, much better than encouraging the man's addiction to fat, throbbing dick. But it was his marriage he was sabotaging, not yours. You were a bachelor, free to explore wherever you wanted without shame. This guy, however well put together he may look, lived a life defined by shame. You were going to break that.

"Fuck yeah. Yes! Take this cum! Enjoy it filling your tight ass!" you released your balls by the last syllable, letting cum rush through your shaft and squirt out the slit- into your neighbor's rectum. The man on top threw his head back, jaw wide, and cried out the words, "Yes Daddy!" so much that they were toppling over themselves. Morals be damned when you're welcomed into the community by such a whore.

You were going to make him the proudest cocksucker in the neighborhood.

Thank you for reading!

Please like & leave a comment if you enjoyed 🥰

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corralinesage · 19 days ago

Text

Portrait of a wounded heart (4/8)

CHAPTER 4 Weeping soul

You struggled to focus in class, your pencil sketching a pair of eyes into your sketchbook. You knew whose they were, even if they might not have been very close to what she looked like in real life. You did your best to recall the shape of her eyelids, the angle of her lower lash line, the curve of her lashes. You found your eraser automatically without even having to look for it, your hand reaching for it blindly. You changed the shape of her canthi, concluding that they were slightly too dominant to match her appearance, simultaneously shading in some of the whites of the eyeballs to soften the sketch and make it more lifelike. You glanced up at your professor, hearing a couple words she was saying about George Eliot’s style of writing, but it all blurred into nothingness the second your eyes moved down to the paper beneath you. She was waiting for you. She wanted to see you again, spend time with you. Nothing in the world could have possibly made you focus on the lecture no matter how much you knew you should have been paying attention. Your daydreams were back, her captivating presence had once again conquered your mind, your newfound information only feeding your daydreams.

Your pencil came to a stop against the paper, your eyes falling out of focus. You were beyond tired. You wanted to close your eyes so badly, your mind immediately searching for comfort, slowly starting to recall the previous night, and just how cozy you had been in your bed with Natasha. You wondered what it would’ve been like to actually have her there, wondered how much better it would have been to rest your head against her chest instead of your fluffy pillow. Your heart actually ached from longing as you imagined yourself in her arms. You had never even hugged her, but you could envision the way she would wrap those strong arms of hers around you and hold you long after you fell asleep. You thought about other things that typically happened in bed, your mind and heart racing in tandem as you thought about kissing her. You could almost feel the way her breath would tickle your chin, see the way she would look at you with those green eyes right before she would press her pink lips to yours and steal your breath away.

“Y/N, what did you think about Ladislaw?” Your eyes snapped up to meet your professor’s, your cheeks flushing warm. Crap, getting caught daydreaming was clearly becoming a staple during lectures.

“I- I… um.” What had Natasha said about his character? Something about him being fickle. No, not fickle, maybe an idealist. Hopelessly in love with Dorothea, that was for sure. He was artistic and liked politics. “He’s a bit rebellious. Kind of an outsider at times.” You tried to be vague to avoid saying anything that could have been considered wrong.

“That’s right”, the professor replied, grasping your statement and starting to expand its implications. “He doesn’t seem to quite belong anywhere, isn’t that right?” You nodded your head, looking at the professor until her gaze shifted to someone else, signifying that she was no longer addressing you directly, your eyes falling out of focus again as she kept talking. “Did you guys notice that he doesn’t seem to belong to any social class?” From then on you were gone until the end of the class, your mind wandering far, far away from Middlemarch.

You nearly jumped up from your seat the second your professor started to wrap up the lecture, your books and notebooks getting shoved into your school bag with such vigor they nearly missed your bag altogether. You wrapped your scarf around your neck, tugged on your coat, and swung your bag over your shoulder, leaving the classroom in an instant. You hurried down a flight of stairs, beelining straight into the women’s bathroom to check your appearance. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a while, studying your features, noting the very same flaws that you knew to be there since birth. You walked a bit closer, digging up some lipstick from a pocket in your bag, applying it carefully to enhance the dull color of your lips. It helped a little, your fingers coming up to brush over your brows and lashes as if adjusting them, and then you just stared at yourself, hoping that you were enough to appeal to the older woman who you were falling for faster and harder than you even realized.

Upon entering the university library, your eyes scanned your surroundings with a certain vigilance, searching for your desired person, eventually spotting her sitting by a table with a book open in front of her. She had two takeout cups of coffee beside her, her elbow leaning against the edge of the table as she played idly with her earring, eyes fixed on the pages. She was so beautiful, so uncommonly gorgeous that you had to pause for a moment as you just stared at her, observing the picturesque sight that she was, your eyes noting every little detail of her appearance. She adjusted her loose curls with her left hand, leaving her silver earring alone for a moment as she raked her fingers through the auburn locks. They fell beautifully around her slim face, the color accentuating the paleness of her complexion. Once satisfied with her hair, her hand moved to her face to swipe across the underside of her round nose as if to get rid of an itch before her hand went right back to one of the many earrings she had. You felt like you couldn’t move, suddenly very nervous to disturb her in any way. She looked so peaceful, so in her element, that you didn’t dare to intervene, and thankfully you didn’t have to. Her eyes flicked up from the table, landing right on your own as if she would have felt your gaze on her. She lifted her head up to see you better, offering a small smile to you, the slight tilt of her head beckoning you to come closer. You looked down at the floor, a shy smile on your face as you headed over to her, doing your best to control your nerves.

“Hey, solnishka”, she nearly whispered, mindful of the other people in the library. You gave her a bright smile as you seated yourself beside her on a chair that she pulled back for you.

“Hi.” You blushed violently for no apparent reason, your stomach fluttering weakly with butterflies. Oh, how silly of you to feel so deeply, so strongly toward a woman who could merely be classified as an acquaintance. She pulled you a bit closer by your arm, leaning down to kiss your cheek as a greeting, much like she had done the last time you had parted ways. You felt dizzy.

“How was class? Did you learn anything new?” Her eyes were inquiring, that small smirk always ever-present on her lips.

“It was okay, nothing crazy.” All you had learned was that you were falling in love with her, and the erratic thud of your heart only confirmed your suspicions. Your eyes dropped down to her lips. You could just kiss her. If you somehow gathered up the courage, you could just lean forward and place your lips on her pillowy ones. Nothing was stopping you from going after her. There were no rules, no restrictions, just two friendly people who got along with each other more than well. Surely there was nothing wrong with wanting to kiss her, wanting to feel her body against your own. And there truly was nothing wrong with it, but you eventually tore your eyes away from her mouth, focusing on your bag as you dug out your laptop, copy of Middlemarch, and her umbrella that you returned to her.

“Thank you”, she said with a small smile, placing the accessory over her purse that sat on the floor. “You didn’t fall asleep in class”, she said teasingly, handing you the large mug of coffee from the table. “Here’s your drink. I need to keep that smart brain of yours sharp and focused.” You pursed your lips slightly, trying to hide your reaction to her attentive words.

“Thanks. I didn’t, but I wasn’t far from it.” You chuckled softly, grasping the mug into your cold fingers, surprised to find it still hot to touch. “What’d you get me?”

“Guess.” She gave you a small smirk that you returned immediately as you brought the mug to your lips, taking a careful sip of the drink in case it would burn you. The warm liquid coated your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut on their own as you allowed the sweet and creamy drink to surprise your taste buds. There was a very strong blend of spices mixed in, the flavor something you recognized but you failed to pinpoint where you knew it from.

“Mm, that’s so good”, you hummed, taking another sip that was followed by a small groan, her smile widening. “What is it?”

“A dirty chai latte”, she murmured, holding your gaze knowingly, the mirth behind her eyes coming off as playful, like she had been waiting for you to ask for the name.

“Ohh, that’s what it was.” The flavor suddenly made much more sense as you slowly recognized its familiar depth.

“Have you ever had one before?”

“Not a dirty one”, you said, failing to wipe the smile off your face, the tension between you far too exciting.

“It’s my favorite. Especially the dirty part”, she hummed, earning an amused eye roll from you. “I like them extra dirty.” She whispered it to you like it was a secret.

“And how dirty are we talking?” You inquired, arching a brow at her words, your eyes nailed on hers. It was hard to sort out what you were feeling, the intensity of the emotion making it difficult for you to identify it. All you knew was that there was a strong pull, an irresistible force that drew you to her like a magnet.

“Sometimes I take a double shot of espresso. It balances out the sweetness.” She eyed your cup for a moment, watching you take another sip. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. But I won’t lie, it could be dirtier.” Natasha’s smirk widened into a pleased, little grin.

“Glad you agree.”

“What did you get?” Your eyes dropped down to the cup between her hands, noting that her knuckles were slightly bruised, a bit of cool toned purple pushing through the paleness of her skin, hues of crimson and greenish yellow marking the area. You wanted to ask, but didn’t, deeming it inappropriate. Besides you really shouldn’t have been all that protective of her when you most likely meant nothing at all to her.

“Oh, just a regular latte in case you had a vendetta against chai or something”, she chuckled, her fingers playing with the paper cup. “I’ve noticed that it often divides opinions.”

“Natasha”, you sighed in a mild chastise for her thoughtfulness, her attention suddenly fully on you as if she had been caught off guard by you using her name. “That’s so sweet of you. You should’ve just gotten your favorite.” A small frown found your face. “Here, you can have some of mine.” You offered the cup to her.

“Thank you”, she hummed with a certain softness to her features as your other hand came up to the cup to remove the lid, your fingers starting to pry it off. “Don’t bother, darling.” Her hand pushed yours away gently, the lid remaining in place. “I don’t mind.” She gave you a small smile as she grabbed the mug and brought it to her lips, pressing her mouth over the small hole, the very same place where your lips had been just a moment before. She had a way of dominating the atmosphere with the simplest of acts. She merely took a small sip of the drink, yet managed to steal your breath away, your eyes lingering on her lips. You were practically kissing, and there was nothing in the world that could have convinced you otherwise. You felt a spark of thrill go through you.

“Ah, that hits the spot. It’s like Christmas in a cup. Thank you.” She handed the drink back to you, her eyes flitting down to your mouth. You were sure of it. She looked at your lips. You were more than glad for having made the decision to put on some lipstick, no matter how little it probably did for your poor lips that were struggling to adjust to the cold climate that was creeping up on you.

“It is. Dare I even say better than pumpkin spice?” Natasha gave you a look of disbelief, sarcastically suggesting you that your statement was nothing short of preposterous.

“Beware krasotka, the autumn fanatics will come for you.”

“Let them come. I’ll show them the gingerbread candle in my living room and the Christmas playlist that’s been in my ‘recently played’ since September.” She laughed at your retort, scrunching her nose the slightest bit. You couldn’t tell what it meant, but it filled you with warmth, the adorable gesture lingering in your mind. You wanted to see it again.

“Oh, see now you’re crossing a line”, she said, the air of gaiety that surrounded you only strengthened by your camaraderie. It felt strange to talk to someone with an equal amount of wit, it felt strange to be with someone of your own kind, someone with depth and nuance, someone who complimented you. “You gotta wait at least until Thanksgiving.”

“Eh, I like a head start.” You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the long sleeves of your knit sweater, your hands resting on the table beside hers. You thought about what she had said regarding hands and their intimacy, your cheeks heating at the thought of holding her own. You were so close, and she was right there. “That way I get the most of it.” You glanced up at her, moving your hands as if unintentionally, your fingers brushing against hers. They were cool to touch despite the multiple layers of clothing she wore, your heart clenching at the feel of her soft skin. With bated breath you waited for her to pull her hand away, to adjust her cup or take a sip of coffee to break the connection like you had expected her to, but she didn’t. You felt abnormally shy all of a sudden, uncertainty consuming you, squeezing at your chest when there was no reaction on her part. You didn’t want to be pushy, slowly drawing your hand back enough to break contact despite how much you would have wanted more. You should’ve probably started your assignment anyway. You pulled away from the table altogether, focusing on the laptop you had brought with you, Natasha seemingly completely unfazed. “What were you reading?” You asked her as you started up your laptop, your gaze shifting to the book that she had moved to the side to give you more tabletop space.

“Zhila-byla zhenshchina, kotoraya khotela ubit' sosedskogo rebenka by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya.” The Russian rolled off her tongue so naturally that it shocked you, the language switch bringing out the lower register of her voice, a tone you had yet to hear properly. If you had thought she sounded attractive when speaking English, you had been far from prepared to hear how her Russian sounded. “The English name for it is There Once Lived A Woman Who Tried To Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby”, she elaborated, correctly assuming that you hadn’t understood a word of what she had said.

“That’s quite the title. What’s it about?” And so, the assignment had once again found its way into oblivion as you two discovered yet another topic to discuss. It wasn’t until well past two in the afternoon that you finally managed to redirect the conversation back to Victorian literature. You turned your attention back to your laptop and got to work, creating a fresh document for you to write your essay into, Natasha focusing on your copy of Middlemarch to look for examples to use in your assignment.

Working with her was nearly impossible, and it tested the very limits of your willpower, your gaze shifting back and forth between the screen and her pretty face. It felt like no words came to you every time you tried to type something into your sparsely filled-out document. You had managed an introduction paragraph, the date, and your name, despite how much time had already passed since you had officially started working on it. You were good at writing, you liked writing, but with her there, all you could do was curse your mind for being so disorganized and blank at the same time. You felt verbally constipated, the emotional high you were experiencing consuming your mind whole, yet for some reason you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. You hadn’t been as happy and full of life as you were at the moment in months. You hadn’t felt anything all summer, and sitting there, observing her appearance, her demeanor, you realized that you had been miserable long enough for it to have become your norm. So, how could anyone blame you for taking an extra minute or two to look at her? Who could blame you for ignoring your schoolwork? Who could blame you for falling head over heels for someone who was slowly bringing back your spark?

Your eyes met again as she caught you staring, your gaze moving back to the screen to hide your blush, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as if you would have actually had something to write. From the corner of your eye, you saw her smile to herself as she too went back to the pages of Middlemarch, her finger marking the spot where she had left off. You wanted closer to her, you wanted to make physical contact with her more than you wanted anything else at the moment. You needed things to move forward, for something to happen because you couldn’t take the tension any longer, those gorgeous green eyes returning to your frame with the same frequency as yours went to hers.

“Can I see what you’ve got so far?” She asked quietly a moment later, the pining starting to get a bit too obvious, her voice nothing but a whisper in the silent library. You nodded your head, her hands moving to the laptop, those cool fingers brushing over your own as she brought the device in front of her to get a better look. She tried not to allow a smirk of amusement to take over her features as she finally saw just what you had managed to get done in the span of ninety minutes. Your work was slow, incredibly so, but she was willing to forgive you since she had a feeling that the reason for it wasn’t your incompetence, but rather her presence that to her pleasure seemed to have quite an effect on you. “Mind if I add something?”

“No, not at all. Floor is all yours.” You chuckled softly, watching with great curiosity as she pulled back her sleeves a bit to get them out of the way, your eyes devouring her veiny hands that you had previously overlooked due to the bruising on her knuckles. Her pale hands and forearms were just as toned and defined as the rest of her body, green and blue veins pushing visibly through her fair complexion. She started typing away, her fingers flying over the keys so fast you could barely process their coordinated and skilled movement. You had always been attracted by hands and forearms, but when you saw the way her muscles rippled beneath her skin with each movement of her hands she gave it a whole different meaning. You would do anything to hold those strong and capable hands in your own, to feel them grip your hips and waist, you would do anything but actually take a leap of faith and grab her hand.

Natasha finished off your paragraph, continuing your argument from a perspective you had discussed together. You were almost jealous of how beautifully the words flowed into the document, her fingers forming full, intellectual sentences with little-to-no time spent thinking of their structure. It was like she was pouring out her thoughts onto the white screen of your laptop. “I’m gonna write down the structure for you. It’ll be easier to follow along and keep up with the story.” The clicking sound of the keyboard seized, those round eyes turning to you as you simply nodded your head.

“I should probably read that one chapter you mentioned, with the codicil and stuff”, you reasoned partly to yourself, but seeking for Natasha’s validation.

“Yeah, it could definitely give you a clearer picture on the argument you’re trying to make.” She typed a couple more sentences in French lines, structuring your essay. You were more than thankful for her assistance, surprised to find yourself genuinely comfortable receiving help, instead of feeling threatened for having someone meddling with your work. It was a bigger issue at times, but not an issue around her.

“Ugh, and I still need to find the passages to quote too”, you groaned suddenly, leaning back into the uncomfortable chair you occupied, bringing your hands to your face in exhaustion. You were hungry and tired, your feet and hands getting colder by the minute in the drafty, old building. You wanted to let go of the essay, find something else to think about to give your brain a much-needed break from analyzing prose. You wanted to escape the stress of the nearing midterms that would require you to put extra effort into your schoolwork that you were already neglecting to begin with. You wanted a moment of peace, a day where you didn’t have a list of tasks to complete.

“How many did you need?”

“Three is the minimum, but you don’t have to look for them. You’ve already done half the assignment”, you said jokingly, but it was far too close to reality. She huffed out a small chuckle, studying your tired face with a look of empathy on her features, her head tilting to the side as if in compassion. She remained quiet for a moment, clearly in thought, before she spoke.

“We should take a break, go for lunch, get some fresh air. The deadline is next week, right? You don’t have to cram it all in one sitting. You can let the thoughts and arguments marinate for a while. I’m sure a bite of something would help you get your brain going again.” She spoke softly, her gentle tentativeness shining through like a beacon. She was oddly caring, something that you rarely saw in the people around you. It felt strange. Her attention didn’t come off as patronizing or belittling, but rather supportive. She was like a pillar for you to lean on, and it was all her doing, her own volition. You weren’t begging for her to take care of you, you weren’t even asking for it, yet she had no problem being her assertive, caring self.

“I’d love that.” You didn’t know why you let her sweep you off your feet time and time again when you knew better than to trust people, to trust strangers. You knew that you shouldn’t ever lean on anybody if you wanted to avoid getting hurt, avoid betrayal and disappointment. But she was right there in front of you with those soft, angelic features and a genuine smile, and you were so lonely, so lonely that your heart ached from the sole thought of having someone again. So, you gave in to your desires and let go of everything that you were used to, blindly diving right into the deep end of love because there was nothing else you could have done, not when every morsel of your being was given what it needed.

You walked through the sunny streets of New York City, the cold biting your cheeks as the crisp October air numbed up your fingertips. The sun was relatively high in the sky, and shone brightly, giving the city a warm, golden glow, the vibrant-colored leaves reminding you of why you loved fall so dearly, the surrounding trees glowing like flames of a campfire. You hugged yourself tightly to warm yourself up as you crossed the road to Cornelia Street, walking along it until you reached Bleecker Street, your nose locating your favorite pizza place before your eyes found the sign that read John’s Pizzeria.

“This is it?” Natasha asked for confirmation, earning a small nod from you.

“I swear the pizza is so good. It’s the best pizza I’ve ever had. It’s a foolproof choice. I come here too often. I think the workers recognize me”, you explained in mild amusement, Natasha yanking the front door open for you, her hand guiding you inside the cozy and crowded restaurant.

“It better be. I’m starving.”

As much as her company excited and thrilled you, there was a part of you that felt uneasy. Something didn’t add up because you were actually getting along with someone, you actually found yourself comfortable in someone else’s company in a way that wasn’t familiar to you, and by the time you received your orders, your alarm bells were going off. Things were advancing too quickly, too naturally. Why did you feel so connected to this woman after just two days? Why did it feel so easy, so right? You couldn’t fall in love, you couldn’t. It required you to be vulnerable, open to love and happiness, open to the possibility of getting hurt again, open to giving another person the control to rip your life into shreds if they so wished.

You were just going to be friends. It was decided, it was official. You were just going to be friends because anything more than that scared the living daylights out of you. You would just have to suck it up and ignore the herd of butterflies that swarmed inside you every time she so much as glanced your way. You were going to stay strong and ignore your crush. You had done it once before no matter how poorly, at least you had done it, but your plan failed the second you looked up at her from the cheesiness of your plate to see her take a bite of a huge slice of pepperoni pizza, the mozzarella stretching and stretching until she let out an awkward laugh, using her hand to get rid of the long string of cheese. Her pink cheeks gave her a slight glow, accentuating the hypnotic green of her irises, her perfectly carved nose matching the hue of her cheeks. You couldn’t resist her, you couldn’t fight the feeling no matter how much you would have wanted to, the weight of an uncertain future lifting off your heart as you watched her lap up the rope of cheese off her chin before reaching for a napkin to wipe her mouth with, those full lips a deeper shade than you had ever witnessed on her. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know what the future held, it didn’t matter if she broke your heart in two and stomped on it with those heeled boots of hers because that moment was enough to make up for it, the comfort and solace you felt were enough to make up for it.

The small break was far from short, your stay at the restaurant stretching like a warm piece of cheese that wouldn’t snap no matter what. You stayed for so long that both of you ended up finishing off your plates after complaining that you were too full on multiple occasions, but somehow as the conversation flowed, and the irresistible pizza sat in front of you on the table, it slowly disappeared in small bite-sized pieces that you tore off as a way to keep your hands busy. By the time you exited the restaurant, the sun was low in the sky, shining right into your eyes on its way to hide behind the horizon. It was somehow even colder outside, your warm breath forming a faint cloud of vapor in the air that faded away instantly, but you felt warm all over as you two made your way back to campus, taking a detour around Washington Square Park to get a better look at the effects of the season on the surrounding nature, wishing to find an excuse to prolong your non-official date. You were walking silently beneath a gorgeous arch formed by the canopy of trees, a bit of sunlight peeking through the warm colors of the leaves, when her hand brushed against yours.

You glanced at her as if to see if she would react, her head turning your way. You expected to feel nervous, waiting for that feeling of dizziness to take over once again, but it didn’t. All you felt was calm determination. You wanted to hold her hand. It couldn’t have been any more obvious, so you reached your freezing fingers for hers, tentatively grasping her bare hand into your own, noting that she possessed a bit more warmth than you did. Your steps slowed down, both of you coming to a halt as if to process the change that had taken place on the pathway littered with brown and orange leaves. Natasha looked away, her lips stretching into a reserved smirk that was the result of an attempt to hide it. Your cheeks flushed warm as if to fight against the relentless, cold air that was slowly starting to sting the delicate skin of your face. You gave her hand a squeeze, pleased to receive one in return. She held your hand with purpose, with confidence, your heart fluttering weakly. She wasn’t just keeping your hand limply in hers, but actually holding it, leaving no room for obscurity regarding her willingness to make contact with you, reminding you of her words from the night before. She wouldn’t hold just anyone’s hand.

With a small smile adorning your lips, you took a step forward to continue your way back to campus, but to your surprise she didn’t move, her arm reaching forward like a stretching spring until it held you back, bringing you face to face with her in a single, firm tug. You looked up at her questioningly, expecting her to say something to explain herself. Maybe she wanted to go a different route, or suggest getting coffees, or maybe it was time for her to go home. As if panicked by the mere thought, you started analyzing her face as an automatic habit that was solely the result of your artistic nature, your eyes taking in the fiery red of her hair that was enhanced by the setting sun behind her. You knew what shades of paint you would have used to mix the hue of orange, you knew where you would have placed the warm highlights to make the painting in your imagination glow in the most captivating way. You noted the leaves on the trees behind and above her, deeming that the specific shade of orange deviated from her hair. It fell flat beside her auburn locks. You could almost feel in your hand how you would have held a brush in it, how you would have carefully placed the lights and shadows of her pale face, her cheeks and nose tainted pink from the cold. You knew just how much ultramarine you would have needed to add into the mixture of titanium white and carmine to mute down the color to match her complexion. You saw the hint of lemon yellow that you would have needed to maintain the warmth of the sensitive hue. It was all right there for you, the possibility of the most perfect portrait study, the naturally flawed picture of feminine beauty staring back at you.

She didn’t smile, her lips parting the slightest bit as she looked at you, drawing your attention to their shape and size, your trained eye measuring every curve and arch. She leaned closer to you, her gaze trailing down your features to your mouth, her hand remaining in yours as she erased the small gap between you. She kissed you tenderly, showing her vulnerable and tentative side to you for the first time, her lips pressing over yours, the cold tip of her nose brushing against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut to savor the feel of her mouth, however gentle and light it might have been. You weren’t guaranteed another chance, another kiss, so you allowed your mind to shut off for just a moment as you held your lips pressed up against hers. The kiss was objectively very tame, shy even, your lips remaining together for mere seconds, but the intimacy of the almost child-like innocence of the kiss made your head spin. It felt so pure, so genuine, so vulnerable that it made you shiver. You felt like she had undressed you from clothing, from all your defenses. There was nothing protecting your poor heart that had been clawed raw by the past. She had full access to your weeping soul, and she was treating it with nothing but care.

Natasha pulled back first, her widened, pale eyes meeting yours as if she couldn’t quite believe she had done it, a sense of awe pushing through to you. There was a small twitch in her brow when you let go of her hand, as if she feared letting go of you, feared upsetting you, but her expression morphed into one of relief when your arms slid over her waist to bring you both even closer to one another. You rose onto your tiptoes, bringing your mouth back on hers, putting more weight behind the act, your body seeking for support from her to get you through the intensity of your emotions. It was so cold outside, so cold that you could barely feel your lips anymore, but it didn’t matter, your numb arms squeezing her closer as you molded your mouth over hers. The contact was an imitation of the first kiss, slowly developing into something more as she parted her lips enough to fit your bottom one between hers, her tongue remaining on the very edge of her lower lip, softly caressing you with its velvety warmth every time you kissed as if providing you a promise of what was to come. Her gentle breath warmed your skin, the wind ruffling her hair, the auburn curls tickling your cheeks. You pulled back just enough to see her, to look her in the eyes to make sure it was her that you were kissing, that those pale green eyes were looking at you, that those rosy lips were kissing you. She smiled at you, unable to contain it, the expression wearing off on you when you pressed your mouth on hers again, her teeth scraping lightly against your lips as you kissed her smile. Her hands stroked over the material of your coat, going up your biceps to find your face, her ice-cold fingers cupping your cheeks. She deepened the kiss, a delicate moan falling from your lips, the sound going through Natasha like a bolt of lightning.

She took control slowly, her tongue growing more dominant as her grip on you tightened. You weren’t just kissing, but you were being kissed, kissed in a way that left no room for debate on who was in charge. Your body melted into hers, searching for her strong frame for you to lean on. You craved her steadfast body, her energy, yearning to let go of the harsh grip you had kept on yourself for months on end. You just wanted to be. You wanted to sink inside her where you would be safe and sound, where your heart could rest. You kissed her harder, tried to fight the position she had claimed for herself in your life for one last time, but she was unyielding, those full lips far too soft, far too irresistible. She was everything you wanted.

You were forced to pull away when your lungs started to ache, your chest heaving with each intake of breath as you looked up at her, mirth sparkling in your eyes. There was no denying that the experience was nothing short of thrilling. You felt like your body was buzzing, the warmth in your chest gliding down your spine, pooling in your lower abdomen with such intensity you almost felt mortified, eternally thankful that she had no way of witnessing it. You both smiled at each other, her thumbs brushing over the cold skin of your face, her slight frown letting you know that she wanted you inside, somewhere warm. She leaned closer once more, pecking your lips softly as her left hand found your right one to hold, her hand remaining snugly linked with yours as you continued your walk in the sea of rimy leaves, their quiet rustle and crunch filling in the blissful silence between you.

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mygayshortstories · 10 months ago

Text

Back before the days of the internet, when I was in my mid 20s, this was my first experience at “cottaging” in a public toilet, when I happened across Steve, a gorgeous 18 year-old, just ravenous for sex. But this turned into more than just a 'quick one'.....

Steve the Pipe-Fitter

I had a day off from work and had gone out to Coventry to photograph the Cathedral, only to be met with a ‘no photography’ sign at the door, so I’d spent the rest of the morning taking candid photos of nice young men out in the sun instead. A bit frustrated, I got back to town about 2 o’clock.

Just under the pedestrian ramp leading out of the railway station were the public toilets. I had heard about ‘cottaging’ and knew that this lavatory, being busy and anonymous, was such a place, so whether or not my subconscious was drawing me there today I don’t know but when I actually went down there, it was to pay a genuine call, so I duly paid and went into a cubicle.

The partitions between the cubicles didn’t quite reach the ground, so there was a gap underneath of about 6 inches. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me. Although I had never done it before, I knelt down on the floor and looked underneath. To my naïve surprise, a few cubicles away, a face was looking back in my direction. My reaction was instantaneous; I sat up quickly. However, my reaction had been so swift that I hadn’t had time to see who it was or what he looked like. For some reason though, I couldn’t pluck up enough courage to look again. I just sat there.

A short while later, I saw a young pair of shoes, at the end of jean-clad legs, enter the cubicle next door. I say ‘young’ because the shoes were new and smart, with a brass toe-strip, fashionable at the time. Clearly it was someone fairly young; probably no older than me, at any rate. He seemed to sit down but then do nothing else. I was curious and couldn’t resist the temptation, so I wrote on a piece of toilet paper, “How old?” and slipped it under the partition. The note was quickly taken up and was shortly followed by the sound of a match being struck. At first, I thought he was burning the note in disgust but then I realized that he was using the match to write with.

The note came back; “18” it read. I drew a rather deep breath. Now what?

I returned the note; “I’m 26 – can I wank you off?” I remember thinking at the time that punctuation was probably superfluous under the circumstances and that a fairly basic vocabulary was more apt.

Another match was struck on the other side and the note came back, “Lend me your pen”. I realised that he must have seen my stainless-steel biro when I had slipped the message under the partition and I wasn’t yet ready to risk losing one of my 21st Birthday presents. As I had nothing else to write with, I returned the note saying, “No – you’ll nick it” and indicated that he should continue using a match.

There was now a bit of a delay and I figured I must have blown my chances. At best, he didn’t have any more matches. “And all for the sake of losing a stainless-steel biro!” I thought to myself as I sat there.

However, to my surprise, eventually another note came back giving his approval to my original request, provided that I agreed to “suck him off”. Needless to say, I immediately indicated agreement and told him, “Unlock when ready”. I flushed the toilet and opened the door.

As I emerged from the cubicle, I then thought, “What do I do if he doesn’t unlock the door and just leaves me standing there like an idiot trying to get in?” It was pretty busy outside, with people coming and going, people washing their hands or waiting for a cubicle and some even hanging around at the urinals. They may or may not have known what was going on but I knew I had to risk it and be quick about it. As I turned, I saw his lock click to ‘vacant’ and I pretended to put in a coin and entered the cubicle.

On reflection, my hasty action deserved to lead me into serious trouble but my limited experience knew no better. I don’t know who I really expected to find inside but for a start he hadn’t lied about his age. He was a fraction taller than me, lightly built with short dark hair and wearing blue denim jeans and a black leather bomber-jacket over a plain white ‘T’ shirt. But what struck me so overwhelmingly was his incredibly beautiful face. He had blue-grey eyes and soft boyish features, so clean-shaven that he looked almost as if he had never shaved and never needed to. I could hardly believe my eyes how gorgeous he was.

He also must have been reasonably pleased with me because, instead of just offering me his cock to suck, we both feverishly began undressing each other. We didn’t get far though, before we were both embracing, hugging each other tightly. This first embrace said so much without words and it seemed to last for ages; he pressed his whole body to me, burying his face against my neck, hugging me and kissing my neck. He smelt nice too; he was clearly wearing after-shave or cologne of some kind. Whatever it was, it was doing its job perfectly and I was almost overwhelmed. At best, on entering the cubicle, I had expected - I had hoped – for an ‘ordinary’ young man (like me) who wanted quick, impersonal sex but nothing had prepared me for this situation. He wanted – he deserved – far more than just a quick wank, that much was certain. Looking into those glistening blue-grey eyes, set beneath luxuriant dark eyebrows, I just cradled his face in my hands and gently kissed him on the lips.

At this point, I must have realised the danger we were both in; two men in a public toilet, half undressed and one of us under 21. I felt I had to get him out of there to somewhere safer – and a little more romantic. I whispered into his ear,

“You’re so gorgeous; what on earth are you doing here?”

He merely hugged me all the more tightly and then he kissed me for the first time; not a peck or anything half-hearted but a full-blown, sloppy kiss. Oh heavens! His lips tasted simply delicious! Memories came flooding back of an 18 year-old boy-friend I had a few years back, as I began to melt against him. Again, I whispered to him,

“I can’t bear the thought of you being caught here. Can I take you back to my place? It’s not too far and it’ll be safer there.”

Much to my surprise, he readily agreed, just as we noticed someone spying on us from under the partition with the next cubicle. It was that face again – the one I had seen looking back at me under the partitions - only this time, he was right next door and had already noticed two pairs of feet where there should be only one.

My newly discovered treasure left the cubicle first, flushing the toilet for effect, and I followed after a moment or two. When I emerged at the top of the steps, I thought that I had lost him and that he had run off, but then I caught a glimpse of him disappearing into a telephone kiosk. I still wasn’t sure whether he was trying to avoid me but I briskly walked up to the kiosk and when he saw me, he came out. As we walked away together, he seemed more on edge than I had expected and he was nervously looking around at the people about us.

As we walked on, I managed to ascertain that his name was Steve and that he was, of all things, a pipe-fitter. To this day, I don't know if he was having me on and it was some kind of jok on his part but without warning, he suddenly hustled me in front of a queue and onto a bus. Rather taken by surprise, I fumbled for the fare he had paid and followed him upstairs to where he was sitting, looking intently out of the window. He then told me that we had been followed from the toilet and he pointed to a middle-aged, rather scruffy looking man in the crowd who I remember seeing earlier, loitering in the public toilet. It was ‘The Face’ from under the partitions again!

We stayed on the bus as it went around the City Centre; meanwhile, he sat there, pressing his leg firmly against mine. Even through my jeans, I could feel the warmth of his leg and this tenuous connection of our bodies passed an electric sexuality between us that was getting me highly aroused! The blood was pumping through my cock, tightly crushed inside my briefs, and there was an uncomfortable dampness developing in my groin as pre-cum oozed into my underwear as we sat there, our jean-clad thighs pressed warmly together.

By the time we reached the Town Hall, he seemed to be less nervous. We had lost our follower, so we changed buses and headed to my place. On the way, I tried to make ‘small talk’ and he responded chattily. He had a gorgeous Liverpool accent but said he lived locally. I learned that he had left his parents in Liverpool to find work and that he shared a flat not far from where I now lived, so he didn’t feel that he was heading into totally strange parts. The short walk from the bus seemed to take ages; my heart was beating fast and it was thumping into my throat. I was nervous that we might meet someone I knew; what would I say? But as it happened, we didn’t pass anyone.

He seemed impressed when I showed him into my flat and immediately asked how much it cost. Typical of a Liverpool ‘Lad’, I thought; winningly engaging but always straight to the point. I took his leather bomber-jacket, gave him a Coke and sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to me, indicating for him to sit beside me, which he did. As I put my arm around him, he responded straight away by doing the same and by snuggling up to me affectionately. I stroked his face and again told him how beautiful he was.

“Thank you,” he said with a coy grin. He seemed genuinely flattered.

As I moved to kiss him, he turned toward me and our lips met for the second time in a kiss of such tenderness, quite unlike anything you could imagine from an 18 year-old. His lips were full and his mouth tasted slightly of mint, as our passions roused and our tongues entwined. I began to realise that he may have been 18 but he was no novice. He certainly knew how to kiss, that’s for sure!

Eagerly, he following me into the bedroom, where I drew the curtains and closed the door. In the semi-darkness, we embraced again but this time, unlike in the toilet cubicle, we were safe and secure from prying eyes. Our whole bodies now pressing together, we kissed and hugged. He began to unbutton my shirt as I removed his t-shirt, revealing soft tanned arms and a strong chest delicately peppered with tiny hairs. Again we hugged, but this time our skins touched for the first time and passed bodily warmth between us. Feverishly, I unzipped his flies and unbuckled his belt but by now, we were both so desperate to get into bed that we both just dropped our jeans and almost leapt into bed, still wearing our underpants.

Under the covers, we fell against each other, skin against skin, and I felt the warm hardness of his organ against mine through our underwear. Soon, however, the underwear was gone and we were fully naked, entwined, hugging and kissing in a heat of frantic passion. I could feel his organ, large and full, between our stomachs as I lay on top of him and he began thrusting upwards to me.

Looking back from today’s world of the internet and ‘porn on tap’, it’s difficult to explain but all this excitement simply proved too much for me and his eagerness tipped me over the edge; all my pent-up sexual frustrations rose within me and I came uncontrollably against his stomach and erect cock, hugging and pressing myself to him. As I clung to him, my orgasm enveloped my whole body, as my semen gushed uncontrollably in pulses between us.

I was mortified. While I did not count myself as promiscuous, I had ‘been around the block a few times’, so this sort of thing was not supposed to happen to me and I was embarrassed. I thought I had blown my chances and it was all over. Light-heartedly, I apologized and quickly mopped up the mess, as I didn’t want to disappoint him. But there was no fear of that; he rolled me onto my back and knelt astride me, holding his throbbing penis in my face, foreskin already drawn back in anticipation. Evidently, he hadn’t forgotten our bargain back in the public toilet!

I too had no intention of breaking our ‘contract’, so I eagerly took his throbbing tool in my mouth and began sucking and playing with it. He loved it. We rolled about in a number of positions, with me sucking him and tickling and licking his testicles; and him thoroughly reveling in it. But I had to keep resting my jaw; it was beginning to ache and juices were everywhere; he was a big lad for one so slightly built.

“I’m a good stayer,” he joked, and he certainly was. I wasn’t about to give up either; he was 18, beautiful - and all mine.

But eventually, I felt the tell-tale signs; now on his back again with me crouched between his baby-soft thighs, his organ in my mouth and gripped in my hand, his breathing suddenly changed and he began gasping and shuddering. Don’t you simply love that moment when a young man loses all self-control just before he cums? With a deep, hard gasp, he exploded into my mouth 3 or 4 times, great gushes of salty cum coursing through his organ and filling my mouth.

Some guys (girls too, I suppose) don’t like the taste of a guy’s cum, so they either spit it out or let it dribble back out of their mouth. For me though, the whole experience is a very personal one and while I don’t much like the taste, I feel that swallowing it increases that connection; it creates an even deeper bond between the ‘giver’ and the ‘receiver’. Besides which, having a man’s cum permanently inside me is very satisfying; at least it is for me, at any rate! Consequently, as his throbbing cock subsided, I swallowed all of his slimy, slithery juices. His body then relaxing and exhausted, he breathed heavily.

“Jeez, I needed that!” he said, as we collapsed into each other’s arms, once again hugging and kissing.

At this point, I thought he would want to leave, his passion satisfied; but he hadn’t had enough, it seemed. We continued laying together, caressing and stroking, hugging and kissing, rolling about in loving passion the likes of which I had not felt in a long while. Occasionally, we would rest and just lay still in each other’s arms, softly talking, only to return to the hugging and kissing with renewed vitality. I complimented him on how passionate a lover he was. He liked that.

I said, “You’re not shy either, are you”, and he looked at me, slightly surprised, and replied, “No”, as if it had never occurred to him.

As we still lay entwined, without any warning he then said,

“Well, can I stick it up you then?”

Although the abruptness of his request came as something of a surprise, it was by no means out of character. He was direct and to the point. But I saw this as an opportunity, so in an attempt to persuade him to meet me again, I said I thought maybe we should keep that for another time. He didn’t seem to mind, except that now we began exploring each other’s bottoms.

As I played my finger around his anus, I realised that this was one of his weak spots, as it was mine in fact. He began groaning and he clasped my hand, pressing my finger into him. With the aid of a little lube, I began to finger-fuck him, massaging his prostate while he writhed about, groaning in ecstasy. For a few moments, I had his entire body sensations under my control (again) and I sensed he was going to let go again. I felt tremendous. But he had other ideas still in his mind because he gently pushed me away, grabbing the lube and following my example. Now he was the one who had me under his control and my mind soon changed regarding his request to screw me! He rolled me over and took charge.

I asked him to take it gently – he was only young and I wasn’t sure how desperate he might be. But I need have had no fears. As I lay on my front over a pillow, face to one side and one knee raised, he lubricated his now throbbing organ and my aching anus. He entered me just a little at a time, pausing when I asked, allowing me to relax. He wasn’t particularly well-endowed, as if that mattered, but he was fairly narrow too, so I was able to accommodate him with very little discomfort. However, his cock was quite long and it was terrific to feel his slender organ sliding smoothly in and out, upwards and inwards, rhythmically inside me, as he lay against my back with his arms firmly clasped around me. It was sheer bliss.

Eventually, he began thrusting in earnest, almost withdrawing in between his full, hard thrusts into me. In fact, he slipped out twice and got a bit flustered at nearly losing it – he was obviously getting near to his climax. I calmed him as he entered again easily, softly encouraging him to continue, and he began thrusting again, now desperately. As I felt his rhythm change, he thrust once or twice really hard into me as far as he could go and, reaching his climax, he grasped both my hands on the pillow and buried his face against my neck. I could feel him holding his breath, as he held absolutely still for a second or two; and then I felt his organ pulsing high inside me – 2, 3, 4, 5 times he came into me, my insides warmed by the love fluid flowing into me. Then he let out a gasp and I felt him relax his frantic grip of me, as he just lay there on top of me, his tool still slowly throbbing the last of his orgasm inside me.

Exhausted, his tool slipped out of me as he still lay against my back, sighing and breathing heavily. I sighed too – frankly, I had never had it so good! As we rolled over into each other’s arms once again, I told him so and he was justly flattered. We must have rolled about kissing and embracing for quite some time until he finally asked if I had cum when he screwed me. I told him I hadn’t, although I had been pretty close, and to my utter amazement, he said,

“Right, well it’s your turn then – I’ll do you a blow job” and with the words, “Let me at it!” he climbed over in-between my legs and began passionately sucking my still hard penis and tickling my testicles with his fingers.

Frankly, I was speechless; this 18 year-old fantasy had just had two quite tremendous orgasms in the space and he was still as excited and, what’s more, he was interested in me. I wasn’t expecting any more than I had already experienced but I was ready for anything he was prepared to offer and I was enjoying every precious moment.

He didn’t move up and down on me much; instead, he teased me with his mouth and tongue, second by second, so slowly that as I felt myself drawing towards a climax, it was so gently and slowly done that the tension was almost agonizing in its pleasure. I began shaking what seemed like ages before I came but then I could feel the fluid rising in me, flowing on its inexorable path to the outside world. I clutched at his head, gasping for breath, and came like a small fountain into his mouth, pumping away while he eagerly swallowed every drop I gave him until I was truly spent.

I was still gasping for breath when he collapsed against me again, where he lay for another ten minutes or so until it was time for him to return to his own flat. We had been in bed together for nearly three hours and finally he was leaving. We dressed and tidied up and I asked if I could see him again. To this day, his reply still baffles me.

“What do you think?” he said.

I’ve often wondered at the double meaning in his response but at the time, I took it at face value, gave him my phone number and attempted to express sincere feeling to him as I showed him out to the road and directed him to his bus home.

A beautiful cheery face smiled back at me as I waved to him disappearing down the road. As I returned to my flat and closed the door, I was alone again and felt suddenly empty and yet at the same time rejuvenated. For me, nothing short of a fantasy had come true and it felt all the better for knowing that he had had a bloody good time too! Our afternoon had been filled with such intense passion that I thought, “Surely this was more than just another ‘one night stand’ encounter?” But he never contacted me and I never saw him again. All I have is the memory; the image etched in my mind of that beautiful young man’s face, the warmth of his soft skin against mine and that incredible Thursday afternoon.

If you liked that story, please let me know - even post a comment under “ask me a question”. Or perhaps you’d just like to read another story?

Here’s an index of my other sordid tales, many of them taken from true-life sexual adventures of my own: Erotic Gay Stories Index

#gay short stories #hot gay stories #smut #cute guys #twinks #gay stories #cottaging #public toilets

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